Possumblog

Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Tuesday, January 14, 2003

How To Write

The third in a series of excerpts from one of my Christmas presents, Charles Nisbet and Don Lemon's 1901 edition of Everybody's Writing-Desk Book:

Yet are the happiest compositions those that are matured in the writer before being delivered on paper. The charm of freshness is lost through long and tedious elaboration of details. The reader distinguishes between writing that came all alive, direct from the heart of the writer, and that which "smells of the mid-night lamp". The healthy writer disposes there and then of the matter he has to say, and, leaving it behind, instantly passes to a new experience, that in its turn ripens for new writing. Shakespeare's creations, spontaneous in form as in substance, probably issued complete and perfect in the first throe. Walter Scott's romances, delivered with amazing ease and expedition, went to the printer's without correction. And the writer, to, like the reader, most values the writing wherein his will had least part. Longfellow prizes one of his Voices of the Night, because it came to him not of his, but of its own will, gratuitously. There is an unspeakable difference between what is made and what is born.

posted by Terry at 3:26:00 PM

Jinkies!!

posted by Terry at 2:26:00 PM

Looking out on the morning rain
I used to feel uninspired
And when I knew I had to face another day
Lord, it made me feel so tired
Before the day I met you, life was so unkind
But your love was the key to peace my mind--

Happy 14th Anniversary to Nick and Francesca!

posted by Terry at 2:21:00 PM

Janis Gore from over in Vidalia, Ell-A sent along a link this morning to a very interesting ongoing discussion over at 2 Blowhards about architecture. It's long and covers several days, but it's worth a scroll down to get some insight on my chosen vocation, along with a wide-ranging assortment of various other artistic type stuff (but sadly lacking in general discussions about pickup trucks).

Generally, I don't write much about architecture. I figure there is enough intellectual onanism going on about it to not have to worry with it, and in the end, it usually comes back to "I may not know art, but I know what I like," even among folks who say they know better. In the end, there are very few plots, just like in writing a novel--there is the art vs. utility angle, the practical vs. academic angle, the contextural vs. the non-contextural angle, the individual genius architect vs. the collaborative team design angle--with all the various permutations in between. I have enough experience to argue a point from just about any spot, and do pretty well, but in the end I suppose I am a realist.

You are hired by a client, and if the client ain't happy, you don't eat.

In a similar vein, a couple of years ago, Lileks had a blistering piece in the Star Tribune about their new library under construction there in the Twin Cities, and an architect wrote him to castigate him for being so pedestrian and ill-educated. I wrote Mr. James an e-mail and included my Rules of Architecture. He liked them enough to say he liked them, which I still take as darned high praise, especially now that he's gotten so busy he can't keep up with fan mail.

Although somewhat tongue-in-cheek, they actually do have some thought behind them, and are not only useful for discussing the "King of the Arts," but also for Life in General.

Here they are, along with special added commentary in which I explain myself:

1. If it don’t line up, it ain’t architecture.

This one was one I developed in my previous employment on the private side. Basically, why are you putting that there? The thing that separates Architecture from architecture is thoughtfulness. If you used just a bit of thought, that piece and this piece can be part of a greater composition, instead of just looking like a leftover or an accident. It is a call to think rationally about the decision behind the placement of every space, every element, every bit and chunk, and about making sure the stupid thing can get built once the drawings hit the job trailer. Nothing like having an elevator and a column trying to share the same space to really ruin a nice day.

2. Anyone can dress up like a clown, but it ain’t funny except at the circus.

There is sometimes a great urge (especially among recent graduates whose only exposure to architecture is copying magazine designs and critics who have never picked up a hammer or a drafting pencil) to develop a solution by throwing on a bunch of visually exciting and flashy things into a building. Which can have its place, but not everything deserves such treatment. As mentioned, this one is particularly useful in Real Life, for those who believe loudness is an equal substitute for rightness.

3. The fact that the human eye can discern 32,000,000 colors does not mean that there is a requirement to use them all on one project.

Again, it's hard to break people of this, and we had one interior designer who would always try to make it work. Simple is very hard to do.

4. You only get one “F*** you!” to a client in your lifetime.

Clients talk to each other. Make sure that when the time comes to cut your throat with the knife your using to butter your bread that you're ready to quit eating. A sad fact of reality is that some people are real jerks, and sometimes they have you by the short curlies. Take your lumps and go on. And don't ever work for them again. (By the way, engineers should be given these regularly, whether they need them or not.)

5. Put on a hard hat and carry a clipboard, and you can go anywhere in the world.

The appeal to authority fallacy. But doggone it, it works. Project a serious, in-charge demeanor and people will think you are serious and in charge. "What am I doing? I'm kicking down this piece of wall because you don't have any wall ties in it, THAT'S what I'm doing! Now fix it." "What am I doing? I'm peeling all the epoxy off this wall because it's coming loose because you didn't prime it right, and I'm going to keep peeling until I can't peel anymore--that's what I'm doing. Now fix it." Without a hard hat and a clipboard, these things don't work nearly as well.

6. Never wear your good shoes to a construction site.

Should be self-explanatory. Red clay will flat eat up a pair of Florsheims. Also, the Real Life application is to use the right tool for the job, and also that sometimes events require you to do things you would not ordinarily want to do.

7. You are paid to draw, not erase.

Think about what you're doing, and do it right the first time. Stupidity can be very expensive.

8. Why is it that there is never time to do it right, but always time to do it over?

See #7 above.

9. “We can fix it by addenda,” or “figure it out in the field” never work.

See #7 and #8 above. Long ago, I worked with a couple of guys so bent on getting projects on the street that they let some real garbage slip out, figuring that it could be fixed before bid or the contractor could figure it out. At the time, not only was I working in the office, but I also did construction observation of projects underway, and these little "oops" always became my babies to rock. Contractors love crap like this--more money for them for a change order, and they get to laugh at the edgicated moron who did it. Luckily, my hardhat and clipboard was handy, along with an understanding of the construction process, so the boys and I could scratch ourselves and hunker around in the dirt and generally come up with a workable solution.

10. Wait about 2,000 years before you tell me how great a building is.

True architecture transcends place, time and use and serves as an inspiration for generations. 2,000 years might be a bit long to wait before deciding, but not by much.

So then, there you go.

UPDATES: Fellow blogwriter Larry Anderson of Kudzu Acres writes in to recall a particularly memorable run-in with one of my fellow practitioners:

A few years ago, I was on the building committee for our church as we were preparing to do our very first building. The architect showed up the at the first meeting with a canned plan for a steel frame building configured as a "modern" worship space. Well, I am a lot of things but a 1960 Mini proves modern is not one of them. I asked to see some of his other projects. They all looked the same. The best I could figure, he had spent his career drawing the same church building on different backgrounds. Finally he said that I could see one of his buildings at the intersection of two streets near my home. I had driven past the building every workday for a year. I did not like it and told him so. The building committee told him what we were looking for in a building and we agreed to meet a month later. The day before the next meeting, the architect called our Pastor and asked if that guy who hated him was going to be at the meeting. Bob told him that I didn't hate him or else I would have been really mean to him.

A degree and a registration certificate do not necessarily correlate to a fine sense of form and proportion! There are a number of folks like this, who pretty much do just what Larry says--the same building over and over. They are architects only in that the fulfill the statutory requirements for registration.

This is one reason (of several) why bidding on professional services such as those of architects and attorneys and doctors can be a terrible mistake. Ideally, the relationship between a client and an architect should be seen as a partnership of mutual interests, with each side helping the other to achieve the desired results. This cannot be done when either side does not respect the desires and needs of the other, and showing up with a canned one-size-fits-all presentation for something as personal as a worship space obviously doesn't cut it. On the other side, a church committee shouldn't expect to build Saint Peter's for $20,000, just because the Reverend Jimmy built his first house back in '56 for that much.

It all goes back to doing your homework and working in a real world that has budgets and constraints and programming requirements and dealing with people. If anyone stumbling though here is in the market for an architect, one of the best guides on what to expect and what to ask about can be found on the AIA website--You and Your Architect. (Yes, I know it sounds like some sort of pamphlet like "You and Chlamydia," but honest, it really is good to read.)

The next comes from a reader who pleads for anonymity and who sends a link to this photo of a local college building with the following commentary--

That doesn't really do it justice, because it's from so far away. But THAT'S ALL ONE BUILDING. The big round thing center-right was added on last year and is completely unlike the rest of the building. Also, there's a several-foot gap where it links to the right-side part of the building and there's basically a little alleyway there.

He also called it a monstrosity. Like that's a bad thing or somethin'! Well, what can I say--it IS an ugly bit of architectural abuse, and points out that sometimes it's not a good idea to let your client have free rein in dictating design. Again, the idea of working WITH an architect is that sometimes it's best to listen a bit. And as an architect, have a little backbone about you and don't slobber all over the client's shoes. Unless that's in the scope of services. As I told the reader, I have seen quite a few like this on school and college campuses all across the state, although none sprang into being by my hand. I figure it violates rule #s 1,2,7, 8, and 10.

posted by Terry at 2:02:00 PM

U.S. Sending Huge Armadas to Persian Gulf

Armadas?

I tell you what would really scare 'em--huge armadillos!

posted by Terry at 11:40:00 AM

N. Korea Threatens to Exercise 'Options'

World reminds North Korea that it has already seen the scene from Blazing Saddles in which Cleavon Little kidnaps himself.

posted by Terry at 11:36:00 AM

What I Did

I have been remiss in not boring you to the point of gouging out your eyes with a fork with the wondrous details of my weekend, so here goes--Friday night was movie night and we went and saw Maid in Manhattan.

Eh.

Poor Jonathan looked up at me as we stood in line and pitifully said, "Dad, this is supposed to be a girl movie." Only eight, and yet still is savvy enough to understand the concept of a good old fashioned Hollywood chick-flick. "Yes, my son, I know, but it is our duty as the protectors of the clan, the killers of beasts, the fixers of flat tires, to occasionally go and treat our womenfolk to frothy diversions so as to insure their happiness and continued willingness to allow us to live in the house with them where it is warm." Actually, that was distilled down to a forlorn "Yeah buddy, I know, but at least it has Jennifer Lopez in it." Again, he's only eight, but he understands the concept of "curves = good."

MOVIE REVIEW TIME--As I told Miss Reba afterwards, "it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be." Basically, it's an excuse for Jennifer Lopez to dress up and look nice. And she is really pretty, so I guess it works on that level. It also has Natasha Richardson, who plays a vacuous Sotheby's employee and who looked much better in Parent Trap II. The "male" lead is played by Ralph Fiennes (pronounced "Roger Edwinson") as a New York Republican candidate for the U.S. Senate, and he and Miss Lopez fill the screen with all the chemistry of two tubes of Chapstick. Cary Grant he ain't. The big surprise is Bob Hoskins. Now THERE'S you an actor. He plays a floor butler, and does a nicely restrained job.

The movie itself tries to work in too much social message to be a light comedy, too many improbable plot twists and comic asides to be a light drama, and no tight, revealing J-Lo clothing to be memorably entertaining. And too many gratuitous cuss words to make it suitable for kids. I wish we had not brought ours. The story didn't need language like that to make it "believable." The script took care of that quite well. The urge to insert bad language for shock effect just doesn't cut it--it added nothing except another layer of reasons to say, "Eh." Hey, if you're gonna cuss, then do it right and give it an R. Otherwise, don't feel you have to put it in just to get a more commercial PG-13 rating.

Anyway, it's not as bad as it could have been, except for the price. A family of six--three kids, one "adult" by virtue only of movie theater rules that say 12 years old is an adult, and two real adults--and it cost over 40 bucks just to get in the door. I would rather not even mention popcorn and soft drinks, other than to say that sneaking in my own comestibles is beginning to look like a viable option.

Oh well, at least we now have our own digital home theater. Mac Thomason was ragging me several weeks ago when I mentioned I had gotten Band of Brothers on tape rather than DVD, and all I could say was that he was right. DVD players have now gotten as cheap as VCRs, and offer the advantages of small size and not being easily eaten and spat out by a possessed player. And they have all that digital option stuff so you can zoom and pan and hear the director's commentary on Barney--The Compleat "I Love You, You Love Me" Compendium. I had anticipated getting us one for Christmas, and had even gotten Rebecca a music video disc with that expectation, but then there was that whole washing machine debacle. (By the way--the group on her video is called Play, and the video seems devoted to showing that even the youngest girls can be made up to look like 77 year old German hookers. Good grief, what is wrong with people?)

But, a few paychecks later, and we again had enough saved up to get something and send our videotapes to the shelf with our massive collection of 8-tracks. I had originally decided to get one of the combo units, reasoning somehow that we needed to have both in one unit. I can't even figure out what I was thinking way back a month ago. Since we already had a VCR, I figured it would be no problem to just add a regular DVD player and go on with life. Simple and no more equipment that we didn't need, and no extra VCR left over afterwards.

So, two weekends ago I stopped by Wal-Mart on the way home and picked up a nice Sony. Not too expensive, not dirt cheap, just something I thought would fit nicely inside the cabinet with the VCR and the TV. Got home all excited, had supper, and started the oh-so-simple process of installation.

Hm. Okay, three plug cable, goes in here anddd....hm. Well. Being an older cheapo VCR, there are no additional input jacks on the backside for additional inputs. Hm. Well, maybe the TV...CRAP. Older TV that has only a coaxial jack--from when cable was going to rule the world. Not even an antenna jack, just a mockingly simple coax. I started pawing through all the clear plastic baggies of cast-off audio/video cables and splitters and bits and pieces and finally came to the conclusion (after much R-rated language and brief nudity) that this particular Sony was not quite expensive enough to have come equipped with two sets of output jacks on the backside, and there was no way I was going to make it work with the parts I had. This had now become the Apollo 13 of video installation, except it was the alternative version in which none of Mission Control's fixes actually worked, and it just kept coasting past the moon out into the Milky Way. Grr.

Grr. GRR-GRR-stinkin'GRR-ASsamassa-gol-dang-flippin-ERRRRGHGHGHG! And then some. But, since I am really stupid, I decided that this just wouldn't do. I had made a commitment to my family to buy into the Next Big Thing, and I was not going to be denied the opportunity for my daughter to watch her, and our, only DVD. SO, what to do? Well, obviously, I just needed The Right Parts.

Back to Wal-Mart. Rows upon rows of gleaming gold-tipped cables, stacks of splicers and splitters and remotes and switches and adapters and marvels of electronics. Except for what I needed. I looked again at all the DVD players on the shelf. Some had the added output jacks that might have worked, but what I needed was something that would hook into that hateful coax jack--I needed, I needed...hmm, "Includes Built In RF Modulator to Play on ALL Televisions!" THAT'S IT! I needed an RF modulator! Like Marvin the Martian, I scurried back over to the piles of electronic geegaws mumbling in a high-pitched nasally whine about my "Illudium Q-36 Explosive SPACE modulator!" and saw what I was looking for--"RF MODLTR $24.89" right above a completely empty peg. Actually three empty pegs. Not a single one. Apparently, everyone else ran into the same situation. Sigh. And Grr.

What now? I kept walking back and forth between the empty pegs and the hateful componentry, hoping for some epiphany or something. On the other side of the aisle, someone had taken it upon themselves to open up a Sony combo unit, and it had the highly advanced alien technology of the built-in modulator, and sure enough, there was a coax output jack on the back, and instructions to the effect of "plug in the supplied coaxial cable HERE and HERE, press ON, and enjoy all the societal benefits that digital technology has to offer you and be satisfied knowing that you didn't waste time with something that wouldn't work on your TV." None of the other players that just played DVDs had this. Only the combination units.

Another trip back to pegs (which sadly had not been miraculously restocked by elves), a quick calculation of how much a modulator would add to my investment, several false starts to leave and go see if K-Mart had any modulators, then a final breakdown in which I steeled myself to purchase ANOTHER DVD player, combined with a VCR. I picked up one from Sanyo, making sure it had a nice plain coax jack before leaving.

Back home with ANOTHER player, take out old VCR, carefully repack Sony unit for return to Wal-Mart, power cord plugged in, coax in and out, antenna in (nope, we are still cable Amish), and turn everything on. Success! Let's see, it only took FOUR HOURS!

But now we have the latest in soon-to-be-replaced technology, and it is pretty sweet. As I mentioned yesterday, I rewatched Ghostbusters again over the weekend for the first time in many, many years. Now THAT'S a movie. And the neat thing is that the kids could watch it because the tricky smart machinery would mute all the naughty words, including Bill Murray solemnly intoning, "That's true, Mr. Mayor. This man has no dick." Also got to indulge in a feast of 20 Ecuadorian llamas whilst watching the Greatest Movie of the Past 100 Years, Monty Python and the Holy Grail for the umpti-jillionth time. To see a clean, digital copy of this movie just makes me...it makes me want to SING!

In other news, Middle Girl and Boy both made the All-A honor roll for the past nine weeks, Tiny Girl needs only to work on writing her last name neatly, and Oldest Girl needs to perform up to her potential in two of her six classes. She's done better this nine weeks, but is just consumed with trying to be everything she's not. She's smart, but the cool kids act stupid, so she thinks she has to. She's pretty, but she doesn't look like a miniature raver like the cool kids, so she thinks she has to. She has parents who expect her to do as she's told, but none of the cool kids do, so she thinks she shouldn't have to mind us. She gets just as much stuff, gets away with as much misbehavior, and has opportunities to do fun stuff just like the other kids in our family, but the cool kids at school all complain about living better than 99% of the world's population, so she figures she has to. She can be thoughtful and sweet, but that's not cool, so much of her time is spent in self-absorbed jackassery so she can be like the cool kids.

Good grief, I sure hope she grows out of this stage--although if she doesn't, I guess there's always Hollywood.

posted by Terry at 11:15:00 AM

Whew.

What a day that was. Hopefully today will not be quite so full of inanity. You know, I give bureaucrats a pretty hard time, mainly because I are one now, and before I came here lo seven years ago, I had to deal with them for the seven years I worked on the private side. Not all of us are brain-damaged schmoos whose lips move when we read, but there are enough that it kind of make you wonder sometimes. An example of what I have to deal with on a near-daily basis is in order.

We have a gigantic (8 feet wide by 5 feet high) old (circa 1952) aerial photograph of Birmingham that hangs in one of our conference rooms. My great big boss called the other day and wanted to know if there was any way to copy it, since it's getting so faded. I told him I would find out, and promptly forgot about it. (I have an aversion to exercise, especially exercises in futility. I had gotten a price on reproducing a similar large format drawing for my deputy great big boss not long ago, and the price caused everyone to reach for the smelling salts.)

Anyway, I went on my happy way, figuring I would call about it this week sometime to get some prices from a couple of the folks here in town that do such things. Then yesterday I got an interoffice e-mail from the professional administrative assistant of Great Big Boss.

Did I overhear a conversation X had with you about the very large picture in the back of the conference room in this suite? If so, what is the statue?

Thanks.

Whoa! Am I being checked up on? Wait, huh? "Did I overhear"? What's this crap? What in the world is this about? And then to add to my puzzlement about the reason behind the message is this cryptic bit about a statue. What statue is she talking about? There is no statue in the picture, unless she meant the big golden nekkid lady on top of the Alabama Power building. Maybe she knows about something else he wanted to have a picture made of. WHO KNOWS!? So I wrote her back, being very careful to leave in her part so she would know about the statue

I'm not sure what statue you're talking about--can you give me a hint?

>Did I overhear a conversation X had with you about the very large
>picture in the back of the conference room in this suite?
>If so, what is the statue?

Thanks.

I wasn't trying to be a smart aleck or anything, just trying to figure out what she was referring to. About an hour later, the phone rang and it was her. "Yes, didn't I hear X tell you to find out something about that big picture?" Again, what is not getting through, here? I am totally baffled as to why she can't figure this out--"Yes, he told me to get a price on copying it--but your e-mail confused me--what statue are you talking about?"

"Status. I wanted to know the status."

"OHhhh," I chuckled, "it said "statue" on your message, and I just got confused!" I kind of expected her to chuckle, too, as it was a pretty funny typo.

Deadpan--"No. It said "status," I'm looking at it now."

WTF?

"Ah...well, I know now you meant "status," but you understand my confusion, because you wrote "statue." Anyway, yes he did ask me to do that and I should have something by the middle of the week." Tried to keep the smile in my voice, because it never is smart to antagonize the AAs.

No reaction. "Okay. I just wanted to be sure that was off my plate now. Bye."

So, let me get this straight--it was YOUR assignment, you didn't do it, and you didn't ask our mutual Great Big Boss if you were still supposed to do it, but rather you decided to send me a mysterious message complete with non sequitur, then act as if I was too stupid to read your mind and know that you meant "status" when you wrote "statue," and rather than continuing to use the magical e-mail sending box to clarify what you meant, you picked up the telephone and called (which you really should have done in the first place if you are so uncomfortable using a keyboard) acting as if I misread what you wrote, all simply to find out if you were off the hook for not doing your job? 'kay. Just wanted to be sure.

If this were an isolated incident, if this was just one person, it wouldn't be a big deal, I reckon. But this place is jam-packed with nuttiness from top to bottom.

And no one inside can figure out why no one outside trusts us.

posted by Terry at 8:30:00 AM

Monday, January 13, 2003

Still tied up and unable to blog--the trip to the doctor's office took about an hour longer than anticipated, only part of the problem being the presence of every sick child in Birmingham. Also had to get money from the ATM in the other part of the hospital to get out of the deck, then go back to the doctor's office to get an excuse for school, then stop and get some food since we were going to get back to school after lunch, then had to go to bank, then had to save the world, then got here and had to measure a great huge honking photograph, and then call around and see if anyone could make a nice copy of it (no) and how much it will cost (expensive), and all that other stuff.

And I still have to get this garbage finished on my desk.

Maybe tomorrow will be less busy.

posted by Terry at 4:12:00 PM

Via an electronic mail message from My Friend Jeff™, a link to the new counsel of record for Possumblog.

posted by Terry at 10:16:00 AM

Irene Adler--NOW WITH MORE DEAD PEOPLE!

posted by Terry at 9:36:00 AM

Busy day today--must finish a set of meeting minutes, have our happy fun staff meeting, pick up Middle Girl from school and take her to get her throat swabbed to insure that she is no longer a festering Petri dish of streptococci, go to the bank and deposit enough to stave off the sheriff for another two weeks, take Middle Girl back to school, get back to work and measure something, and other assorted odd tasks. So, blogging will be intermittent, if it occurs at all aside from this post. The weekend was as most are--laundry--with the exception of going and dropping a huge sum of cash for all of us to buy popcorn and see the future ex-Mrs. Ben Affleck in Maid in Manhattan. Reviews to follow. Also watched a REAL movie--Ghostbusters. On DVD, no less! Yes, as I mentioned last week, we now have entered the late 20th Century, and it's pretty cool. Hard to believe Ghostbusters is 20 years old--what a fun movie, and it has Sigourney Weaver. 'Nuff said. Further, as witnessed by this week's silly slogan at the top, I also picked up the Two Disc Executive Version of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, with Added Llama. Nothing like having it in every conceivable format to insure that it lives on forever. Anyway, much boringness to relate, at some point when I have time. Until then, go read everyone else in the blogroll up top, and by the time you get through, maybe there will be something else here to read.

Or not.

posted by Terry at 8:30:00 AM

Friday, January 10, 2003

Onward

I have a few more hours before quitting time, but each one must be filled with some productive work, so this ends the odd possumosity for this week.

::sound of boss whizzing by my office saying to go meet in conference room::

I started this post over two hours ago, right before being called into an unscheduled planning meeting (i.e. non-productive work) that just now ended (4:49 p.m.). Now I have no time to say what I was going to say, so I will just say all of you have a good weekend and I'll see you Monday!

posted by Terry at 2:34:00 PM

Hey, cool...

Some interesting news from The Plains--

AUBURN -- Retired Lt. Gen. Harold G. Moore, who co-authored the bestseller We Were Soldiers Once . . . and Young, will address Auburn University's Academy for Lifelong Learners Winter General Meeting on Jan. 13. [...]

An avid outdoor sports enthusiast, Moore and his wife of 52 years, Julie, divide their time between homes in Auburn and Crested Butte, Colo. [...]

Mighty nice to have somebody like that around here. (Maybe we should persuade the AU Band to learn "Garryowen.")

posted by Terry at 1:48:00 PM

Chest-NUTTTTTs 'splodinnnnn, in a tiny spaaaaaaaace...

posted by Terry at 1:09:00 PM

Oops.

I have done gone and missed a momentous occasion, that being the one year blogiversary of Page Fault Interrupt way back on January 4. Craig promises to continue delivering "30% more snark," and as always, the Axis of Weevil is proud to boast that we have a Biggerstaff than anyone else.

Our apologies for the oversight.

(And whoever is the last one who got the card we were sending around, please continue to pass it along. No, not to Craig, it's HIS card! No, someone else is taking up money, just sign the card. No, I don't know who got your pen, and anyway, it had a pen on the card. No, we can't leave early.)

posted by Terry at 12:22:00 PM

Young Kids May Miss Joke in Sarcastic Jibe

Ya think?

Maybe that's why when I keep saying, "Hey kids, do you think you can tear the house apart any quicker?" they just look at me and shrug their shoulders as if to say, "Well, maybe, but we're doing the best we can right now, Dad."

posted by Terry at 12:10:00 PM

We here at the Possumblog Editorial Offices take pride that Possumblog often seems to be the number one magnet for the disaffected on the Internet, witnessed by such things as people who show up here looking for stuff like websites where u can do the ouiji board. The sad fact is that we know exactly the place where this can be done.

Thank u for uour inquiry, and we hope u have fun.

posted by Terry at 11:11:00 AM

What better way to begin Twenty-03 than with a rich, juicy, new Scourge of Richard Cohen, Volume LXXIII-A! Axis of Weevil Grand Inquisitor Mr. Austin explains the absense of whip sounds of late:

[...] Having me by the short hairs, I have been quite the compliant nose-grinder of late, so, I haven’t been posting much the last few weeks. I also feel bad about neglecting my many friends and acquaintances in the blogosphere, and I have been very, very bad about responding to e-mail for a while. I’m even being taunted now in an effort to get me to post. The blogosphere may have my heart and mind, but, well, those tentacles can exert an awful lot of pressure, even if I am condemned to useless labor like others before me guilty of avarice. But, I digress. [...]

You say avarice like it's a bad thing.

posted by Terry at 9:50:00 AM

Hamas Urges Iraq to Use Suicide Bombers Against US

JABALYA REFUGEE CAMP, Gaza Strip (Reuters) - A leader of the militant Palestinian group Hamas urged Iraq on Friday to use suicide bombers to confront any U.S. military offensive.

"I call on Iraq to prepare an army of would-be martyrs and prepare tens of thousands of explosive belts," Abdel Aziz al-Rantissi told 3,000 Hamas supporters at a pro-Iraq rally in the Jabalya refugee camp in the Gaza Strip (news - web sites).

"Blow yourselves up against the American army. Bomb them in Baghdad," said Rantissi, whose Islamic fundamentalist organization has carried out dozens of suicide attacks in Israel before and during a Palestinian uprising for statehood.

Gee-whillikers, that's not very Peaceful™, now is it?

Look, we just want to help--if you want martyrdom, please don't feel you have to go to all the trouble and expense (and fashion risk) of wearing bomb belts--just stand reallll still. We'll get to you as quick as possible.

posted by Terry at 9:40:00 AM

What would happen...

If by some stroke of odd fortune, certain people had the means to travel back in time--

The Location--Washington, D.C., on the steps of the United States Capitol
The Year--1861

"Once again the world now waits with fear and trepidation regarding the threat of a US attack on the Confederacy. The President provides as justification for this impending attack the Southern states’ refusal to stay in the Union, the alleged Confederate threat to its neighbors and the Confederate government's mistreatment of its slaves.

The American people are being called upon to send their young sons to go and kill other young American sons. This war, like all wars, will be brutal and will leave many American families mourning the loss of their children.

We're not allowed to publicly question the Lincoln Administration for fear of being called unpatriotic. Aren't we entitled to really know why we're being urged to go to war? Aren't we entitled to be confident that the Administration is telling the truth?

But the President would have us believe that this time things are different for once, he says, we're going to war to save people's lives. However, just last Sunday, the Washington Post's lead story carried the banner headline "In Civil War Scenario, Cotton is the Key Issue." The article then went on to describe how US textile companies were looking forward to taking advantage of the cotton bonanza, which would follow Jefferson Davis’ removal from office.

The article says that non-US textile companies who sided with Davis would most likely be excluded from sharing in the South’s massive cotton reserves.

And I find the current Lincoln fervor and alleged urgent justifications for attacking the Confederacy startling because I recall reading an article from the London Guardian last year, which had a banner headline "Secret US Plan for Civil War." The article, almost a year old now, is interesting because it reports that the President had already ordered his senior military commanders to draw up detailed plans for a military operation against the South.

What I found most incredible about the article, especially after reading this week's Washington Post article, was the last sentence which said: "The most adventurous ingredient in the anti-Confederate proposal is the use of US ground troops . . . significant numbers of [US] troops could also be called on in the early stages of any rebellion to guard cotton warehouses around the port of Norfolk in eastern Virginia."

Isn't it amazing the London Times didn't refer to US troops guarding the new democratically elected Confederate Congress in Montgomery, or the schools or hospitals full of ravaged civilians, or saving the men, women and children brutalized under years of slavery. I wonder why the President hasn't talked about these plans, which were being cooked up nearly a year ago.

I learned this week from the Times of London that Lincoln Administration plans to spend some $200m on convincing a skeptical American and world public that the war on the Confederacy is justified. I didn't realize that telling the truth would be so expensive.

Before we send our young men off to war, we need to really make sure that we're not sacrificing them so that rich and powerful men can prosecute a war for cotton."

Yep, it's an interesting concept, alright.

posted by Terry at 9:23:00 AM

Hey, you know, I think I would like to hear Marty say that, too.

posted by Terry at 8:50:00 AM

She's back!

Good to see Miss Moira up and blogging again, with a nice link back here (thanks!) about the story of the septuagenarian Saxon hooker, along with posts on the Horror That Is Andy Rooney, We Be Kim Jong Illin', a link to Po' Man's Guide to The Blandly Handsome and Insane, and an update on the old dead K-man.

And thanks to Ron Bailey for the nice words directed this way--the check's in the mail, Ron! Well, not really. But thanks!

And thanks to a recent visitor searching Lycos for purpose of rattlesnake--the staff of the Possumblog Center for the Study of Satan's Little Puppets has been long at work to figure this one out and have come to the following preliminary findings:

The purpose of the rattlesnake is--

1) To scare people;
2) To provide something for snake-handling Pentecostals to handle;
3) To make more rattlesnakes;
4) To give Opp something to attract tourists;
5) To stand by in case Satan needs to deceive someone (just a tip here--if a snake starts talking to you, don't listen);
6) To scare people;
7) To provide yet one more animal that when cooked can be compared to the taste of chicken;
8) To give Fred First something to blog about (well, not rattlesnakes, per se, but close enough);
9) To make some really cool cowboy boots, cowboy hat bands, cowboy wallets, cowboy bolo ties, cowboy lamp shades, etc.

That's about it.

posted by Terry at 8:42:00 AM

Thursday, January 09, 2003

Archives somewhat fixed now

In spite of the wonderful level of technical support from Blogger, I went ahead and tried to implement a kludgy workaround in order to regain the three months of unarchived posts that somehow vanished into the ether. They are listed out of chronological order at the top of the Archive page, but at least they can be viewed.

::sigh::

posted by Terry at 5:04:00 PM

I notice Ev is proudly trumpeting that Blogger has reached one MILLLLION users.

Wow.

Imagine how many wrecked archives that amounts to. By the way, thanks to Blogger for its continued lack of response to this problem.

Blogger--It's Free, and it Shows!

posted by Terry at 4:31:00 PM

U.S. Believes North Korea Has Message to Convey

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - The United States approved a meeting between North Korean diplomats and New Mexico Gov. Bill Richardson because it believes Pyongyang wishes to convey a message, a senior U.S. official said on Thursday. [...]

"I mean, they're like all, 'I wanna tell you somethin,' and we're like, 'kay, so say it,' and they're like 'will not,' and they are like SO retarded and they keep calling and hanging up and looking at us in class and stuff, oh my GAH! they are SO creepy and they hang around by the bleachers and are all like really tough, you know, 'cause they say they're holding, and the principal keeps trying to put them in detention and they keep skipping, and so we're all like 'Shut UP and don't be so dumb,' --you know, I think like their mom is sleeping around and all, so maybe that's it."

posted by Terry at 3:57:00 PM

Japan's Shadow Economy Booms on Cheap Sex and Drugs

...Would Rival U.S. Except for Difficulty in Saying "Rock and Roll"

posted by Terry at 1:46:00 PM

TV Commercials Link SUVs, Terror Funds

By NADA EL SAWY, Associated Press Writer

LOS ANGELES - A group hoping to lessen U.S. reliance on foreign oil on Wednesday debuted two television ads that link gas-guzzling sport utility vehicles to terrorist funding.

The ads mimic spots that link drug money to terrorism.

One commercial features a child's voiceover and shows a man filling his gas tank and footage of terrorist training. The closing statement: "Oil money supports some terrible things. What kind of mileage does your SUV get?"

The other ad shows people talking about their SUVs. One says, "My kids think it's cool." Another says, "I helped blow up a nightclub."

The 30-second ads were created for The Detroit Project, a nonprofit launched by syndicated columnist Arianna Huffington. They will begin airing Sunday in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, San Francisco, Washington and Detroit.

"This campaign is not designed to demonize SUV owners," Huffington said. "We want to encourage customers to connect the dots and make socially responsible consumer choices."

Translation--"This campaign is designed to demonize SUV owners. We don't really give a rat's ass about social responsibility or consumers having any sort of actual choice."

Hey, I got an idea for you folks--rather than sit around worrying that something we buy might fund terrorists, let's just eliminate the terrorists.

posted by Terry at 1:27:00 PM

More Old Bookery

Greg Hlatky at A Dog's Life gives us some lessons in being civilized, via a 1934 volume of Emily Post:

[...] A little more seriously, nowadays we think of etiquette as a bunch of silly, fussy rules meant to tyrannize us into compliant behavior. Reading Miss Post's book gives you a rather different view. Seen in context, her recommendations make perfectly good sense and most could be followed today almost without change. Instead of pettiness, their aim is good taste, restrained elegance, efficiency, pride in one’s self and home and, above all, courtesy, respect, and hospitality for one’s fellow man.

All thoroughbred people are considerate of the feelings of others no matter what the station of the others may be. Thackeray’s climber who “licks the boots of those above him and kicks the faces of those below him on the social ladder,” is a very good illustration of what a gentleman is not…

A gentleman never takes advantage of another’s helplessness or ignorance, and assumes that no gentleman will take advantage of him…

Simplicity...has a quality of self-effacement, but it really means a love of the essential and of directness. Simple people put no trimmings on their phrases, nor on their manners; but remember, simplicity is not crudeness nor anything like it. On the contrary, simplicity of speech and manners means language in its purest, most limpid form, and manners of such perfection that they do not suggest “manner” at all…
All thoroughbred women, and men, are considerate of others less fortunately placed, especially of those in their employ. One of the tests by which to distinguish between the woman of breeding and the woman merely of wealth, is to notice the way she speaks to dependents…When you see a woman in silks and sables and diamonds speak to a little errand girl or a footman or a scullery maid as though they were the dirt under her feet, you may be sure of one thing; she hasn’t come a very long way from the ground herself.
Maybe Michael Moore might want to remember this last one. [...]

Greg's comments about the kids is spot on, too. I am the possessor of a nice late '40s edition of Miss Post's work that belonged to my mom (before I stole it from her) and I remember reading it while in high school. It is one of the reasons that I still stay on the curb side while walking with a lady, why I open doors for them, why I hold their coat, why I help them with their chair, why I stand when they enter the room, and why I find it very difficult to shake their hand unless they first extend theirs.

It is probably also why Reba and I always get compliments on the kids' manners when we eat out. They sit still, use their forks and knives properly, and don't shove entire rolls into their mouths. Usually. The conversation doesn't quite rise to the level of that found at the Algonquin Round Table, but they're working on it.

Speaking of speaking, there is further evidence from last evening that my kids have continued to develop a nice sense of comic timing.

Wednesday evenings are a bear at our house--leave work, rush to school to pick them all up, rush home, try to fix some supper (or more usually grab something from Sonic and eat in the car), then grab all the Bibles and classbooks and head for church, then head back home, then try to get them all bathed and in the bed before I pass out. Usually works pretty well, although last night Catherine was in deliberate piddle-around-as-slow-as-possible-in-order-to-avoid-going-to-bed mode; she took a near 30 minute bath (I have GOT to take out all the boats!), then wouldn't clear the deck to let Jonathan get his bath, but just sat there in the floor playing and roughhousing with him, then when we told her to get her clothes in the hamper she balked and sat around playing some more. Finally, Dadinator had to start chewing up the scenery and throwing a fit and dispensing hurtful sayings and predictions of dire consequences if a) Tiny Girl did not get her little round mound up outta the floor, b) pick up her smelly clothes from this and the previous day, c) take them posthaste and get them in the hamper in Mom and Dad's bathroom as fast as her chubby little legs could carry her, d) get up outta the floor of Mom and Dad's bathroom, e) get in the bed, f) cover up, and g) not make another sound the rest of the evening under penalty of Dad.

O woe. O horror. Crying and wailing and the snubbing, stuttering ululation of a five year old--"WaaaAAAAaaaaAAaa--Da--Dee--T--Old--Metogetupoff--THE--Fl--Fl--Fl--OOOOOoooooorrrr!!! Da--a--aa-aa--DEEE toldmetoGOTOBE--BE--BEDDDDDDDD!!!!!!! AAAhhhhhhhhoohoohooo!" ::sniff, snort, pound down hallway and collapse on bed:: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA---IIII--Wa--Wa--Want Ma-ma-mama to check, check, check--on--meeeeeee!" She quieted down and Reba went in to "check on her," (which is more or less like getting tucked in) and somehow the conversation quickly returned to parental manipulation as Catherine got Mommy to rub her back--"Hey Mama, you know how you see them people does that thing where they hits your back with their hands? Do that!" Reba gave her a few soft little karate chops and Catherine talked and giggled so she could hear her voice vibrate. Then the next task--"Hey Mama, would you wub my widdle feet?" Did I mention manipulative? So, Reba tickled her toeses and rubbed her feet and told her a bedtime story, then jokingly kissed each little toe. Catherine let her finish, then with a wicked little grin said, "Hey Mama, you know what? I didn't wash my toes when I tooks my bath!!!"

Cackles of glee over her joke, and a quick kiss on the head and she was finally ready to go to sleep.

Little rat.

Five years old and she's already got the timing of Lucille Ball.

posted by Terry at 11:00:00 AM

Wednesday, January 08, 2003

Hey, a new one from Larry Anderson over in the Kudzu patch:

A friend has become concerned about the misuse of electrons he sees on the www. He is thinking about starting a movement to save the electrons. I tell him that I don't think any electrons are lost on the www, but he counters by asking what happens to all the electrons that make up the useless email he erases everyday. I have no answer for him. So if you want to become a charter member of the "Save the Endangered Electron Foundation", apply here and I'll pass your name along. Well, you have to admit it makes as much sense as 90% of the other environmental organizations out there.

Indeed it do.

And, in more interesting news from North Alabama, Larry has started another blog (which might be considered a Possumblog grandblogchild, or at least a first cousinblog, once removed), this one devoted to military matters. It's called Before Breakfast, which I'm sure is taken from the old Army recruiting commercial about a grunt who boasts that he does more before breakfast than most people do all day.

Oo-rah.

posted by Terry at 4:34:00 PM

RUN, CLETUS, RUN!!!

But, not from the law.

(By the way, Mr. Possum has a B.Arch., and he deeply regrets his earlier suggestion that the girl in the SS may have been sandbagging.

There is no substitute for cubic inches.)

posted by Terry at 4:24:00 PM

You know what we haven't had in a while?

Think for a moment.

Yeah, nothing from our old pal Osama bin Laden.

I mean, there was that "it's him/it's not him" tape back in November, but since then, nothing. No exercise video, no mysterious voice, no breathless Dan Rather rambling...oh, wait, that still happens, he hasn't updated his blog since JUNE, no groundbreaking ceremonies for any new Lil' Bomber daycares, and the sorry SOB didn't even send me a Christmas card!

There is this nice little story via the ever reliable Middle East Online from the lawyer/spokessheik for the doctor/lieutenant-moron to brother Osama:

CAIRO - Osama bin Laden's Egyptian lieutenant, Ayman al-Zawahri, has called for attacks on "all Americans", in a message attributed to him and sent to Cairo lawyer Montasser al-Zayyat.

"By God, do not prevent new Muslim souls from taking part in the Jihad (holy war), which consists of killing all Americans, just like they kill us all," Zawahri purportedly said in an e-mail, the lawyer said.

Yeah, it's hard to spread around that Religion of Peace™ unless you can waste a few infidels.

"The Jihad against the enemies of God who kill us all over the world surely comes at a price. This price is minimal, whatever it is, since it is a matter of satisfying God and reaching paradise," he wrote in the message.

Well, you know you could get there a lot quicker, Ayman, if you get up and go outside the cave and wave at the friendly Predator.

"Do not question an act which leads to paradise," read the message sent to the Internet site of Al-Mostaqbal (the future), an organisation founded by Zayyat.

The lawyer, who often represents Islamists on trial in Egypt, said he was convinced the message came from Zawahri.

Bin Laden's right-hand man in the al-Qaeda terror network also backed a recent decision by Egyptian Islamists to stop attacks in their home country. "As for the halt to operations in Egypt, this is the voice of reason," he said.

Well, we certainly must be reasonable, now, mustn't we? Wouldn't want to do anything crazy or stupid. Nope. Bad thing, that.

Oh well, maybe Osama's just resting his kidney or something.

posted by Terry at 4:10:00 PM

It's Wednesday, So It's Lileks Time!

Well, every day is really Lileks time, but today there is a new Newhouse (which seems to be titled the same as the last one--wake up guys!) all about the new economic stimulus package working its way through the alimentary canal that is Congress:

[...] House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi made a telling point: If the Democrats proposed spending $600 billion on a stimulus package, she said, the Republicans would scream.

She's right. The Dems wouldn't shave $600 billion from other programs, because we all know there's not a single government expenditure that can spare a farthing. They'd take $600 billion more from taxpayers. Hence the screaming.

The Bush approach is different: You get to keep more of your money. This will "cost" the government nothing, since it didn't have the money in the first place. Tax cuts don't cost money. Spending costs money.

Heresy! Really? The Democrats' analysis never seems to include the tax revenue generated by the stimulating effect of tax cuts. They assume that the "rich" won't invest, buy things, hire people, put a few bucks in the bank. No, the rich will light cigars with rolled-up $100 bills, or buy gold shillelaghs for the Prosperity Leprechauns who woke them up one night and showed them where the pots of gold were hidden. We will revert to a Hobbesian state where gouty, dour aristocrats ride carriages over the crackling bones of the destitute. [...]

Cool! Prosperity Leprechauns!

posted by Terry at 3:09:00 PM

Via Snopes, your chance to score huge wads of cash from the scum-sucking record industry by opting-in to the Great Big Ol' CD Price Fixin' Happy Fun Class Action Lawsuit. In doing so, not only do you line the pockets of hordes of lawyers and keep the economy humming happily with the trickled-down effects of greens fees and Bimmer service, you also are eligible for payments that can go all the way up to...20 genuine American dollar bills.

Or, nothing.

As with all great schemes of judicial largesse, the actual payout depends not on how many price-fixed CDs you purchased, but on the total number of claimants. If so many sign up that the pie gets divvied up in slices smaller than 5 bucks per person, the kitty gets given to "not-for-profit, charitable, governmental or public entities to be used for music-related purposes or programs for the benefit of consumers who purchased Music Products."

Obviously, the way to make anything off of this is to declare the creation of The Benevolent Protective Order of the Possum Charitable Institute for the Benefit of Consumers of Music Products, a 501(c)3 Corporation. We'll have all sorts of support groups for 8-track users, and instructional seminars on how to operate all your various music playing devices such as radios, coordinate school tours of music stores, and sit around listening to music. We'll do all sorts of that wonderful diverse and sensitive enabling and empowering and facilitating and interfacing and resonating crap.

Should be good for a few mill here or there, don'tcha think?

posted by Terry at 2:42:00 PM

The World's Oldest Professional

posted by Terry at 1:37:00 PM

Heart-Throb Clooney Bares Bottom to Promote Film

In a related story, the writer of Possumblog threatened to expose his bottom unless he is paid a large sum of cash.

posted by Terry at 1:34:00 PM

Saddam Says Troops Unbeatable, if Well Supplied

By Nadim Ladki

BAGHDAD (Reuters) - The American GI's 21st-century kit will count for nothing, says President Saddam Hussein, against the Iraqi infantryman armed with a rifle, God's blessing -- and local villagers ready to feed him on the battlefield. [...]

It is enough to have grenades, launchers, a loaf of bread, a drink of water and a rifle. Then, counting on God, Iraq will be safe and I don't see any difficulties in the battle -- unless the fighter says he has no bread or no water to drink. [...]

Well, bless their hearts. Actually, I think it won't be so hard to put food in them--the hard part's going to be keeping it in, what with all the icky holes punched in them and all.

posted by Terry at 1:31:00 PM

Alabama Receives Grade of F on Laws Protecting Kids From Guns

Alabama received an F because it is among the worst states in the country at protecting its children from gun violence. Alabama does not require child-safety locks to be sold with guns, does not hold adults responsible for leaving loaded guns around children, and does not have any safety standards for handguns.

Interesting, ain't it. Because, first of all, it's for The Children™, so if you have any qualms about what they are saying, you are de facto a potential child killer. It's also interesting in that any sort of firearm accident is now "violence." Violence™ is as bad as The Children™ are good. Well, okay then, let's talk about flame violence for all those parents who callously allow their kids to die by living in flammable houses. When a kid mashes his finger in a window, it's no longer an 'oops', why, that's fenestration violence. Then there is the horror of concrete violence, or bicycle violence, or fork violence, or drain cleaner violence. I'm not saying that the accidental deaths aren't terrible--they certainly are, but labelling such things as violence does no one any good. Unless, you're not really interested in reducing accidental deaths, but in pushing a specific political agenda. Not that anyone would dare do that.

Anyway, back to the Bradyscreed--nope, Alabama doesn't require gun locks to be sold with guns. Big deal. Alabama doesn't require kitchen knives to be made out of rubber, either, and you know how kids plunder in drawers. Merely requiring that gun locks be sold with a gun is another one of the meaningless feel-good wishful thinking Cloud-Cuckoo Land ideas that clutter the minds of certain folks. Requiring locks to be sold does not mean that they will be used, nor that a child will not defeat it if it is used.

And nope--we don't hold adults responsible for having loaded guns around children, because that's not a crime. Just like leaving around a drawer full of razor sharp cutlery is not a crime. Under Section 13A of the Code of Alabama, it does become a crime if there is evidence of neglect, or in the words of the Code, causing the child to become a "dependent child"--defined, in part, by Section 12-15-1 as a child

[...] d. Whose home, by reason of neglect, cruelty, or depravity on the part of the parent, parents, guardian, or other person in whose care the child may be, is an unfit and improper place for the child; [...] or, f. Who is in a condition or surroundings or is under improper or insufficient guardianship or control as to endanger the morals, health, or general welfare of the child;

There is sufficient latitude within the law for a parent to be charged with endangerment or neglect, by any cause, not just "gun violence." Granted, such a crime is only a misdemeanor, which maybe could be strengthened to felony status, and then there's all that messy stupid due process stuff to contend with about making the state actually prove the case. In the end, however, whether there is any law specifically calling out the presence of fireams as a circumstance of endangerment, or if the law calls it a felony or misdemeanor, it has no effect on the likelihood of a child being hurt or killed. Just because murder is illegal doesn't stop it from happening. Just having a law that says "guns are bad" won't save anyone from getting hurt.

Safety standards for handguns--I assume they mean manufacturing standards to keep us all safe from all those huge numbers of unsafe guns made from gum wrappers and paper clips--and nope, we ain't got those either. Because they are meaningless claptrap. Alabama does not regulate the manufacturing standards of cars, or ladders, or boats, or condoms, or bathtubs, or a host of other highly dangerous and violent consumer products. We have product liability laws that regulate injury or damage caused by defective products, so if there is a manufacturer who manufactures a firearm that blows up in your hand, you can hire John Edwards (D, My Back Pocket) and sue 'em. Yes, I know states try to be the bold regulators of consumer safety, but to what effect? Does it reduce "gun violence?" Nah. Look, you want to regulate the way they're made, be my guest, but let's be sure we catch all the other potential tools of mayhem and destruction, not just guns. That would be fair, right? Unless there is someone pushing a specific political agenda. Not that anyone would dare do that.

Now, on to some more from the Protectors of All Sacred Life--

Furthermore, the state abolished its waiting period for handgun sales, and does not require background checks at gun shows.

Well, only because some guy named Brady told us that we would all live in Paradise if only The Nation would come up with a criminal database to check potential firearm purchasers. Remember? Now, are you telling us that it's not good enough and we need to reinstate our waiting period (which was in place only to allow time to run a record check)? Hmm. How odd.

And no, there is no Brady check required when a private citizen sells a firearm to another private citizen within the same state. Because that's the way the law is written--the National Instant Check System is designed to regulate dealers who sell firearms as part of their business. It was not written to be used by every private citizen who wants to sell a gun. For the most part, that's what a gun show is, private individuals; but if there is a dealer selling at a gun show, well, yes, he has to go through all of the child-protecting paperwork, because that's what Jim and Sarah wanted.

The "gun show loophole" is another one of those scare things that keeps coming up, and it's just not true. If you want to make private individuals who are not in the gun business use NICS when they sell at a gun show, fine, but you need to rewrite the law so that anyone who sells from their home by putting an ad in the paper has to do the same thing.

In 2000, the most recent year for which data is available, 52 children and teenagers in Alabama died from gunfire.

How many were accidents? How many were 19 year old bangers who wound up on the wrong end of a gun? How many were simply tragic accidents caused by a moment's neglect? Hard to tell from these statistics, because to certain people with an agenda, it doesn't really matter. The latest breakout I have found from the National Center for Health Statistics is for 1999, and in that listing 10 children between the ages of 0-19 died from accidental firearms discharges, and there were 26 between ages 15 and 19 who committed suicide by any means (not just firearms). Not quite the same number, but I guess it doesn't really matter to some folks.

Onward then, back to peddling our cycle of violence--

Alabama's weak laws also create devastating consequences outside its borders. According to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (BATF), Alabama is a significant supplier of crime guns to other regions in the nation.

And how are supposedly "strong" laws regarding trigger locks and background checks and cheaply made guns supposed to stop that? Guns used in crimes are used by CRIMINALS, who by definition are PEOPLE WHO BREAK THE LAW. It is a fact that most guns used in a crime, if they can be traced, can be traced back to a licensed dealer. This is only because most guns are sold by licensed dealers, and the vast majority are sold legally at the start of their lives. The average licensed dealer, who has to submit to an FBI screen and pay a steep annual licensing fee and subject himself to a host of Federal regulations, is not out there running a gun smuggling ring. It's just not worth it. And it is exceedingly rare for the initial legal purchaser of a firearm to be perpetrator of a crime with that legally purchased gun. The problem occurs down the stream of commerce, when the legal gun is eventually sold to someone who uses it in a crime, or it is stolen. Trigger locks and gun show background checks and throwing neglectful moms and dads in jail won't stop this.

Alabama can improve its grade next year by requiring child-safety locks to be sold with guns, and by holding adults responsible for leaving loaded guns around children. The state should also require all gun buyers to go through criminal background checks, especially buyers at gun shows. By closing this loophole, Alabama will prevent criminals, fugitives from the law, and kids from buying guns.

Whereby we make the leap of faith required to believe that the passage of meaningless laws will totally eliminate all bad outcomes. Interesting too, how Jim and Sarah now say all gun purchases need to be checked, not just those at gun shows. It's for The Children™, you know, so it must be okay. To whit:

"Polls consistently show that most Americans approve of stronger gun laws to protect our children. Unfortunately, the deep pockets of the gun lobby have paralyzed efforts to enact new legislation at the federal level. Congress and the Bush Administration have turned a deaf ear on the nation's desire for common sense gun laws" said Sarah Brady, Chair of the Brady Campaign. "It has fallen to Governors and state legislatures to take up the mantle of child safety and pass laws to protect our kids from gun violence. Several states have stepped up to meet this challenge. Working with the Million Mom March and grassroots activists in all 50 states, we will continue fighting until not one child is lost to gun violence."

Translation: We asked people "You're not one of those freaks who wants all children to die horrible gun deaths, do you?" and then take the negative to mean that they therefore desire the addition of new layers of legal do-nothingness.

Oh, and then there are those darned deep pockets folks. Evil ones, they are. Not like Jim and Sarah, who only want to eliminate children succumbing to gun violence. Funny, though, because firearm deaths are way down the list of causes of child death--the big one is vehicles, then there's fire, then drowning, the horrors of "other,"--many things that kill way more kids. Maybe they're just insensitive and don't care about kids who die in house fires or cars. Or maybe the whole thing is not really about The Children™ in first place.

Nah, couldn't be.

posted by Terry at 11:00:00 AM

How to Write

The second installment in The Excerpting of a Long Out-of-Print Book on the Writing Art, said Work being Everybody's Writing-Desk Book, as authored by Charles Nisbet and Don Lemon, and published anno Domini 1901:

In an address or literary paper, the speaker or writer better consults his own strength and credit, and the profit and entertainment of his hearers and readers, by choosing his subject in the walk of life whereto he most inclines, and wherein he is most at home.

It is a good rule, so far as practicable, to watch the times and seasons, and take pen in hand only when the subject is in the ascendant. Goethe took care to have always a triplet or more of subjects at hand, and to nurse each only as mood and time served. While he was actively tending the one, the others rested; and when in turn the next was taken up, it was found to be all the better for having been so long asleep. Burns "had usually half a dozen or more pieces on hand, and took up one or the other as suited the momentary mood".

The labor involved in any writing is measurable by the amount and quality of matter to be written. The simple recital of an event the writer has himself witnessed, or of the day's occurences in which he has taken part, is a far easier task than to write, say, the whole life of a man, including the valuation of innumerable details of the circumstances in which he lived, how they affected him, and how he reacted to them. [...]

Proficiency in the art of writing is, in general, not an easy attainment. Facility and excellence of style are in most writers the fruit of long apprenticeship and endless painstaking. As Chaucer says--
"There is na workman
That can both worken well and hastille;
This must be done at leisure parfaitlie."

posted by Terry at 9:42:00 AM

Oh, sure...

Like we really believe the near-amputation story! Obviously, she's been in seclusion having herself cloned.

A gigantic great old big "welcome back" to the one and only Quana X. Jones of Eristic, who has been AWOB (absent without blogging) since National Ammo Day. Good to hear from her again, and Quana, please tell Pops to keep his mitts outta the collard pot.

posted by Terry at 9:10:00 AM

Tuesday, January 07, 2003

No blogging tomorrow morning due to my regular bi-weekly bureaucratic meeting to insure that our good citizens are protected from the horrors of bootleg Coke signs and icky fluorescent yellow awnings. But after I get through with that mess, I can come back in here and create another mess with adverbs and pronouns and stuff!

Now, however, it's off to the house, and then on to take Oldest to her clarinet lesson, and then back to the house to help get the kids ready to go back to school tomorrow. Backpacks and snacks and coats and clean clothes and a good scrubbing for them all! I remember when I was little that I thought Christmas vacation was way too short, but they've been out a long time and I think they're ready to get back and see their friends and compare Santa notes.

posted by Terry at 4:58:00 PM

So, you think possums are stupid, eh?

Welllll, not so fast there, Sparky. Janis Gore of Gone South fame just sent me a link to an article by John Kelso of the Austin-American Statesman, and I must say it's one of the most encouraging things I've ever read for those of us in the Marsupial-American community--

Animal lover gives critters full support

The baby possums are easier to put up with in your brassiere than the baby squirrels, says Allison Adams of Round Rock.

"The hardest to deal with in my bra are the squirrels," said Allison, 23. "The possums are actually the easiest. They're adorable, beautiful little animals, and since they're used to being in a pouch with their mom, they're used to the feeling. The squirrels, they're not used to it. They're moving around, and every once in a while you hear them squeaking."

FINALLY! A woman who truly understands what us possums want!

Seriously, the animal rescue worker really does load baby animals into her bra to warm them up as part of her work for Wildlife Rescue of Austin. Let's say someone hits a mother possum by the side of the road, and the babies are brought to Allison to be saved. If they're cold, pop, there they go, straight into Allison's bra.

"Just whenever the babies come in, it's the easiest way to warm them up," she said.

So true, so true. It just makes me wish I was a baby possum again, it does. Well, maybe not that part about Mom and the Kenworth, but you know what I mean.

So what's the record number of baby animals in her bra at one time? "The most I've had at one time was 12," Allison said, speaking of a passel of young possums. "I was living in Killeen at the time, so it was for about an hour and a half, two hours."

Yep, Killeen. Had to be two hours, at least.

Allison, who works at the Northwest Animal Clinic in Georgetown, puts baby animals in her bra regularly. She figures over the past six years she's stuck baby possums, squirrels, kittens or cottontail rabbits in her bra a total of 75 times.

AND THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT, SO YOU CAN JUST SHUT UP! Come on, admit it! YOU'VE done it, too!

Doesn't this itch? "No," she said, "they get grabby, and sometimes it's a little much. 'Cause when they're on their mom, they have to get grabby. It's instinct. So you just kind of write it off as the thing that's going to happen every now and then." I'll bet that would cause a stir over at Lakeline Mall.

Yeah, every now and then. It's really nothing personal.

A tip for those who want to put baby animals in their underwear: Don't put all of your eggs in one basket, Allison suggests. Put some on one side, some on the other. Otherwise you're going to be out of plumb.

Safety is very important.

Incidentally, Allison says she can go for quite some time with animals in her bra. Maybe one day one of them will play possum in there and refuse to leave.

Well, she IS quite the looker, judging by the photo with the article, and if there's some spare room in there, what's wrong with hanging around for a while, you know?

"I can walk around all day long with them in there," she said. "When we're going somewhere, I mean, it's unrealistic to keep them in the car in a carrier for four or five hours. They get cold."

AND WE CAN'T HAVE THAT! Man, this girl is like the greatest American to ever live!

You mean you can drive with animals in your bra? You betcha. Sometimes when Allison is driving her GMC, she has animals in her front end, so to speak.

So to speak...

"It probably looks pretty funny," she admitted. "A tail hanging out here, a tail hanging out there." But she's been lucky. So far she has yet to be pulled over by the police with critters in her duds. Imagine that little conversation: "Hey, lady, step away from the possum."

By the way, Allison is engaged. So how does her fiancé feel about it? "Everybody has to ask that," she said. "Well, it's kind of a stunner when I come home and he goes to hug me, and he can't, because I have hissing possums. But I guess you get used to that."

Yeah, Bub, so take a hike! No room for you, Buster, just me and the girls! Hisssss!

(Good grief, this girl has some issues, don'tcha think?)

posted by Terry at 3:29:00 PM

And speaking of iron...

Via The Birmingham Business Journal, congratulations to American Cast Iron Pipe Company, who have made it onto Forbes' 100 Best Companies to Work For, for the seventh consecutive year--this year they've moved up to Number 6!

posted by Terry at 2:14:00 PM

Cornbread

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Just received a nice e-mail from a young lady named Sarah Miers, who comes to the furry, somewhat smelly Possum Lair via that bread-hatin' Yourish gal--

Saw your reference to Dreamland ribs and my mouth started watering and my vision got all blurry -- that is my idea of heaven right there. WOW do I miss the South (lived in TN 4 years, New Orleans for 3 years). Then I saw your bit about cornbread and things got even worse as I started remembering my friend Tom's cornbread -- he made it for me every Friday morning in a great big iron skillet. Oh my.

Thanks for writing, Miss Sarah! Your Tom guy had it right. The first ingrediment to fine cornbread is a well-seasoned black iron skillet. Interestingly enough, there is a fellow named Tom who has his own webpage devoted to plain old cornbread. In a perfect world, this would be the same Tom, but I really doubt it is. On the other hand, the man has figured out the secret, and gladly shares it with us all, along with the necessary tips for the proper care and feeding of your cooking iron (pronounced "arn," and next to your shooting iron, the most important tool to own). I won't quote Tom the Cornbread guy here--you'll have to go over there and read his stuff (in addition to being able to make bread, he writes a bit).

As for me, I got a new set of skillets for Christmas, and have been giving the big one a workout trying to get it good and black. Made a pone of bread in it over the weekend, and although a bit of it stuck in the middle (still not quite there with the seasoning) it is hard to describe how good it was.

posted by Terry at 1:47:00 PM

Via J. Bowen, Axis of Weevil Minister of Nucularity over at No Watermelons Allowed, this link to the first photo of the cloned Raelian baby! Eeeek!

posted by Terry at 1:23:00 PM

Bread

Meryl Yourish has done gone and got something started--something about nobody liking bread:

[...] We make kaiser rolls and Portugese rolls and Italian rolls and dozens of other rolls—most of which are to put stuff on. Dinner rolls are generally slathered with butter or butter-like substances. And I could go on and on with more examples, but, like, I'm starting to bore myself, and I'm thinking about those Pillsbury dinner rolls that Heidi made with Christmas dinner, and realizing that I have no bread to go with my own dinner tonight, and damn, I'm not going out just for bread. It's raining out. Plus, well, one of the things I really miss about New Jersey is the various great bakeries within a short driving distance. Richmond doesn't do bread well. Uh, hello, Southerners? There's more to bread than biscuits and cornbread. Just an FYI there. And no, hush puppies don't count. I don't care how good they are, they don't count.

I think I'd better stop here before I get the entire Axis of Weevil on my case.

Then she gives us an update, and we find out some more from the panephobe camp:

[...] Actually, my favorite bread breakfast is really cheap, store-brand white bread toast and butter. With a huge glass of chocolate milk. Next to that would be biscuits. The really good ones. With butter, not gravy. Sorry, Terry, I guess I'm still a Yankee at heart.) Although I wouldn't say no to a fresh Italian bread from Gencarelli's, warmed in the overn and slathered with butter... [sigh]

Come out of the closet, breadheads. Admit that you really dislike bread. It's the other stuff that goes with it that you really like. Banana bread, indeed.

Now, I'm not gonna be the one to weigh in (no, that's not a pun, and I'll sit on you if you don't stop snickering) on this on one side or t'other, except to say that I think everyone around here knows there is more than just biscuits and cornbread--Birmingham has some pretty darned great bakeries (Continental Bakery is the one mentioned in this article), so Richmond might just be a bad example. As for those biscuits, you're not a sinful Yankee to pile on the butter--gravy is, well, gravy.

Cornbread, however, is one of those things that can only be done correctly one way, and if you start trying to make it different with abominations such as sugar, it just doesn't work. Cornbread is one of those things to which things are not applied or added to make it taste better, it is added to other things to make them taste better. There is nothing quite like a having a big plate of turnip greens and a piece of cornbread to sop up the pot likker, or crumbling a hunk of hot cornbread up into a bowl of Brunswick stew on a cold day. It's not for everything, but when you need it, there is nothing else which will do.

posted by Terry at 11:45:00 AM

Frightening and Disturbing

Sometimes, you wonder.

From the referrer logs today, we have someone searching for clarence free blog. Hey, if Clarence wants to come in here, I'm not gonna stop him. In fact, we might just have to have a blogger Clarence Day to make sure that no blog is Clarence-free.

Then there's hot dog sauce gephardt-- "Dick Gephardt will fight to insure that every American is able to enhance the taste of all meat by-product-based sausage or frankfurter products with a comprehensive selection of condiments, including hot dog sauce. It is up to us all to resist the attempts by this Republican administration to callously deny the benefits of additional flavor to the working poor, minorities, women, and our friends in the international community."

Next up, someone searching Yahoo for dothan whores. Looking through the Dothan, Alabama Chamber of Commerce site doesn't show any likely businesses which might be of help, although in the section on Workforce Development, it does say this: "Our workforce development staff member, workforce development committee, and education committee, work closely with area school systems, post-secondary education institutions, service agencies, state agencies, and business and industry, in order to identify community needs, and coordinate effective solutions, tailored to locally identified problems." Sounds like they would be interested in helping out to fill an obvious void in the local economy.

Next, yet another lonely soul searching for yet another Patricia Heaton body part, this time Patricia Heaton toes. They're real, and they're spectacular! But that's about all I know about them.

In one of those very rare instances, we have a search that goes awry, but actually leads to something new (to me) and kinda interesting--the search string was Goofus carnation bowl, which sounds like a really horrible third rate, post-season football bowl game in Jimmy's Craw, Nevada, but in actuality, there really is something called Goofus glass. From the Antique Resources website, here is an article written by David Ballentine which tells a bit about it:

It is accepted by most perhaps starting as early as 1897 and during a period possibly not exceeding 20 years, that there were multitudes of different glass objects which were produced with various molded patterns and then decorated crudely using early paint spray devices using predominantly gold paint. Designs were accentuated frequently with red, however I have seen less commonly many jars and vases done in other colors. Plates, bowls, saucers were painted on the underside. Vases, jars, lamps, powder boxes, decanters, etc. painted on the outside. All the objects produced were intended for cheap, mass markets and sold in assortments by the dozen, packed in straw and frequently contained in wooden barrels by various wholesale distributors. Some of our most revealing sources are old Butler Brothers and Baltimore Bargain House catalogs. Production after 1918 was described as "slight". Other far more popular lines such as the iridescent "Carnival" glass and opalescent glass appearing along the same period of time as "Goofus" certainly didn't have the obvious shortcomings of leaving deposits of the design in ones hand or on the table where they sat. Washing was probably quickly regretted. [...]

Whaddya know--learn something new every day.

Finally then, to something the world really needs: german storefront mosques. Make your own jokes about that one.

posted by Terry at 11:06:00 AM

Why the United States of America is the greatest nation on the face of the earth...Dodge Offers 500-Hp Concept Motorcycle

DETROIT (Reuters) - The Detroit auto show has seen a lot of concept cars over the decades, but a four-wheel motorcycle powered by a 500-horsepower V-10 engine is a first.

And it may turn out to be more than a concept.

DaimlerChrysler AG's Chrysler arm on Monday unveiled the Dodge Tomahawk -- essentially the 8.3 liter engine from a Dodge Viper mated to a motorcycle frame. [...]

The 1,500-pound Tomahawk can reach 60 miles an hour in about 2.5 seconds, and has a theoretical top speed of 300 mph.[...]

There now, that should shut everyone up about gas-guzzling SUVs.

In other automotive related news, blogger Ron Bailey and needs-to-be-a-blogger Nate McCord both sent me photos of the new Mustang for 2005, and I also got my Automobile magazine yesterday, in which it was prominently featured.

It's sorta interesting from a styling point of view, I guess, but at least in the pictures in the magazine and online, it seems a bit too thick and blocky. And the decision to use the DEW98 platform (which underpins the Lincoln LS, Jaguar S-Type, and Thunderbird) might not be the best. It's a great chassis, but maybe too great for what the Mustang has always been--a gussied up Falcon. That's not said as a knock against it, by the way--I happen to think a gussied up Falcon was, and is, a good idea.

One of the things that contributed to the downfall of the GM F-body was the last iteration's use of an admittedly sophisticated and capable, but expensive, chassis, and one that was not shared with any other line. The Camaro/Firebird ended life as cars which were superior to the Mustang (and even the Corvette) in so many ways, but which were beyond the means of their intended market.

The original Mustang was economical to produce and to operate because of its plebian underpinnings. To me, the real genius of the Mustang, along with the Barracuda (built on the Valiant chassis) and the Camaro/Firebird (built on the Chevy II chassis) was not the style or excitement, but that their mundane, econo-car guts were so versatile, and so amenable to massive doses of horsepower. In my mind, it's just amazing that Granny's slant-6 four-door Valiant sedan was under every Hemi 'Cuda, and the bones of every Ram Air IV Trans Am were the same as any puttering 4 cylinder Nova.

Yes, the current "Fox" chassis under the Mustang is dated and unsophisticated, having debuted on the 1978 Fairmont and subsequently held up a variety of Ford offerings over the past 25 years. But the basic soundness of the platform, despite its weaknesses and drawbacks, made Ford's recovery during the early and mid-1980s possible. The 5.0 Mustangs of the era are still potent, and one of the reasons that the Mustang name is still alive and popular, (especially in light of the horrendous Mustang II which immediately preceded them.)

Time do change, though, and it may have caught up with the Mustang, just like it did with the F-body. Economy cars are front drivers now, and the dynamics that make the Mustang desirable from a driving and performance point of view are difficult to do without rear drive and cubic inches. There have been a good many front wheel drive, econobox-derived sporty coupes (even the Ford Probe, which at one time was tapped to be the replacement for the rear drive Mustang), but none seemed to be able to recreate the fire the original Mustang lit. The Fast and Furious crowd seem to like their rolling woofer enclosures with hand grenade engines, which is fine, I suppose. Going back to that original formula just doesn't seem to be in the cards--the only small, rear drive sedan I can think of comes from BMW now, and it costs $25K. (Oops--forgot about the Merc C-class, but it'll set you back a comparable stack of piasters.) Maybe the industry is at the point of technical sophistication where they could replicate the goodness of the BMW 3-Series in an inexpensive package--a wholly new, small, rear driver with a variety of engines and transmissions, and a neat 2+2 coupe, too--but I don't think anyone would even want to try.

Maybe the DEW98 platform is the answer, and at least it is shared with several other cars in order to help keep costs down.

But, it's still not quite right.

posted by Terry at 10:00:00 AM

PETA Launching Boycott of KFC

Well, bless their hearts. Thanks guys, that saves more for me.

It also reminds me that orders for the Corn-atee (breaded and deep-fried manatee on a stick) and the Corn-guin (breaded and deep-fried emperor penguin on a stick) are exceeding all expectations. Thanks for your continued support!

posted by Terry at 8:08:00 AM

Monday, January 06, 2003

Well, it's almost time to go and I didn't get to share all of my wonderful weekend with you! Yes, yes, I know you are all very upset and hurt, but maybe tomorrow, if I manage to get my stupid drawing done and manage to stay out of trouble, I will get a chance for exercising the patented Possumblog Long Windedness.

As a preview, there was the purchasing of a DVD player; the purchase of ANOTHER DVD player that will actually work on our TV; explaining to well-meaning children that due to the perverse sense of humor among the Boys from Redmond, you can't just hit the power button, but have to shut down the magic talking box by clicking on "Start;" the return of a DVD player neatly repackaged to look as though no one has been into it; the taking of budget-priced family photographs ("It's okay...her head doesn't cover up your mouth"); searching for Rubbermaid products; why I hate Bennigan's (Slainte THIS!); being forced to begin the dreaded reprogramming of foul tempered twelve year old girl at MIDNIGHT; church; kung pao chicken; still in search of Rubbermaid products; church; and "what in the world is all that noise outside?" as told to me by longsuffering Trussville cop last night at about 11 p.m. When it was very cold. See? Even the mindless intro is longwinded! We'll get around to it tomorrow, then.

posted by Terry at 4:38:00 PM

Who says crime doesn't pay...

As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, my deputy big boss got a promotion and moved to another department, so his office on this floor was left unattended with all of its goodies begging to be given the old five-finger requisition, which is how I came to be the owner of a nice little set of harman/kardon computer speakers. And today, I have finally gotten to listen to my Christmas booty of music on my very own workstation! Sooo 20th Century!

Anyway, today's selection has included Classic Mountain Songs and Classic Bluegrass from Smithsonian Folkways, Bluegrass Mountain Style and Alison "She's Just So Darned Cute I Can't Stand It" Krauss + Union Station Live from Rounder Records.

Imagine--playing hillbilly music on a computer...I can't quite figure out if that's a Good Thing, or Not.

But the liberated speakers work just fine.

posted by Terry at 4:07:00 PM

You want Insight?

Wonderful post from Miss B over at Indigo's Insights on growing up in a different time:

[...] Some of my memories of the FDR years of WWII are as vivid today as if they were the Clinton years. Those were my growing up years, and the ones with the most impact in forming what would be me.

Patriotism and love of country was not expounded upon, dissected, or discussed, per se, at our family dinner table. They were just there, palpable in the room. Dinner talk was either about the status of the war or a subject pertaining to the War Effort. On Sundays, Mother's talk was frequently another apology for there being no dessert! "But we all know who is getting our sugar: our fighting men. And they deserve it much more than we do.", she'd say. That was War Effort conversation. Other than shortages of pre-war "luxuries" (not complaints, just reminiscences of "remember when we had . . ."), Daddy's Victory Garden was another topic. He had not had his hands in the soil since he left the farm and joined the army at age 17. College was not an option with eleven brothers and sisters. Furthermore, the army had to be better than hard farm life. Or so he thought. At any rate, he was already married and aged out of the draft when the war began. He was quite proud of his Victory Garden. When Americans were asked to plant gardens to supplement the food supply, most people started digging in their back yards the next day. Innate patriotism. When it was suggested to American children that collecting scrap metal for melting down to make battleships, and saving pennies until there was a dime to buy a Victory Stamp, would help our nation win the war, we children went to work. Inherent love of country. [...]

Unfortunately, there are a lot of folks walking around today who think such small sacrifices on the home front were meaningless during the war--all the rubber drives and scrap drives and saving your old bacon grease were just insignificant blips. They weren't. To my father and men like him, there was no such thing as meaningless or insignificant. I know he was grateful, and were he still alive, I know he would say "thank you, Barbara."

posted by Terry at 3:13:00 PM

And speaking of the Axis of Weevil...

In amongst all the other stuff l left undone last week, I am greatly remiss in failing to welcome a brand new member into the fold! Over on the gangblog Silent Running is a contributor code-named Wind Rider, who grew up here in the Magic City, and is currently living in the Old Dominion and serving in the Air Force (hence the nom de guerre). A good fellow, and his particular service to his country allows me the opportunity to once again say that No Time for Sergeants is still one of the finest movies ever made--

Maj. Demming: I think that I would rather live in the rottenest pigsty in Tennessee or Alabama than the fanciest mansion in all of Georgia. How about that?
Will Stockdale: Well, sir...I think where you wanna live is your business.

and based upon his words in the blog, I think we can safely say that Mr. Rider meets or exceeds all the qualifications for inclusion into our cumbersome and motley lot.

SO THEN, by the power vested in me by Todd in the sign shop at the State of Alabama Department of Transportation, District 2 Maintenance Garage, it is with great pleasure that the Alabama Blogging and Canning Society LLC do hereby confer and bestow upon one Wind "Brad" Rider full and complete membership in the Axis of Weevil, with all of the rights, privileges, pain, nausea, and depression pertaining thereto.

With many hurrahs, we welcome Wind to the group, and as with all new inductees, we have loaded the company vehicle and sent it on its way to Virginny with the world famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, consisting of Dreamland ribs, a gallon jug of Milo's sweet tea; a G-Lox Wedgee gun rack from Mark's Outdoor Sports for his pickup truck; a package of Bubba's Beef Jerky (according to Dr. Weevil, this is homemade and is available only at the gas station at the end of Highway 82 in Bibb County); a three piece, 24 ounce box of Priester's Pecan Logs; a box of Jim Dandy grits; a 16 ounce bottle of Dale's Steak Sauce; and in recognition of Wind Rider's active duty status, a 5% discount coupon to Ned's Military Surplus Store. Use them all in good health! And everyone go say hello!

posted by Terry at 2:47:00 PM

Art::Alabama--Not Mutually Exclusive!

Just received a message from fellow Axis of Weevil member Andy over at World Wide Rant, who rises to the defense of the fair Yellowhammer State against one of the running dog lackeys of the Fourth Estate who believes Alabama lacks in the artsy-fartsy category:

This past week, Colorado achieved yet another dubious distinction as the worst state in America for public support of the arts. We spend 26 cents a year per capita on the arts. And that's before the legislature meets to hack another $80 million from the overall budget.

We also rank near the bottom in support for higher education, elementary and secondary education, libraries, indigent health care, mental health programs and a whole range of public institutions.

As a state, we aim low. Then we start cutting.

But not all of Colorado has been so miserly. For 15 years, voters in the Denver area have consistently supported public investment to enhance our quality of life, improve the state's economy and attract private investment.

Without us, Colorado would be a much different place. Picture Alabama with snow. [...]

Andy does a fine job of repudiating Ms. Carman's cruel jape by running down a nice list of some of the artliest things here in the state, and even manages to throw in a few mean-spirited jabs at Mississippi. (Delta Entente Members--he's just joking!)

To her credit, Ms. Carman did take the time to respond to Andy's e-mail, joking that she would have picked on Wyoming instead, but was afraid of getting shot. I cannot vouch for the trigger-happiness of Equality Staters, but if that was her criterion, picking on Alabama was probably an even worse thing to do. Fortunately for her, none of us know how to drive in the snow, so the armed convoy would probably get no further north than Memphis.

posted by Terry at 2:05:00 PM

The Pleasures of the Flesh

From Irene Adler, who is a girl--

[...] I can't recall the last time my skin was so soft and clean. [...]

Ferrocyanide does that.

(I wonder how well it works on soft marsupial fur?)

posted by Terry at 12:14:00 PM

Whew! 'Nother by the wayside, and I managed to survive. Unfortunately, this morning is filled with a goodly amount of stuff to do (staff meeting, finishing a drawing of the old Kress building I blogged about a while ago, hiding, etc.), so you will all have to wait until later on this afternoon for all the frightening details of the past days.

For everyone who's dropping by from Miss Meryl's shack, please accept my apologies for the fact that one of the links she posted only goes to the top of the page here--stupid, STUPID Blogger has a bad habit of not taking you to the actual post, but rather plops you in the general area (if you're lucky). If you are looking for the stuff she referenced, you're just gonna have to scroll down.

So then, it's time for me to grab my richly bound calendar and my City Council agenda and my ennui and head for the conference room for yet another exciting and productive meeting! See you in a bit.

posted by Terry at 8:28:00 AM

Friday, January 03, 2003

Wow, that was a quick week.

Already time for another weekend—what will it hold in store?

Well, for one thing, it has turned off darned cold outside! Right now it’s about 34 real degrees (as opposed to those made-up metric units) and the wind is coming out of the northwest at about 10 knots, and we even had a few piddly snowflakes at lunchtime. Now I realize that for a certain reader out in Utah, or you there up in Northern Minnesota, this is laughably warm, and means that it’s toasty enough to get out and wash the car in shorts and a tee-shirt. For those of us normal folks, though, it’s just cold.

In other things, today is the grand homecoming of Oldest Girl, who has been spending the past week across town with her other set of grandparents. Five short days, yet it will take five weeks to complete the process of restoring some sense of order and grudging compliance with parental control. ::sigh:: Just have to keep repeating “it’s only a phase.” Along with “never negotiate with terrorists.” Occasional Frank Costanza-esque outbursts of “SERENITY NOW!!!” do seem to help sometimes, too.

There is the normal stuff associated with insuring the proper functioning of Casa de Possum—laundry, toilet scrubbing, polishing the silverware, sorting ammo—you know, same old, same old.

As I type at the moment, I am also speaking to Reba on the car phone, and from what I can glean from betwixt the sound of static and my constant typing, she is telling me that tonight will be a family fun night devoted to working on Middle Girl’s scrapbook that she’s doing for church.

This always entails all of us sitting around cutting stuff out with tiny dull scissors, while simultaneously having the fun that can only come from finger cramps.

I always have to gouge my tongue a couple of times with the scissors in order to make sure that I offer no suggestions as to commonly accepted rules of artistic composition. Having made such suggestions in the past has taught me that having a degree in architecture and a firm grasp of art and art history is a mere trifle when faced with an icy stare and the words, “What, you don’t like it?” They are always followed by, “Here then, you do it.”

Sunday will be Sunday school and church. It’s the first Sunday of the new quarter in classes, which is sure to be cause for much panic and dyspepsia among the pedagogues. ::sigh:: ”Maybe if you people would come to the teacher’s meetings you’d know what’s goin’ on!” he says in a very quiet voice deep in his head.

Ah, well. Makes for interesting blog chatter, I suppose. Anyway, time to hit the door—all of you have a great weekend, and I’ll see if I can make it back here Monday with more gripping tales from the ‘burbs!

posted by Terry at 5:01:00 PM

Diana Ross Said She Was Lost When Arrested For DUI

Diana Ross claims she had gotten lost on her way to a video store on Monday (December 30) in Tucson, Arizona, when she was stopped and then arrested for suspicion of drunk driving.

Ross was stopped early on the morning of December 30, after someone reported a vehicle driving south in the northbound lanes of a street in northeastern Tucson. The singer had pulled into a handicapped parking space in front of a Blockbuster video store, when she was approached by a Tucson police officer. She denied twice that she'd been drinking and told the officer she had been lost and was "trying to get here to rent a video."

According to the officer's report, the former Supremes singer consented to a field sobriety test, but fell down and laughed while trying to stand on one leg and count to 10. In another test, Ross skipped some letters and doubled others when asked to write the alphabet. Breath tests showed Ross's blood-alcohol level of at least 0.20 percent, more than twice Arizona's legal limit of 0.08.[...]

Well, it IS easy to get lost when you're hammered.

posted by Terry at 3:31:00 PM

Alabama based military unit report for duty

(BIRMINGHAM, Ala.) January 3 - Members of a National Guard unit based in Homewood report for active duty Friday.

About 300 members of Detachment One of the 200th Materiel Management Center will leave Sunday from Birmingham en route to Germany to support U.S. troops in Europe. The deployment could last at least one year.

The unit provides support for ammunition, supply and petroleum operations in the theater. Almost 3,000 Alabama Army and Air Guard members have been called to active duty since the September 11, 2001 terror attacks.

Alabama has the nation's fifth largest Army and Air Force National Guard force with 15,500 troops.

Last night after our midweek Bible study, we had a small send-off for one of these guys. For all the 'concerned,' 'compassionate,' people out there, he is not a scared, unemployed, retarded, 18 year old minority who enlisted out of despair or stupidity. He is not a lunatic killer with a thirst for blood or glory. He is not full of blind hate or rage.

He is a capable, mature, professional man, leaving behind a good wife and a sweet little girl, and his friends and his job.

He serves his country proudly, and he enlisted in the Guard with the full knowledge that a day like this might come, when we might call him away and send him across the globe. He goes willingly, and does not begrudge those of us who he leaves behind for our relative safety and comfort. The peace and prosperity of his loved ones is his gift to us, and the gift of all who have served and sacrificed for our country in troubled times. It is called duty, and honor.

A cake and some chips and a few decorations are not much to offer a man like that.

We offer what we can--our humblest prayers for peace, and for his safety.

Godspeed, Joel. Hurry home.

posted by Terry at 3:12:00 PM

Florida reporter suspended for e-mail criticizing Arabs

By BRENDAN FARRINGTON
The Associated Press
1/3/03 12:58 PM

TALLAHASSEE, Fla. (AP) -- The Tallahassee Democrat has suspended a reporter for an e-mail he sent to a reader referring to Arabs squatting "around a camel-dung fire" and putting "their bottoms in the air five times a day" in prayer.

Bill Cotterell, a political writer and columnist, was replying to an e-mail from a reader angry over a political cartoon that asked, "What would Mohammed Drive?" and depicted a Middle Eastern-looking man driving a Ryder truck with a nuclear bomb in the back.

The e-mail exchange evolved into a discussion of Israel. Cotterell wrote that Arab nations have had 54 years to accept Israel. "They choose not to. OK, they can squat around the camel-dung fire and grumble about it, or they can put their bottoms in the air five times a day and pray for deliverance; that's their business."

Democrat Executive Editor John Winn Miller suspended Cotterell starting Friday for one week without pay following complaints about the e-mail from a Washington-based Islamic advocacy group.

Miller said Cotterell, who has worked for the paper nearly 20 years, immediately regretted the remarks after sending the message on his company e-mail account and apologized to his colleagues.

"They absolutely do not represent the views and sensitivities of this newspaper. Worse, they run counter to many of the values we hold dearest, among them tolerance, diversity and inclusiveness," Miller said.

Miller said the reader had e-mailed several people at the paper after the Council on American-Islamic Relations alerted its members about the cartoon, drawn by Pulitzer Prize-winning political cartoonist Doug Marlette.

The cartoon appeared on the Democrat's Web site Dec. 22 but was pulled after the paper received numerous complaints and was not published in the paper. Marlette's cartoons were automatically posted to the Web site as they were distributed by Tribune Media Services, a feature that has since been disabled, Miller said.

The cartoon was published in other papers, Marlette said, including The Charlotte Observer and The Providence Journal.

Council spokesman Ibrahim Hooper said Cotterell's suspension was fair.

"It will send a positive message to the Muslim community in Florida that this kind of bigotry will not be tolerated," he said.

No word from the Tallahassee Democrat on whether it will accept future editing by miffed readers who object to political cartoons, nor if it intends to let the various victim-propagation programs vett future editorials to insure they aren't promoting bigotry. Something tells me that if the punchline was "What Would Moses Drive," the outcome would have been different.

The Democrat has received about 9,000 e-mail complaints about the cartoon. Marlette said he has received e-mails threatening death or mutilation.

"We live in a really dimwitted age of political correctness," he said. "It's hard for institutions to deal with this kind of organized guilt tripping. It's bad for free speech."

Yeah. It sorta reminds me of a song...

posted by Terry at 2:32:00 PM

How to Write

As those of you who have been regular readers of Possumblog for some time can attest, I am not a Writer.

What you see here, and in the regularly-destroyed-and-reloaded archives, are stories that I tell you as you sit over there in the chair by my office door. You are the friend who comes and hangs around to shoot the breeze, who’s waiting for lunch, or for time to go home, who likes to hear what all I managed to mess up.

You are here because all of the people who actually used to come and hang out have gone on to other employment, and doggone it, some of this stuff just has to get told. There’s also a lot that really doesn’t need to be told, but the great thing about writing it like this is that I don’t catch a glimpse of you looking at your watch or nervously tapping your foot—I think I have a completely enthralled and captivated captive audience. One of the drawbacks of the format, however, is that you don’t get to hear me grunting like a pig, or see me wildly swinging my arms around, or marvel at the odd way I have of pitching my voice ever higher the angrier I get.

What you wind up getting is not really Writing, but something more like storytelling, with the exception that in-person stories keep getting better every time you tell them—you can turn the lights down low when it’s scary, or talk in the voices of the characters, or fine tune the tale to the audience.

Alas, Possumblog doesn’t get any better upon subsequent readings.

It also has no real “style.” It’s just me yammering blissfully away about kids and Fermat’s Last Pizza Order and morality and justice and rocks and art and stupidity and cars and Alabama and women and stuff like that. Not that I don’t try to make it work right—I really do try to make sure the words are spelled correctly (nothing kills me quicker than seeing a particularly stupid Google search with a misspelled word, then finding that I really DID spell it wrong, and there’s NO way to correct it—it just sits out there mocking me) and whenever I use bad grammar, I’m usually just doing it for silly effect (again, however, there are multitudes of honkers in here that defy all attempts at translation).

For the new year, I make no promises that anything herein will be any better.

But my little writing-desk book will do its best to help out, and I intend to throw a few good paragraphs into the blog every once in a while during the year that I think would be helpful in making it better. That is, if I decided to follow the advice.

So then, an excerpt, from page 1:

The first condition toward effective writing is that the ideas to be communicated be distinct and clear in the mind of the writer. No writer has any right to expect his thought to improve on its passage from his own mind to his reader’s. Inadequate expression is first inadequate conception.

Let, therefore, the writer first make sure that the ideas he has to express are distinct and definite in his own head. Before writing he ought to consider first what to say, and next how to say it.

The nearer in touch with the rest of the writer’s life are the matter and occasion of his writing, the easier it will be for the writing to take the shape proper to it. Consequently, that writing is best, also in form, which is most the pure and idiomatic expression of the writer’s character and life. It is hard to say a fitting word about anything in which one has no real (but only pretended) interest. It is “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh”—and pen writeth. The imperishable books of the world—the writings of the Bible, Homer, Shakespeare, Faust, etc.—are the purest records of men who lived and wrote only their sincerest convictions. The extent, quality, and duration of the influence of any writing is always the exact measure of the value of life the writing records.

posted by Terry at 1:27:00 PM

Everybody's Writing-Desk Book

As I mentioned the other day, my lovely wife got me a neat little antique book for Christmas, and it has been an interesting read and too good to not share. The link in the title above takes you to a description of the book from some out-of-print dealers selling through Barnes and Noble--it looks like they are all the original 1896 edition, while mine is the edition of 1901 (edited and revised by James Baldwin, Ph.D.) Googling around doesn't give me any clues as to the editor or the writers (Charles Nisbet and Don Lemon), but no matter, it's still a nifty gem.

Before delving into some of the good bits about writing, it's also mighty interesting to see the list of Harper & Brother's books in the back for the modern American at the beginning of the last century (as well as wonder at the marvel of the technology of the end of the same century that allows us to sit at the comfort of our desks and look up the same titles on a magical electric machine and place an order for them, all without benefit of ink or quill or a messenger boy):

THE TECHNIQUE OF REST. By Anna C. Brackett

I could use this one, although it is a bit odd to think that this would require a book-length discourse. Probably full of all sorts of buzzwords like "sanitary" and "wholesome."

THE HOUSE COMFORTABLE. by Agnes Bailey Ormsbee

Not found in the B&N datebase, but certainly part of a series including The House Contented, The House Relaxed, The House Sanitary and Comfortable, and The New Century Compendium of Comfortable Houses, Including Those of Modern Convenience and Sanitation.

WHAT TO EAT -- HOW TO SERVE IT. by Christine Terhune Herrick

Apparently a well-known cookbook and general household scold of the late 19th- and early 20th centuries, with a name that desperately belongs to a high society dinner party hostess in a Three Stooges movie. Looking at her copious list of titles on B&N, it's hard to believe that they are missing some of her other fine works published by Harper's, which are listed as House-Keeping Made Easy and Cradle and Nursery. Bet those are some corkers, alright.

Then there's something for all of you young ladies out there in blogdom, Juliet Corson's fascinating FAMILY LIVING ON $500.00 A YEAR A Daily Reference-Book for Young and Inexperienced Housewives.

Of course, nowadays it would probably be a book on how young and inexperienced housewives can make $500 an hour in the adult entertainment industry.

THE EXPERT WAITRESS. by Anne Frances Springsteed

Somehow, I think Anne Frances Springsteed was not the sort to be found ladling clam bisque out of the tureen. I can imagine the tone being something akin to "Do not recoil from the deserved stern thrashing that comes to the sluggardly waitress."

HOW TO GET STRONG AND HOW TO STAY SO. by William Blaikie

One quickly imagines pasty-thighed pomaded swells with bowlers and waxy moustaches juggling Indian clubs and throwing a medicine ball. One of the booksellers, George Robert Minkoff, Inc., includes a bit of biographical information on Mr. Blaikie:

Blaikie was a lawyer, an athlete, and an important early proponent of physical education. It is said he could lift a weight of 1019 pounds when he was 17 years old. He was the captain of a winning football team at the Boston Latin School, and a member of the crew team at Harvard. One of the most important American 19th century marathon walkers, he held the American record for the 225-mile walk between Boston and New York for a decade. The present volume is his first book. It is considered something of a classic as a proponent of physical education. Although the book was first published in 1879, it was in print until the early 20th century.

So there!

Then there is this one, of which the Possumblog Reference Department is sorely in need--EVERYBODY'S POCKET CYCLOPAEDIA of Things Worth Knowing, Things Difficult to Remember, and Tables of Reference

With this, I could rule the world. (Of course, it's 63 bucks, which is kinda steep.)

Then finally, there is MAN AND HIS MALADIES; Or, the Way to Health. A Popular Handbook of Physiology and Domestic Medicine. by A. E. Bridger, B.A., M.D.

There's nothing like old medical books to simultaneously entertain and nauseate a person. I have a repro copy of a slim 1776 medical treatise geared toward military surgeons--the part on gunshot wounds and amputations is particularly colorful.

Anyway, those are the books Harper & Brothers thought we all might be educated and made more better by reading.

Next up: How to Write.

posted by Terry at 10:48:00 AM

Busy-ness

Well, today looks like it's gonna be just as busy with mindless diddlery as the other days of this week, so there will be 27% less free stale bread--I'm sure you both will not mind.

IN OTHER MATTERS, Possumblog once again serves as THE information place for stories of international scandal and intrigue, especially for the sad, odd person searching Google for castro's a shiny, sexy kitty.

Didn't we all just know that?

Although some will say this ranks right up there with the myth of J. Edgar Hoover's transvestitism, The Possumblog Intelligence Service reports that in private Uncle Fidel does indeed refer to himself as "el Gato," and parades around in a spandex catsuit while watching old episodes of Batman featuring Eartha Kitt.

posted by Terry at 8:42:00 AM

Thursday, January 02, 2003

Lileks Puts on the Karnak Turban

One of the drawbacks about spending a Wednesday at home is the slim likelihood of getting to sit in front of a computer other than one being used for Yu-Gi-Oh's Ingrown Toenail Battle or such claptrap, meaning that I completely missed the Lileks' Newhouse column of yesterday, in which our hero travels into the future to let us in on what the year holds for us:

[...] Feb. 4: The Iraq war began. Dan Rather announced with his trademark folksy enthusiasm that "the Iraqi army is collapsing like a cheap ironing board." Viewers were concerned, since a cheap ironing board is difficult to fold -- it's the expensive, high-quality ironing boards that are noted for the ease with which they collapse. Everyone assumed that the war is going poorly. The next morning commentators warned of the quagmire that would follow if the war wasn't over by the fabled Iraqi early mid-spring, when the weather would be "almost as humid as Vietnam." CBS taped a sequence with Walter Cronkite in which he declared the war lost, but they decided to wait a few days before using it.

Feb. 7: The Iraqi government collapsed. The large number of Saddam impersonators meant that every neighborhood in Baghdad had its own to string up and spit on. That afternoon on "All Things Considered," NPR began a series of reports called "Winning the War, Losing the Peace," in which reporters interviewed Saddam's portrait painter, his chief architect, his tailor and other Iraqis unhappy with the American occupiers. "With the country facing an uncertain future," the reporter said, "there is already nostalgia for the days of Saddam, a golden age of stability whose draw is no less powerful for having ended less than 17 hours ago." [...]

posted by Terry at 11:25:00 AM

Not satisfied with merely changing her blog template on an hourly basis, Andrea Harris has now moved the entire nation of Spleenville over to a new home over at http://spleenville.com/journal/. Go and drop off some cookies and give her a nice compliment (and tell her to please reconsider the use of the photo of Elijah Wood in bed (ick) and use something like this instead.)

posted by Terry at 10:43:00 AM

13-9!

Hard to believe it, but Penn State didn't score a single touchdown! Yesterday's game wasn't one of Auburn's best--too many brain cloud-type penalties, too little offense, way too much needless heart-pounding excitement there in the last few minutes, but thankfully it was a victory, and it even matched my predicted 4 point spread. I sure thought there would be a bit more scoring, though. Also, a double loss for the Lions, in that despite having garnered a whopping 29% of the online poll results for the Capitol One National Mascot of the Year voting, in a surprising move, Monte the Grizzly of the University of Montana was awarded the coveted prize with only 9% of the votes. This 9% equalled not only that of Albert the Gator of Florida (which is just fine if they lose) and Miami's Sebastian the Ibis (dork), but was exceeded not only by Br'er Nittany but also by the 11% pulled in by Georgia Tech's Buzz the Yellow Jacket! Is there some sort of behind-the-scenes judging scandal going on like at the Winter Olympics? Looks fishy to me, even without the presence of any French judges and Russian mobsters (that I know of).

One thing that Penn State did manage to do was come up with an absolute screamer of a promotional spot. I'm sure they've used it all year, but yesterday was the first time I had seen it, and it is a peach. Not that Auburn's spot highlighting the National Center for Asphalt Technologies isn't very nice, but Penn's is a cut above. The spot opens with a shot of a baby in a diaper, playing with blocks--a title in lower case letters flashes up, "architect." Then another baby, waving a feather duster--"air traffic controller," then another little girl baby who is wailing then suddenly stops and smiles--"actress." Oh, I get it--this is what they'll be when they grow up and graduate from Penn State...cute premise. Then there are some more babies and titles, then there's a shot of two babies on the floor. The baby to the left gently picks up the arm of the other unsuspecting baby. He deftly brings it up to his mouth and clamps down on it--title pops up, "management." Good one, guys!

In other excitement, the Tree of 1,876 Tips was gently stowed in its box for next year, along with the ornaments and lights and wreaths and Santas and poinsettias and wire hooks and Santa mugs. I always have a terrible twinge when taking down the Christmas stuff, and not just from the physical effort. It's just sort of melancholy.

But I made up for it by rearranging the den furniture to make room for the kids to have their computer downstairs (it had been in Oldest Girl's room, making for more than one full scale brawl) and I even fixed it so it doesn't keep crashing. Funny thing--the entire time I had it, it never gave me a bit of problem, but the moment it was tranferred to the care of Oldest, it began suffering a continual string of glitches and failures, once even requiring the use of a boot disk to bring it back. Now part of the problems were caused by a spent CMOS battery, which I replaced yesterday, and the large clots of dust inside, which I carefully blew out into my eyes, but part of the problem is her insistence that she knows everything without reading the instructions. If something didn't do as she thought it should, she would just start mashing all the buttons or repeatedly turning it on and off. Golly, Windows looooves that trick. And I think part of the problem was the Barbie Riding Club CD which mysteriously disappeared.

She blamed this loss on everyone in the family, even though she was the last one to use it. Interestingly, when I opened the case to change the battery, what should be found sliding around down in the bottom of the cabinet? Yep, a Barbie Riding Club CD. Now how it got to the very bottom of the cabinet I cannot begin to figure out, unless she somehow managed to slide it over the top of the CD tray and then closed the tray, pushing the disc back inside the machine where it fell to the bottom like an envelope behind a drawer. I am sure that she will not recall a single detail of this. But, in any event, it now works like a charm again, sans dust and trapped CD and dead battery.

And on neutral ground.

posted by Terry at 9:28:00 AM

Tuesday, December 31, 2002

Nearly quitting time...

So, after surfing around a bit, I find that an entire universe of stuff has been said and done in the few days I was incommunibloggo. I can't begin to link to everyone (well, that's a bald-faced lie--I could, but I am very lazy) who posted pithy bits of wisdom. Hopefully, anyone who lands here is also already very familiar with everyone up there in the blogroll, so you probably already have a good idea of the fine stuff to be found there.

Tomorrow is another holiday for Possumblog, and another day without bloggery on my part, but I intend to put it to good use by trying to sleep late, and watching football, and then going outside at midnight and letting loose a few blank charges from my Bess while screaming about the tyranny of King George. Keeps the neighbors on their toes, don't you know.

Anyway, Lord willing I will see you all again on Thursday, and you have my hopes that the next twelve months will be kind to each of you.

posted by Terry at 4:53:00 PM

Wow, where does the time go?

Oh yeah, work.

Anyway, the stack of stuff left undone has grown smaller now, leaving me a bit of time for some housekeeping chores here at Possumblog...

Fred Firstly, all of you need to reset your permalinks for Fragments from Floyd to reflect the new URL. It appears fair Fred has finally fixed his foul and flippantly flummoxed (for some reason, I can never link to Fred without going on an "F" alliteration riff--my apologies) server/host problems and has gradumicated up to his own domain name at http://fragmentsfromfloyd.com/. GO! READ!

Second, we just had a visitor to Possumblog via Google searching for redneck terms stove-up. It may help you to remember that "stove" in this case is the past tense of "stiffen," not "stiffened" as you were probably taught in school. It is used to describe a particular malady in which the body's musculature is sore and movement is difficult due to duress or hard physical labor, vis.: "Yes, Jonelle, I of a certainty am stove up from throwing those sacks of cement yesterday, and I am very much down in my back." In addition, a modifier may be added, "all," indicating a more complete loss of motor function, vis.: "It is such a shame that Miss Jimmie is all stove up from being hit by the mail truck. I fear she will not be able to compete in the log toss."

The Possumblog Linguistics Department is happy to be of assistance in these matters.

Thirdly, an international visitor from Chile searching el Google for unconventional ant killer. Isn't this the way it always it? Everyone wants to get rid of the unconventional--'the nail that sticks up is hammered down' indeed--doggone it all, why not leave those poor unconventional ants alone and let them go their own way! They aren't hurting you, and there's like a billion or so who actually are pillaging your food--one or two unconventional sorts aren't gonna make a difference! Maybe they will become the next big ant poets, or invent the ant polio vaccine, or...hmm?

What? You sure? Ohhhh.

Never mind.

Item D. I haven't said a single thing about this for two whole weeks, but tomorrow in Orlando there is going to be a football game between Coke Bottle Joe's Nittany Lions (9-3, ranked #10) and the Auburn Tigers (8-4, ranked #19). I have not mentioned this before simply because I am worried. First of all, the stupid Nittany Lion won the Capitol One Mascot Vote (and don't those results look just a little suspicious to anyone?). And second, look at what we are up against! And there's not just them, but these ones, too! Not only that, they have Coach Paterno!

Gonna be a tough fight, for sure. Possumblog Sports Center's competent and hard-working statistician Ipsa Dixie is still on holiday vacation in Harpersville, but she left a note on my desk suggesting, after the angry part about another lawsuit if the dirty limerick about her is not removed from the men's room wall, that Possumblog readers visit the Tiger's website to get an idea of the disparity in the matchup--Penn State leads in every major category, including being nearest to the Latrobe Brewery.

As always however, despite all signs to the contrary, I cannot be called upon to predict failure for my team. Possumpick of the Day--Auburn 21, PSU 17.

posted by Terry at 2:29:00 PM

As you were warned...

The story of the rest of my Christmas time off. RUN! RUN AWAY!

There now. As I mentioned yesterday, the rest of my time this past week was just as busy as the first day, but without as much heavy lifting. Sunday was church, lunch with Ashley's other set of grandparents and exchanging gifts with them (and bringing home a rather large cast resin angel for the yard), then back to church (and I was finally able to lead singing for once without coughing or loosing my place). Monday, up early (of course), did stuff all day and went to visit and exchange gifts with some of Ashley's other relatives and her other grandparents AGAIN (less said, the better), Tuesday was spent preparing the house for Santa Claus.

This involved convincing several small children to take their toys from the den and up to their room so Santa would not trip and sue us. This took all day. "Kids, get to work! Santa..." "Yes, Daddy, we know. We don't want Santa to fall and kill himself in our den floor." I did my final gift wrapping for Reba and got all of the kids to sign her Christmas cards, we had supper and gifts with Reba's mom and dad, which is where the earthworm part of the saga comes in. I took Catherine to the van to leave, and we saw a long redworm wriggling across the sidewalk. She watched it intently for a long time (it takes forever to get away from some places, you know) and talked to Mr. Earthworm about birds and Santa. As everyone finally got to the door, Cat screamed back (several times) that she had found an earthworm. Each kid came by and looked at it and got in, except for Rebecca who came running to the van oblivious to the continued Tiny Girl Earthworm Commentary. "Hey, SLOW DOWN! STOP RUn..." Right down on top of it. Which freaked Rebecca out and she started crying about killing Catherine's Mr. Earthworm. (ahhh, holidays!) She finally calmed down when she saw Mr. Earthworm wriggling again. (I dared not tell her he was in agony, only that he was just looking for the grass. It seemed to help.)

Got back home and bundled the kids all off to bed to await the arrival of the guy who keeps trying to send me to the poor house every year. Reba and I decided we better watch a movie for a couple of hours to make sure they were all truly asleep, so we popped in Ocean's 11. We hadn't seen this one before--good fun, lots of cool scenery, suspenseful, deft comedy. We liked it. And by the time it was over, the kids WERE asleep. And I just about was.

But, it was time for digging the hidden treasures out from our closet and sneaking them downstairs. I tried to be as quiet as possible, but for some reason, Reba was in full chatter mode and then Rebecca got out of bed and was stumbling around upstairs and I had to go get her back in the bed. "Why's Mama downstairs? What's going on?" "Nothing, sugar, she's just checking to see if Santa's come yet." "Why?" "Look, just go back to sleep and don't get up or he ain't EVER gonna get here!" "Okay."

Went back and finished arranging stuff and messing up a plate with a piece of cake and a glass with some milk, which was artfully left on the table for inspection by the crew in the morning. The final piece was the annual Toilet Papering of the Stair Landing. This is done to foil our oldest child, who since she was only seven or eight has been a real [expletive deleted--and boy is it a good one] about trying to sneak in and find out what everyone got before anyone else got up. The tissue is fragile enough to immediately indicate a breach of security, yet easily cleaned up and reused. And it drives Oldest batty. The other kids think it's great fun to tear it down, but she has taken to looking at it as a sign that we don't trust her. Which we don't, of course. The reasons for which will become apparent shortly.

I finish the papering, and Reba and I hit the bed exhausted as usual. I sleep the sleep of the dead until suddenly I hear the unmistakeable chatter of children. For a moment I can't think, then my eyes slam open. Our room is dark, it's dark outside, and yet there is light in the hallway. I look at the clock--3:15 a.-stinking-m. Immediate action--up out of bed in a flash, stormed down the hall to see Oldest lounging in her bed reading from a stack of books strewn about and Middle Girl sitting at the foot of the bed with her Gameboy, happily oblivious. It seems that Rebecca had gone to the bathroom (again) a short time earlier before I was awakened, noticed that Ashley's light was on and became engaged with her in the attempt to see when Santa arrives. "Yeah, Ashley said she had been up since 1!" Anger, hissed threats of harm and mayhem, apoplexy, books put away, game turned off, everyone back in bed with Dad's not too subtle suggestion that this little episode will never EVER be repeated upon pain of permanent placement on the naughtly list. Had the intended effect on Middle Girl--Oldest just kept shooting Middle Girl dirty looks as if it were her fault. ::sigh::

Three hours later, the kids are all up again, ready to go, except for Ashley who is still playing the sullen victim card (ahhh, the holidays!) but she did manage to grace us with her presence as we all saw what Santa brought. This year Catherine was very concerned about making sure Santa had eaten, and was delighted to see he had fixed himself some cake and milk and had gotten some raisins for Rudolph. The kids got most of what they had asked for (which wasn't a lot--they really aren't the greedy sorts, thankfully)--the big things were for Jonathan a guitar, Catherine a Barbie cash register, Rebecca a Password Journal (easily defeated by mere prying, by the way), and Ashley her own Gameboy.

I did manage to get Reba something other than a washing machine--she has been angling for a new electric blanket for years and I finally got her one, which she was tickled about. She got me the Band of Brothers tape set, which I watched in its entirety over the next couple of days. What an incredible production! I think it's the best World War II feature ever made. Just incredible. She also got me something that I think I will treasure for a long time.

As I have mentioned before, she does not know that I write this silly blog, nor does anyone else in my immediate family or my circle of physical acquaintances. I've just never felt the need to tell anyone, I guess because they would rightly think it's pretty dumb. Yet, in a bit of odd synchony, Reba gave me a small, pocket-sized antique book from 1901--we both like antiques, and antique books especially, but this one was interesting in that it was a book on writing--a concise little styleguide with spelling and grammar rules and forms of address that she found at a small decorating shop in town. It has a wonderful section on composition--basically, write what you know. Write with economy. Write to be understood. A more wonderful gift she could not have given me.

Thursday and Friday Reba had to go back to work, so those two days were spent playing with the kids' toys and trying to find sufficient batteries to make sure everything squeaked and peeped and blipped properly, and part of Friday was spent chasing around town picking up our paychecks and going to the bank and going for Rebecca's annual physical. Strep throat! (ahhh, holidays!)

Saturday, we finally did Christmas with my mom and sister, which thankfully did not require me to kill any house wrens. Nice dinner, after which the kids suddenly decided to let the various symptoms of cabin fever loose upon us all, requiring that Dad call a halt to the whole thing and haul them all out to the van and go home.

Sunday rolled back around and I spent morning and afternoon redoing the teacher roll for the millionth time. Grr. And then finally, made it back here.

The entire time I was off was spent away from the television and the computer--no blogging, no e-mail (sorry for the late replies, folks), no Googlewhacking, not even any Lileks--just a constant whirl of life. The last two days I have felt like Rip Van Winkle when I cruise back by and see my old virtual friends and what all they did while I was "gone." But, it sure will be nice when it comes around again. Like, say, tomorrow! Yep, tomorrow will be spent away from the computer, too, as my family and I drag a new year into being. I am not one for resolutions every year, but I think mine will be to start using "twenty." I am kinda tired of "two thousand." and I think it's high time we all started saying "twenty-o-three" instead of "two thousand and three."

So there.

posted by Terry at 11:12:00 AM

Reader Mail!!

One of the many millio...tiny closely knit community of Possumblog readers reacts to my washer woes--from the sunny warmth of Da Range in Northern Minnesota, one Toni Albani writes:

Dear Waterlogged

Terry - you need to get a wet/dry shop vac!! Don't need no stinkin testosterone to know that! [...]

Toni also went on to compliment your host for his witty ramblings, stating that they are a useful tool for learning how to be from the South, for which I offer my thanks to Toni, and my humble apologies to all of Toni's neighbors who now must put up with the products of this education, the most annoying being Toni constantly requesting sweet tea at the restaurant.

Anyway, as to the question of the shop vac. As I told Toni, I have managed to do without a shop vac for all these years, but for a reason. Like nature, I abhor vacuums. Vacuuming was my chore at home (the vacuum cleaner was even called "Terry's vacuum") and although I am probably...who am I kidding, I AM the world's best vacuumer, I cannot stand having to do it. Let's face it, vacuuming sucks.

I thought when I got married that this would be one of those loathsome duties I could ditch, but I am still the only one who will get the vacuum out and clean the floors. The vacuum is now "Daddy's vacuum." Aargh. I will confess that I did buy a Dustbuster a couple of years ago that uses the same batteries as my cordless drill and screwdriver, but it was in a moment of weakness. I still hate vacuuming. The shop vac does have the advantage of being manly, but in the end, I just don't want another vacuum. Ever.

HOWEVER, if anyone wants to come over and vacuum for me, shop vac or whatever, please, PLEASE feel free!

posted by Terry at 8:53:00 AM

Monday, December 30, 2002

Okay, so where was I?

Oh yeah! The Further Adventures of Life Along the Pinchgut, in which we find out that our hero is a Pathetic, Whipped, Knuckle-Dragging Moron, AGAIN! With other rude and disgusting stories of Earthworms, Turkey, Large Resin Angels, Tools, Rubber Hoses, The Infinite Variety of Cornbread Dressings, Ohhh Boy—You Rook at Deese Buttahns, Coal and Switches, Kris Kringle Survives—Despite Best Efforts of One Rude Twelve Year Old, Stomach Distress, and That’s Not Something You See Everyday. Our saga begins…

Saturday, December 21. It is warm. My eyes are closed but I can feel the sun high overhead. The waves are quiet and I can hear a few bathers a good distance down the beach. I have never been to the beach in the off season—this is incredible. I drift off to sleep again, then…bumpTHUMPcreak “The kids say something stinks downstairs and I smell it too—it smells like something overheating like wires or something—can you smell it up here?” I jerked up in bed and felt the sharp jab of every stiff muscle in my body, “OWW I MEANT TO GET UP WHEN YOU DID AND HELP YOU GET THE CLOTHES DOWN BUT I WENT BACK TO SLEEP WHAT’S WRONG LET ME GET DRESSED OW!!”

My eyes felt like I had slept face down in iron filings. “It’s okay, you don’t have to get up yet, but the washing machine just stopped, and I can’t get it going again.” I tried to breathe, but the entire left side of my head was clogged with sickly humours. I hacked and rubbed my eyes and looked at the clock. 7:05. Why yes, it’s much too late for anyone but lazy slugabeds! And yes, I’m quite sure that I did not have to get up then, just because a wife type person came in and woke me from a dead sleep.

I got my glasses and stood up and shuffled my way to the bathroom, where I was met by a horrifyingly grizzled drifter with wild standup hair and my underwear on. Reminded self not to look in mirror in mornings. Got ankle and knee and sinuses working, brushed teeth, shaved, got dressed and went downstairs to the laundry room.

Stench of the burnt flesh of Reddy Kilowatt. Tub full of water and blue jeans. 15 year old Kenmore. You do the math.

“Well, Reba, guess what’s for Christmas?” She guessed right. It had been leaking water intermittently for a while, along with a bit of oil. Finally decided to give up after many years of good hard service. AND GAVE UP ON STINKIN’ CHRISTMAS VACATION! STUPID RASACRASMAL*&&%$#. And all that. But at least I could act heroic and manly.

After a few minutes of study and butt scratching, the day’s sequence of events congealed in my head—drain water, remove door to laundry room, get washer out with hand trucks, move to driveway via garage for the charity appliance picker-uppers, take truck to store, buy gleaming monument to the genius that is America, drive back, crush self to death getting said appliance off of truck, find that death would be too easy, spatula self from under washer like Wile E. Coyote and walk around bobbing and squeaking like a concertina, roll new hole in bank account back into house, hook up hoses, complete laundry, congratulate self for having both an X and a Y chromosome, then hide.

A noble plan, indeed.

Well then, the water. Being the scientific genius I am, I realized that merely bailing the water out of the tub was much too base, and called for an elegant Heroic solution, namely the magic of the siphon. I rummaged around in my garage full of crap and came up short in the hose department. There were the abundant lengths of garden hoses, but they were all dirty and outside and probably full of slugs.

TO THE HARDWARE STORE! To buy hose. Franklin the Truck sputtered and hammered and flamed to life and coasted down to the foot of the hill, where we found that the local hardware store had no flexible tubing. (I guess because it’s not hard or something.) Next best thing? Why, washing machine hoses, bucko! They’ll be just long enough, or I could even hook them end to end!

(At this point, I will jump into the future of the story and remind both you and myself that washing machine hoses have two female ends, and are thus incapable of being joined together without a male-male coupling. I knew that one time a long time ago, but forgot it until the moment came when I opened the bag of hoses, at which point I sorta smacked myself in the forehead, like this *!*.)

OH, yeah, and I needed some hand trucks. Remember this—when you plan, make sure you plan based on the stuff you already have. Finally found a set which the hardware folks had been using around the store—20 bucks. A deal for sure. Oh, yeah, and a hinge. Why? Well, you see, when we moved in, the middle hinge of the laundry room door didn’t have a hinge pin, so I force-fit a slightly too big one in and the door had been slightly bound up too tight ever since. Of course, the best thing would be a hinge pin, but the hardware store was also devoid of these, too. I don’t know why. SO, I bought a hinge, with the idea that I would get its pin and be all better. Because I’m real stupid that way.

Got back, decided to go ahead and take door off, and found that brand new hinge and pin were the exact same slightly too big thing that I had tried to use five years ago. Crap. Oh well, probably won’t be the only trip to the hardware store today, he said with incredible prescience.

On to the water. Take out jeans and wring into tub. Prepare hose.

Slurp, two gallons into bucket, dump into toilet.
Slurp, two gallons into bucket, dump into toilet.
Slurp, two gallons into bucket, dump into toilet.
Slurp, two gallons into bucket, dump into toilet.
Slurp, two gallons into bucket, dump into toilet.

Continue about five more times. Include two slurps which lasted about a half second too long, resulting in getting a nice mouthful of cold, soapy, indigo stained water. Also give yourself a pain in your sternum to replicate that of having to physically hold the ends of hose down into both tub and bucket as water slowly drained. Watch about 45 minutes drift away from your otherwise rich and rewarding life. Finally, get out hated plastic dipper to get remaining water out of tub unreachable by end of hose and curse the very idea of having to soil the purity of the operation by bailing. Also take a moment to wonder why it was that in your first trip to the hardware store that you did not just purchase a small $5 electric pump. Finally, get several beach towels off of shelf and finish sopping up remaining water. Curse.

That done it was time to move some things and unhook hoses and cords and tubes. Hand trucks are used for a very crucial five minutes in order to swing old dead machine through doorway then into kitchen to the bewildered gaze of small children who suddenly felt the urge to gambol underneath Daddy while he was working. Silly, silly children. Go, children. Go, Go! Before Daddy has a coronary.

Get it placed just so outside so that it is not in full view of everyone and come back inside. “Guess what?” Aw crap. “What?” came my timid query. “The dryer vent has a split in it.” Whew. I was half expecting she had found Jimmy Hoffa or something. And that explains a lot about all the lint in the laundry room. In any case, dryer vent hoses are no problem for manly he-men repair guys like me, and provided an excuse for yet another trip to the hardware store. But this time, it was not just a hardware store, but the evil, crushing big-box brute known as Home Depot, which actually has appliances and hardware and stuff you would expect to find in a hardware store!

Franklin and I hit the road again and reached the strip mall which houses both Home Depot and a Super Target and about a half jillion other stores busting at the seams with Christmas shoppers. Resisting the urge to make better time by employing my revving engine/exploding muffler gag I finally got to the Promised Land and went inside.

Looking for good and cheap. Not too cheap, but not something for the Fortress of Solitude, either. Hmmm. $1,000 front load Maytag, eh. I got your lonely, mister. Finally found the Admiral toploads for more reasonable amounts of arms and legs and was met by a pleasant clerk who told me she should would be right back.

(Another break in the action here—please remember that I have not had breakfast yet, and am already in a swoon due to being in a giant hardware store, and this girl was a redhead.)

She came back and asked what I was looking for. Not too cheap, but not too expensive. We looked at the Admiral and found out it was not in stock. She really knew her machinery, though, and we looked at some Maytags and compared and contrasted. She said she loved the one her husband had bought for her. But doggone it, I told her, the same features of the Maytag could be had on that Admiral model for a hundred less bucks. She looked again and the Admiral couldn’t be delivered until after Christmas. Sigh. “Well, I guess I’ll run over to Sears and see what they’ve got.”

I hated to leave because she had been so nice. It’s hard to find clerks in big stores who actually know what they’re doing—they’re mostly kids with the social skills of a rock, and slightly less intelligence. And she just looked so darned cute in her scruffy, grubby, too-big gray jacket with the ends of the sleeves rolled up and her hair pulled back in a big clip and with her green eyes just a’looking at the computer. I guess she was my age or older, but she could have been a lot older, there was no way of telling without looking at her birth certificate. She had the signs of a life cleanly lived—no drinking or smoking or staying out too late or hanging with the wrong crowd and reading Cosmo and stuff—no wrinkles, just a couple of gray hairs, no makeup but didn’t need it anyway.

“Did you see the ones over on the other side of the aisle?” “You mean there’s MORE!” Hey, maybe I didn’t have to leave! There was a whole line of GEs over there, and she thought I had seen them. I walked over and started checking prices and features and then was hit by a sudden attack of the old fart. “But this has a plastic tub. I don’t think I want a plastic tub. Doesn’t the Admiral (that’s not in stock, remember) have a metal tub? Gee, plastic…”

Next thing you know, I would have started singing the praises of back when I had to use rocks. I guess I sounded like some clod who had just showed up at the computer store to upgrade from DOS—‘Oh, I don’t know about that Internet thing.’

She leaned on the one next to the one I was examining, “I really don’t think the tub should be a big concern—these are molded so that there are no snags like the older plastic tubs, and the material is a much more durable kind than they used even a couple of years ago. You’ll probably wear out the machine before you do the tub.” I raised back up out of the depths of the washer and turned toward her. Wow, she was good. Did I mention that she had deep chestnut red hair? And big green eyes?

SNAP OUT OF IT, MAN!

Too late. I was just a big squishy bucket of goo. She wrote up the ticket and I hunkered over the counter admiring her short little fingers with the rough nails and that darned chestnut hair pulled back just so and the great big golf shirt she had on under the grubby gray jacket, and as I stood there handing over all of the Christmas money, I noticed that her shop apron had a wire loop full of little embroidered patches—must have been twenty or thirty. Each one saying “Employee of the Month.” In addition she had five or six more little metal pins across the top of the apron “Top Producer,” “Service Award,” stuff like that. NO BLEEDIN’ WONDER! Some poor sap wanders in looking for hinge pins and she sells him a $10,000 Generac.

HINGE PINS! Ooh, almost forgot that! And dryer vent hose! Yikes. Luckily, they had both, so even more Christmas money got spent on those items.

I went out to get the truck and wait for the washer to come from the back and mull over how it was that I got to be so pathetic when she motioned me back inside. Oh crap. Something bad. “You know I told you we had that one in stock? Guess what…” I was crestfallen, and it must have shown. “No, wait now. Come over here. That one was out of stock, but I got you the next model up for the same price. Is that okay?”

Hmmm.

Well, of course it is!

Not to be outdone, she even laughed when I warned her not to let the loading guy scratch the bed of the truck (which is mostly rust held together by dirt and will power).

Got home and gingerly slid the machine out of the truck bed with no drama or death and got it right in and held Reba in thrall with the story of how it came to be ours. (Sans the rhapsodic paean to petite, softly-constructed, doe-eyed, mind-control-wave-generating sales clerks—this was distilled to “She was very sweet and helpful and she gave me a good deal.” No use pushing my Christmas luck.)

The dryer vent was replaced, the floor was scrubbed of accumulated motor oil and dirt, and the new machine was wrestled into place, the hoses hooked up (with the siphoning set to be held in reserve as replacements) and the plug shoved into the outlet. Success! And the hinge pin fit perfectly! Success! Sorta.

Just as I was putting the door back in place, the BOTTOM hinge half pulled its screws right out of the soft core of the door. CURSE WORD! The little short screws had stripped the holes long ago, and since the door was so hard to close, I had forgotten about it. Needed longer screws. TO THE HARDWARE STORE!

Slightly after noon, and I now am making the third trip to a hardware store. I grabbed the hinge that didn’t work before and went back to the bottom of the hill and exchanged it and got some longer screws. Home again, hinge half back on, all pins set, door swings like Barry Bonds now. Success!

But again, since I’m stupid, and since the morning had progressed without me killing myself with a major appliance, I started to think.

This is always bad.

You see, our microwave oven/range hood burnt out almost a year ago. I have gotten near weekly updates about how nice it would be to have a microwave that worked in the kitchen. I have just shot a huge hole in our account for a washing machine. But, we were going to have to replace it anyway, sometime. Right? Why not now? It’s Christmas, Reba has already decided large home appliances do make a pretty nice gift, I had a helpful person at the store, and I was in full testosterone, truck driving, beating and banging and destruction mode.

“Hey Reba. I was thinking…” “You want to replace the microwave, too?”

Good grief. In the Great Game of the Sexes, I am Chutes and Ladders. Yes, that’s what I wanted to do, so one more time, a’hunting and gathering I went. First stop—to look for Superwoman. Bad news. Shift change had caused my helpful young woman to evaporate into nothingness, replaced with dull-eyed dudes and this really stringy looking woman who had the misfortune to be walking by. “Do you have any of these in stock?” A simple question which led to much hand-wringing, two-way radio chatter with some other slack-brained yayhoo, much looking upward at the rows of boxes above, moving of ladders and some guy to lift and tote. Yes, they had exactly one of the kind I wanted. The guy she called climbed up and got it onto the floor and left to go smoke a joint. The box had a tremendous hole in one corner, and looked like it had been hastily retaped. I looked around in vain for anything else that would do, and finally asked if I could open the box to make sure it was not damaged. She tugged and pulled trying to get the tape off as I zipped it open with my pocketknife. (I bet Connie would have had a box cutter—a special gold-plated one with “Number One Employee” on it.)

Open the box, pull the microwave, and just as I suspected, it looked like it had taken a direct hit from a grenade. The whole side was dented in and the back was buckled. “Wow, it sure does look like it mighta got damaged! I bet if you’da tried to put that in, it probly wouldn’ta fit!” Thank you, Nancy Drew, for the stunning insight. I left her there with the pile of microwave parts and headed out for the other big box down the street, Lowe’s.

Lowe’s was a distinct contrast—huge rows of bright appliances (including the washer I had bought earlier—looks like I saved around $75 or so!) and two whole rows of over the range microwaves. I was standing there looking at a GE and a Frigidaire and suddenly I was swept up by a very nattily dressed, gray haired, bespectacled, and slightly effeminate sexagenarian Japanese sales clerk. “Oh, dis one vary good, and dis one vary good. You use dis thahmamotere to check the tempachu of tha food—verrrrry niiiiicce. And oh boy!, looka tha buttahns on here with popacor and baka pototu and bewarage. Verrrrrry nice. Not so much price as this one, but this have two rack for the cook food and it have---ohhhh, boy, looka that Niccce! You not go wrong either one vary nice and cook good. You like eat, yes? Of course you do!”

I wound up getting the Frigidaire, mainly because it did have the very cool thermometer probe. “Marry Creesmas—Happy New Year!” Good thing he didn’t have red hair, I suppose.

Anyway, got THAT home and proceeded to yank the old one and install the new. Which is much harder than it sounds and involves drilling holes into the cabinets which already had holes in them for the other microwave, and trying to make sure the new one doesn’t carom off my knee and fall into the floor and much euphemistic swearing and bad thoughts. Oh, and one more trip to the hardware store for something that I can’t even remember now.

Finally, along about five o’clock, it was done. And so was I. Then it was child cleaning time. Then it was time for me to collapse onto the bed.

And that was just the Saturday before Christmas. Each succeeding day until now was similarly full of stuff to do, but since it is now the end of my work day, I now must leave and go home and do more such superhuman tasks. And tomorrow, you will get to hear about some of the other promised tales and stories.

And yes, that is a warning.

posted by Terry at 4:59:00 PM

Hello!

Yes, I did manage to survive the holidays, and am now happily back at work so that I may get some well-earned sleep. But before that happens, I have an entire aircraft carrier-sized deck to swab of stuff that has built up over the past week and, of course, our Monday morning staff meeting to attend right now. I will be back. And yes, that is a warning.

posted by Terry at 8:28:00 AM

Friday, December 20, 2002

It's about that time

All next week will be spent with the chilluns, so there will be little in the way of scrumptious possumy goodness for a while. I know you will all make it just fine. I do want to correct a misstatement I made earlier, however, when I said I had a long, navel-gazing post prepared. For the record, as a non-placental mammal, possums technically have no navel into which to gaze. I hope I have not caused any confusion.

In other matters, I would like to take a moment and thank all the folks who have visited Possumblog over the past twelve months. Some of you have become virtual old friends, and I greatly appreciate having made your acquaintance. May you, and all of the other ones of you who stumble in here searching for Norah O'Donnell naked, Jodi Applegate legs, the price of goat jelly in Malta, Patricia Heaton's clavicle, corporal tunnal sindroam, handguns, Underoos, what does finger smell like, possum fur, is Scotland fake, Brittiny Spiers, steakhouse Edina Minnesota, Lewitt-Him, moistened bint, Trent Lott in cheerleader outfit, nucular, liars, Hillary big ankles, Jim Dandy grits, rules of architecture, Alabama bloggers, James Lileks Newhouse, screaming fits, why does this hurt, and Mrs. Hanji Sal, likewise have a very merry Christmas.

Please keep dropping by, the door is always open.

See you all on the 30th.

posted by Terry at 3:55:00 PM

Hey, someone else had a birthday!

Congrats to Mac Thomason for completing his first year of blogatory yesterday.

posted by Terry at 2:36:00 PM

THAT was fun!

Except for trying to cross Highway 280 at lunchtime, and trying to find a place to park in a lot with about 53% too few parking spaces. We aren't going back there--too much peoples, too crappy tiny foods.

Anyway, good conversation as usual. Topics included:

1. Former girl coworkers--I saw one at Target the other day, but I dared not speak to her since I had Screaming Tiny Child with me. She still looks REALLY nice, and she has FINALLY put on a few. Considering the way she used to eat (and still does, I guess), it's incredible beyond belief that she doesn't weigh 3,000 pounds. Good grief, she can pack the vittles away! The other former coworker, Big Tall Blond Marketing Girl, has gone and started another baby with her husband, which is okay, but she didn't check with us first. Sheesh. Some people, eh? I miss her a lot--after she got married a few years back she and hubby moved back up to their old hometown, so My Friend Jeff™ and I don't get to pal around with her anymore.

Of course, it could be the continued humilation of being around us that drove her away. Whenever we used to go out and have lunch with her, I would stand on the curb and make her stand in the gutter before I hugged her so I would be approximately the same height as her. She alway screamed with laughter, but somehow, now that she's gone, I think maybe I was being insensitive.

Nah.

2. Christmas--families are the weirdest things known to man.

3. His brother-in-law's '58 Buick Super--in pieces all across his sister's house. Plans are to paint it red. AAAAAGGGHHH! MFJ™ even went to the trouble of buying a '58 Buick paint chart off of e-Bay (man, you can get anything on the Internet) for him to encourage painting it back the way it was--aqua and white. This advice was studiously ignored.

4. Presents--MFJeff™ made his wife a ceramic cannister set, and bought her a neat piece of handmade jewelry from some woman here in town named Kevin. Yes...Kevin. Just roll your eyes and get it over with.

5. Other assorted coworkers who now have other businesses and I best not speak about due to legal concerns.

6. Iron skillets--proper care and seasoning thereof. I think I mentioned a while ago that I got myself a set for Christmas to replace one that became rusted because someone left water in it. I will not say who, so as not to damage my chances for a little Christmas cheer.

7. Vehicles--he still has a jones on for a new vehicle, and now even Mrs. My Friend Jeff™ is wanting something bigger to haul around their two tikes and their playgroup frenz. He wants something with three rows of seats that is not a minivan and not a big SUV. The one that he really wants is a Honda Pilot, except for not quite so many grickles. I suggested something like this.

8. Other stuff--soup du jour, napkins, morons, sphincters, skateboarders, tipping, glassblowing, Louisiana, a bad case of the stomach nerves, mullets, Velveeta, valises, hubcaps, and spam.

All in all, a lunch well spent. Even if I did only get two magazines.

posted by Terry at 2:15:00 PM

Know what time it is?

Why, it's time for another exciting lunch with My Friend Jeff™! Got a big stack of car magazines to swap with him today, and as usual, I will only get two in return. Piddling little CHEAPSKATE! That's why I like him, though.

Be back after while with manly stories of decorating tips and shoes.

posted by Terry at 11:15:00 AM

Hey, hey, hey, goodbye...

Sen. Lott to Step Down As GOP Leader

WASHINGTON - Sen. Trent Lott will step down as Senate Republican leader, a senior GOP aide close to the Mississippian said Friday, two weeks after Lott's endorsement of Strom Thurmond's 1948 segregationist presidential bid touched off a national uproar.

posted by Terry at 10:01:00 AM

Well, I’ll be.

This stupid pile of crap is a year old! At 11:29:35, Thursday, December 20, 2001, I started writing this thing. A lot sure does happen in a year. Luckily, one constant has been stupid Blogger server problems.

Actually, it’s not really a surprise (my blogbirthday, not stupid, STUPID Blogger)—I’ve been anticipating the day for a while, and had come up with a overly long and tedious, contemplative, navel-gazing, sort of post talking about my thoughts about what I have been trying to do with this blog.

Maybe another time.

Seeing as I will be at home next week (and I really, REALLY doubt that I will have even five seconds free next week to post), I thought that instead of yakking on and on about my piddly concerns it might be good to remember that there are many hundreds of thousands of men and women this year who will not be complaining about the traffic and the jerk at Target, who will not be bemoaning the fact that Christmas is too secular, or too religious, who will not eat too much pecan pie, who will not tell their kids to calm down and be quiet, who will not worry about taking back the weird sweater, who will not dread going over to the Joneses, who will not wish Uncle Julio would shut up, who will not go to sleep halfway through the first quarter.

They keep watch and allow us to live our lives. They don’t do it simply for the money or the snappy looking free clothes. Their lot in life is a tough one, and dangerous. Yet, despite the danger, they stand there at the fenceline. Some folks hate them, hate what they represent—even some of the same people who thrive under their protection. Yet, there they stand.

It’s called duty, and honor.

I’m sure there are some of the stylish and sophisticated sorts out there who would be willing to argue the paint off a wall to the contrary. Fine. Whatever. Believe what you will, but as for me, life is too short to bother arguing with idiots.

Duty and honor mean something, otherwise, we would not exist as a nation.

So then, to the men and women who stand guard along the ramparts, thank you. May God grant you peace and strength.

Also, a special prayer of thanks for the men aboard SSBN 731, which proudly carries the name Alabama around the world. (This is the one instance in which it is very easy for this Tiger to say "Roll Tide!")

UPDATE--For some reason, the link to the USS ALABAMA website has been taken over within the last few hours by another Navy website for CREDO Pacific Northwest. I'm sure that someone will eventually get this fixed, but until then, you might want to check out this private site devoted to the ALABAMA.

posted by Terry at 9:36:00 AM

Thursday, December 19, 2002

My Internet connection went down this morning after a few furtive moments clicking around on my morning blogwalk, explaining, in part, the lack of activity here at Possumblog. It’s odd not being able to know what’s happening on Internet time—surely I’m missing something. Or not.

Anyway, right now it’s about 9 a.m. Sometime in the future, I’m sure that the computer boys will have hooked the hose back up and this will be posted, but for the moment, let me tell you something…

You know, nothing says “office Christmas party” quite like a big pot of collard greens!

Not only does it give the table a touch of festive greenery, it smells just like Grandma’s house (after the toilet backs up, but right before she takes a big dip of snuff). Not only is it pretty and odorlicious, it is one of those holiday finger foods that you just can’t get enough of!

Why, why, WHY did someone bring a seven gallon stockpot of collards? All the rest of the stuff is normal holiday fare such as a meat and cheese tray, crudite, desserts, chips and dip, sandwich fixings…do we really need a mess of greens? Is this really someone’s idea of light finger food?

Now I love turnip and mustard greens and collards just like anyone else. But friends, at the office Christmas party they are just out of place, like a tur…well, I better not use that example or one will surely find its way into the punchbowl.

You think people are weird? Try working with a herd of bureaucrats.

In related news, it is now about 9:30, and I just went downstairs to get the first of many 20 ounce Diet Cokes I will consume today, only to find that the snack bar had been brightly decorated and posted with a sign saying it was closed so that the Finance Department could have their Christmas party in there.

Which would be just fine, except in their exuberant decorating frenzy, they completely covered up all of the vending machines with pretty red plastic sheeting! The door was open, so I went in and went to my beloved Coke machine. Completely covered. Coin slot, buttons, and product bin. Sealed for your protection.

Grrrrrr. Whadda bunch of inconsiderate bean-counting maroons!

Luckily, I am a real man and had at my disposal the means of liberating these poor oppressed vending machines—the terrifying one and a half inches of cheap folding serrated Japanese stainless steel quickly sprang from my pocket and sliiiiiiiiced across the top of the bin…snipsnipsnipped at the coin slot…and ::poked:: a button hole. In went my coins, out came my caffeine fix.

I imagine sometime today we will go into lockdown as the culprit is searched for.

Oh good lord, it’s getting worse. 10:15 a.m.

I just went to rid myself of about 8 ounces of that Diet Coke I bought 45 minutes ago, and found one of our little straw-boss drones in the men’s room, washing vegetables in the sink. I made a joke about him being like Kramer preparing a whole meal in the shower, but of course, since he works in an asylum and has no concept of popular cultural references, he just went right on washing his little baby carrots and cherry tomatoes and bits of cauliflower.

I don’t know about you, but I ain’t eatin’ ‘em.

11:15. The official start of our noontide repast, except there are no forks. Gosh, you think people who are PLANNERS would have thought that out a bit.

Sink-Washing Martinet Guy got to lead the prayer by virtue of his awesome authority—“’kay, let’s pray so we can eat!” With such heartfelt faith and piety, I’m surprised he didn’t say “in Jebus’s name” at the end of it.

Tim the Cheese Seller dude I wrote about last week brought a nice selection of runny French stuff. I know one was Brie, and there was another one beside it that I got a gooey wad of. I don’t know what it is (and don’t really care) but it has an interesting flavor of butter and pecan sawdust and Clorox. Those French!

I found out who brought the Pot o’Collards, and I’m not surprised. He could pass for a member of some conspiracy group (Left or Right—he has a real ecumenical spirit), except he’s just a bit too insane. Five minutes alone with him, and even Lyndon LaRouche would shake his head and let out a low whistle. Of course, I may have gotten on his bad side by opening the pot and loudly asking, “Hey, who cooked a Christmas tree!?”

My contribution to the whole shebang was sandwich bread. This happened because I made a concerted effort to hide from the list-bearer, but I was finally found and could not escape. So, sandwich bread. BUT, not just any sandwich bread—“exotic” sandwich bread. This is the term dreamed up by our psychotic administrative support specialist to describe anything not square and white. So my “exotic” selection consisted of Jewish rye, pumpernickel, and sourdough, all purchased from that well-known purveyor of all such exotic foodstuffs, the Food World grocery store in Trussville.

11:40. Just went back for seconds and in order to keep from coming across like such a total cheese rube (as if you care), I asked Tim what the variety was that I had gotten earlier. Sounded something like “Geaumlahflahmlah.” Again, those French, and that wacky language of theirs! So if any of you want any cheese that tastes like swimming pool chemicals, be sure to ask for it by name.

I got a few more little knickknacks and doohickies and Tim was holding forth to someone about the various cheeses, and I heard one little gem fly out, “blahblahblah…yeah, it’s a real popular cheese with people because it doesn’t offer a big challenge…blahblahblah.”

Well, gee-stinkin’-whiz, excuse ME! Don’t I have enough challenges in life without some derned bacteria-laden milk concoction making it worse! I DON’T WANT CHALLENGING CHEESE! I want cheese in a pressurized can, cheese whose ass I can whip, cheese that sits there quietly and takes orders from ME! HEY, you want challenging cheese, be my guest, but go all the way! How about some nice Gouda with blowfish poison sprinkles, huh!? There’s you a challenge! How about a nice U238/Camembert blend, feta with ricin, or a sultry Reggiano Parmigiano with the clap. I got yer challenging cheese RIGHT HERE, bub!

Anyway, the Internet connection is still not back up as of noon, so I am going to copy this to a floppy, go over to the library and post it (Lord willing and Blogger has not had another server disaster) and try to answer all the huge stacks of Nigerian e-mail.

12:30. SAYYYY, not so fast there, Fat Boy! I just walked over and was met with a sign stating that all Birmingham City Libraries are closed today for inventory. Must be getting ready for that last big push before Christmas or something.

And, it started raining.

Blech.

So, I’m back here again.

FINALLY!!! 3:00 o'clock and it's working again. And nearly time to pack up my bread and go home.

Oh well.

posted by Terry at 3:02:00 PM

Wednesday, December 18, 2002

From my mole at Hill AFB, some sad news about a particular Holiday--Religious, Christian (Protestant), Christmas--Mark II, version Twelve Day...

Twelve Days of Christmas, DoD Style

The President has authorized the Department of Defense to assist Santa with the Twelve Days of Christmas. Status of acquisitions follows:

Day 1- Partridge in a pear tree: The Army and Air Force are in the process of deciding whose area of responsibility Day 1 falls under. Since the partridge is a bird, the Air Force believes it should have the lead. The Army, however, feels trees are part of the land component command's area of responsibility. After three months of discussion and repeated OpsDeps tank sessions, a $1M study has been commissioned to decide who should lead this joint program.

Day 2 - Two turtle doves: Since doves are birds, the Air Force claims responsibility. However, turtles are amphibious, so the Navy-Marine Corps team feels it should take the lead. Initial studies have shown that turtles and doves may have interoperability problems. Terms of refererence are being coordinated for a four-year, $10M DARPA study.

Day 3 - Three French Hens: At State Department instigation, the Senate Committee on Foreign Affairs has blocked off-shore purchase of hens, from the French or anyone else. A $6M program is being developed to find an acceptable domestic alternative.

Day 4 - Four Calling Birds: Source selection has been completed, with the contract awarded to AT&T. However, the award is being challenged by a small disadvantaged business.

Day 5 - Five Golden Rings: No available rings meet MILSPEC for gold plating. A three-year, $5M accelerated development program has been initiated.

Day 6 - Six Geese a-Laying: The six geese have been acquired. However, the shells of their eggs seem to be very fragile. It might have been a mistake to build the production facility on a nuclear waste dump at former Air Force base that was closed under BRAC.

Day 7 - Seven Swans a-Swimming: Fourteen swans have been killed trying to get through the Navy SEAL training program. The program has been put on hold while the training procedures are reviewed to determine why the washout rate is so high.

Day 8 - Eight Maids a-Milking: The entire class of maids a-milking training program at Aberdeen is involved in a sexual harassment suit against the Army. The program has been put on hold pending resolution of the lawsuit.

Day 9 - Nine Ladies Dancing: Recruitment of the ladies dancing has been halted by a lawsuit from the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell Association." Members claim they have a right to dance and wear women's clothing as long as they're off duty.

Day 10 - Ten Lords a-Leaping: The ten lords have been abducted by terrorists. Congress has approved $2M in funding to conduct a rescue operation. Army Special Forces and a USMC MEU(SOC) are conducting a "NEO-off" competition for the right to rescue.

Day 11 - Eleven Pipers Piping: The pipe contractor delivered the pipes on time. However, he thought DoD wanted smoking pipes. DoD lost the claim due to defective specifications. A $22M dollar retrofit program is in process to bring the pipes into spec.

Day 12 - Twelve Drummers Drumming: Due to cutbacks only six billets are available for drumming drummers. DoD is in the process of coordinating an RFP to obtain the six additional drummers by outsourcing; however, funds will not be available until FY 05.

As a result of the above-mentioned programmatic delays, and due to a high OPTEMPO that requires diversion of modernization funds to support current readiness, Christmas is hereby postponed until further notice.

That is all.

posted by Terry at 4:33:00 PM

Congratulations to Axis of Weevil Ministress for Venture Capitalism Elizabeth Spiers on the launching of her new collaborative effort with Jason Kottke and Nick Denton known to the world as GAWKER, which promises radical Manhattanism in the form of "a live review of city news, and by news we mean, among other things, urban dating rituals, no-ropes social climbing, Condé Nastiness, downwardly-mobile i-bankers, real estate porn -- the serious stuff."

Heaven help us all.

posted by Terry at 3:41:00 PM

Keeping and Bearing

Man shoots would-be carjacker; second suspect escapes

MONTGOMERY, Ala. (AP) -- A U.S. Marine sergeant shot and killed a would-be carjacker in an exchange of gunfire in the drive-thru lane of a fast-food restaurant near a military base, police said Wednesday.

Lt. Huey Thornton, a police spokesman, said the fatal shooting was viewed by investigators as a case of self-defense and no charges were filed.

The Marine suffered a gunshot wound to the face but it was not believed to be life-threatening. Thornton said the Marine, identified as Sgt. James Lowery of Havelock, N.C., was hospitalized and expected to make a full recovery.

Thornton identified the dead man as Thaddeus Antone, 19, of Montgomery.

He was killed when he allegedly tried to commandeer Lowery's Chevrolet Suburban in the drive-thru lane of a McDonald's restaurant about 9:40 p.m. Tuesday near the entrance to the Maxwell-Gunter Air Force Base. [...]

Semper Fire

posted by Terry at 3:14:00 PM

As I have noted before, I am probably in the top 2- to 3,000 smartest Marsupial-Americans in the entire state of Alabama who have their own blog. I don't say this out of false pride or anything, but simply to show that there is a reason that the whole world turns to Possumblog for important information and facts. Like this nice person who just Googled his way in here searching for List of Heights and weights of German Politicians. I bet William F. Buckley, Jr. doesn't get questions like that. That's because he don't know SQUAT about such things.

ON the other hand, the Possumblog Statistical Research Council is quite happy to oblige!

We have just completed a survey of Bundestag members for the last ten years, with age, weight, sex (if determinable), height, political party, and shoe size, tabulated and bound in 48 volumes, each one produced using the most modern environmentally sensitive production processes, using recycled lint and soy ink. A companion Statistical Abstract with analysis of the raw data is also available, bound into a set of 63 volumes. An Executive Version can be procured, richly covered in non-petrochemically derived leatherlike material, in either brown or buff, with the spine and cover imprints embossed in gold leaf. A Standard Yearly Update Atlas is just now being printed, which includes Fold Out Maps, Pronunciation Chart, SI-English Conversion Data, Errata, Deletions, and Additions. The Update is handsomely printed in two colors, and is a handy 6,500 page single volume, made even more convenient by the addition of two handles. The entire set of materials is only USD25,000,000 (EUR24.357.387,42; DEM47.637.819,87 plus applicable customs duties or VAT). Send your order today, and you will receive a FREE poster of David Hasselhoff!

posted by Terry at 2:48:00 PM

Iraq Ready to Use Scorched-Earth Tactics in War, American Officials Say

Unless we beat them to it.

posted by Terry at 1:55:00 PM

The other day, reader Garland Stewart (oops--not Smith, and I KNOW better--sorry Garland) sent me a note to ask that you all vote for Big Al as the Capital One Mascot of the Year. Although it hurt really, REALLY bad to encourage such behavior, I do understand that it would be even worse for someone outside of our fair state to take home the big prize.

So does Miss Lee Ann over at Spinsters.com, who has taken the time to detail the foul and horrifying drawbacks of all the other mascots, thus making your decision even easier:

[...] Buzz the Yellow Jacket (Georgia Tech) – A bee? A killer bee? Sure, he wants you to think he’s a harmless mascot, until he turns on you and harpoons you with his poison-filled stinger! That’s biological warfare. Smooth move, Saddumb. Voting for Buzz would just be letting the terrorists win.[...]

posted by Terry at 10:46:00 AM

You know, if the Travelling Shoe fits...

Excellent post from well-known hotdog connoisseur and smart guy H.D. Miller:

It's not often I get taken to task for something I wrote nearly eight months ago, and it's even less often it happens in a foreign language. But, that's exactly what the writer at this Spanish site does. Here's an excerpt for those of you who read the Español.

Un ex-soldado del Ejército de los Estados Unidos no tuvo mejor cosa que hacer que pasearse por las páginas del diario El País y leer una noticia acerca de la muerte de un bebé palestino prematuro, debida a la tardanza de una ambulancia que fue detenida en un control israelí. El susodicho ex-soldado, ataca en su weblog al periódico español, tildándolo poco menos que de fascistoide y antisemita.

What's sad about this rant is that the writer, a typically sactimonious Euro-twit, gives away the game in the opening sentence by identifying me only as an "ex-soldier of the American army," neglecting to mention that I've been out of the Army (after a very brief career) for nearly 15 years. (I might now best be described as a rather undistinguished assistant professor of history, although I'm sure that doesn't fit his needs.) It's clear what he is trying to do; the intent is to tar me with the broad brush of wicked American militarism rather than to address the issues I raised in my original post. [...]

Tip for Euro-twits: Assuming all Americans are simple and dull can be very embarrassing for you.

But, then again, it is a quite satisfying read as Mr. Miller does a nice multi-lingual job of tearing our poor Spaniard a new one.

posted by Terry at 10:37:00 AM

Former child star Adam Rich of "Eight is Enough" arrested for alleged DUI

LOS ANGELES (AP) -- One-time child actor Adam Rich, who starred in the 1970s TV show "Eight Is Enough," was arrested early Wednesday after he drove onto a closed highway lane and nearly struck a California Highway Patrol car, authorities said.

Rich, 34, who played Nicholas on the series, was booked for investigation of driving under the influence, CHP Officer Francisco Villalobos said.

Rich was driving on Interstate 10 when he almost struck a CHP patrol car parked in a lane that was closed for maintenance, authorities said. [...]

I suppose eight really is enough when your hammering back adult beverages containing the fruity bouquet of ethanol.

posted by Terry at 10:22:00 AM

Lott vows to stand and fight to keep his job as Republican majority leader

Wow. He really IS sorta slow on the uptake. I guess it's all part of that learning process he keeps saying he has gone through over time, huh. Maybe in 30 or 40 years, he might be able to figure out that he's fighting the wrong fight.

posted by Terry at 10:15:00 AM

I love pot stickers. Tender, flavorful, and apparently slightly hallucinogenic when purchased from the grocery store.

Reba got some the other day and we steamed them up last night.

Not without high drama, as is normal around our house. In her distracted state of preparation, she inadvertently let all the water boil out of the double boiler and nearly set a good Revereware saucepan on fire. She was fussing and fuming and the pot had gotten to that ominous black color that signifies the start of Something Bad, so I managed to wrestle it away from her and quench it in the sink. It took several minutes to finally cool off (it's one of those with the extra thick bottom. HEY! No jokes about me!) Just as that crisis was abated, one of the kids said something about it.

Kids. So young, so full of curiosity. So oblivious to danger.

After a good dose of verbal guiltlashing, they remained remarkably quiet for the rest of the meal. Hey, they CAN learn! If Mama ain't happy, ain't NOBODY happy--learn it, live it. Anyway, the pot stickers were great even though those last few had an...odd flavor. And they were accompanied by nice crunchy spring rolls, and I ate too many of both. Which led me to my discovery of their odd power.

Sometime after going to bed last night, I started dreaming about work. I was looking at some old aerial views of Birmingham, and there were all these cool buildings that have never existed except in this particular dream. I saw one that was really neat, and it appeared to be just across the street from City Hall. In the aerial, it was huge and had two low wings on each side of a gigantic dome or something. I thought how cool it would be to go through it, and then I was no longer at my desk, but walking down the street. (As with all my dreams, part of the time I was not really walking, but drifting along while laying on something, sometimes stopping for a quick nap along the way)

Suddenly, I got to where the building in the picture was supposed to be, and HEY! It's still here! The storefront was all covered up with huge sheets of glass and wood framing, but you could look up and see the tall part which was not a dome, but a tower like the prow of a ship, sort of like the Flatiron Building, except razor sharp, with no windows or decoration. I walked around to the side and there was a large construction fence and a job trailer and some folks milling around with hard hats. Hey, lucky me, I had one on, too! (One of my obscure Rules of Architecture is that someone with a hard hat and a clipboard can get in anyplace in the world)

I asked some woman what was going on and she said they were doing a safety inspection and they all started climbing through a small hole in the fence. No one stopped me, so I tagged along and found myself inside of a dark old building with all sorts of beams and scaffolding and junk all over the place. (Think Piranesi.) We walked and climbed over stuff, and finally got to a stair lobby, which looked like something in an old Sears store--crappy panelling, mod fixtures, battleship linoleum. There was a ladder going up, and the idea was that you climbed up a bit, and then grabbed onto something like a rolling swing that took you around to another part of the building. I decided just to walk.

We were then all in a tiny little dark kitchen, which looked like it had not been cleaned in ages. I said something to some guy beside me about those cookies sure looking good, because there was this plate of cookies sitting on an old stove and I thought I was joking. I then looked, and the cookies actually DID look pretty good and then it dawned on me that someone had been cooking, as if someone was living in the place. Weird! And boy, some food sounded good right about then. We walked on through a door, and came to a bright open room with a fireplace and nice furniture. We couldn't figure out what was going on, and figured that the building must have a caretaker of some sort who lived there. And then, right there on top of the TV was a picture of my son! HEY! These people are RELATED to ME! I started trying to go through all the relatives I had sent pictures to who lived in abandoned buildings, and couldn't think of a one. Continuing our tour, the rooms were scattered all over the place, and there were these cool flat screen TVs everywhere, playing short loops of family pictures, sort of like the paintings in Harry Potter. Big ones, little picture frame sized ones, ones above the mantle, one used as a table. The place was huge and the more we walked around, the more "glamorous" it became, in that Lileksian Interior Desecrator's mode--like something out of a mid-'70s Architectural Digest.

We looked out of a window, and there was a gigantic park behind the building so I walked out on the roof. (Of course. It WAS a dream, after all). There was no trace of the city, or even of the odd tower thing--it just looked like a nice old mansion on nicely kept grounds. I went back inside, and met up with some of the other people in the group, and we came to a surprising conclusion. It seems that DONALD TRUMP owned the building, and was, in fact, LIVING IN IT! I was about to go ask him how he got one of our family pictures when I heard a strange shoooosh...

shoooosh...

shooooosh sound.

Shooooosh.

Shooosh.

I opened my eyes and heard it again...shoooosh.

I dazedly figured out it was Tiny Girl, scooting along the floor of our bedroom on her butt, trying to sneak into bed with us. Raspy whisper, "Catherine!"

No answer.

Another low, hoarse, try-not-to-wake-wife call, "CATH-ER-INE!" (Shades of Pete--"DO. NOT. SEEK. THE. TREAS-URE!")

I was hanging my head off the side of the bed, and she jumped up right in my face. Yes, it is scary when that happens. I whispered and asked her if she had wet the bed. No answer, which can be bad news. I asked again, and she shook her head "No," which is usually good news, if she is actually telling the truth. I figured I would send her right back to bed, and then...

The alarm clock went off.

Crap.

I hoisted the dense little sack of wet cement up into the bed and turned on the news, and after a minute or two, she was back out again, happily snoring and kicking me in the groin. And giggling her head off in her sleep. The pot stickers must have had a good effect on her, too.

(And I also found out this morning that the combination of spring rolls and pot stickers are not only hallucinogenic, but greatly flatulegenic, too, but I won't bore you with lurid tales of the Thunder From Down Under)

ANYway, I have work to do, so I will see you this afternoon sometime.

posted by Terry at 9:48:00 AM

Tuesday, December 17, 2002

It's getting to be about that time...

...and I have to be here extra early tomorrow morning so as to protect the good citizenry from the perils of bad color schemes, and then I will need to do a intensive writing job on the minutes of that meeting in order to get the rest of my stuff done for the week, so I can have a nice Christmas break and not worry about things here at the office. (Shyeah, right!)

So then, if I don't get to come out and play very much tomorrow, rest assured that I have an excuse.

posted by Terry at 4:18:00 PM

Seminoles' QB Rix Declared Ineligible

By BRENT KALLESTAD, Associated Press Writer

TALLAHASSEE, Fla. - Florida State quarterback Chris Rix must miss the Sugar Bowl against Georgia because he overslept and failed to take a final exam.

Rix was declared ineligible Tuesday, leaving the Seminoles without their top two quarterbacks as they prepare to play the Southeastern Conference champion Bulldogs on Jan. 1.

Backup Adrian McPherson was kicked off the team last month for his involvement in a check-writing scam.

Rix slept through a religion exam, an automatic suspension under a rule established after former Seminoles' star Deion Sanders played in the '89 Sugar Bowl despite not taking any final exams.

"It's an academic decision, there's no chance for him to play in the Sugar Bowl," coach Bobby Bowden said. [...]

Bummer, dude.

posted by Terry at 3:56:00 PM

Most have never used new dollar coin despite three-year campaign, survey says

By DAVID HO
The Associated Press
12/17/02 3:35 PM

WASHINGTON (AP) -- Nearly two-thirds of Americans oppose replacing the dollar bill with a coin, but many change their minds when told the switch could save taxpayers hundreds of millions of dollars, a poll commissioned by Congress finds.

Despite a three-year, $67.1 million marketing campaign by the U.S. Mint, people remain attached to their greenbacks and show little interest in filling their pockets with golden dollar coins, the General Accounting Office said Tuesday.

While 70 percent of people have heard of the new coins, only 5 percent have plunked one down at a cash register and fewer than 2 percent have used them to operate vending machines, toll booths or for mass transit, according to the GAO-sponsored Gallup survey on how people feel about U.S. coins.

It is the second time in recent decades a dollar coin has failed to catch on; the silvery Susan B. Anthony coin, often mistaken for the quarter, was minted in 1979-81, rereleased around the turn of the century and has largely disappeared. Addressing the problem, Congress in 1997 required the new dollar coin to be golden in color. [...]

As long as the bill remains in circulation, there will never be mass appeal of a dollar coin. It would also help if the dollar coin didn't look like a Chuckie Cheese token; "golden" in this case being more along the lines of "creme" filling. The color does not age gracefully--the stacks I got for the kids looked fine when they came out of the drawer at Wal-Mart (remember when they were the distribution point to foist these off on people?), but even just sitting unused in my change bowl, they quickly looked worn. Not patinaed like copper, or satiny like nickel, just faded like a cheap giveaway prize out of a gumball machine. The Mint says they are made of manganese-brass, but whatever it is, it sure looks cheap. I don't guess it matters one way or the other since they have stopped making them.

posted by Terry at 3:36:00 PM

In Honor of Two Guys from Dayton

posted by Terry at 1:42:00 PM

Yasser Arafat says he accepts U.S. peace roadmap in principle

Palestinian Authority Chairman Yasser Arafat said Tuesday, after several months delay, that he has in principle accepted the United States-proposed roadmap for peace in the region. [...]

Wow. I feel all better.

posted by Terry at 1:34:00 PM

Stranger returns cash found at gas pumps

OPELIKA, Ala. (AP) -- Thanks to a good Samaritan, Christmas will be merry for a woman who thought she had lost her holiday cash.

The good Samaritan, Richard Coffey, found an envelope containing $600 near the pumps of a gas station in front of an Opelika Wal-Mart store Sunday evening.

Lee County Sheriff Jay Jones said that Coffey never considered being a grinch and pocketing the money, but instead turned it in to authorities.

The envelope belonged to Sheree Finley, who came to the station Monday looking for her missing money. Station employees told her to call the sheriff. [...]

You know, it's a bit of a sad commentary when someone doing the right thing is considered newsworthy.

posted by Terry at 1:20:00 PM

The Rednecks Take Over America

[...] Though Redneck Nation is smart-mouthed and light-hearted (you will not be surprised to learn that [author Michael] Graham once worked as a stand-up comic), and it doesn't pretend to be a serious political book, its author does make some sober points between the riffs and jibes. On the subject of race, he says that today's left-wing neo-segregationists are morally worse than the white Jim Crow supporters, like his grandmother. ''But she didn't grow up with the memory of a martyred Martin Luther King, Jr., and she couldn't benefit from forty years of intense public struggle over the ridiculousness of racial obsession. You and I have,'' he writes.

Take Sen. Trent Lott (R., Yoknapatawpha County), who was inadvertently making Graham's case the other day when he said that America would've been better off if it had voted for Segregationist Strom for president in 1948. Well, that did it. Now Lott is being instructed in righteousness by the Boss Hogg and Roscoe P. Coltrane of black America. I refer, or course, to Jesse Jackson and his not-so-bright disciple Al Sharpton, the most notorious racialist hornswogglers north or south of the Mason-Dixon line. Few media people seem to find this objectionable, or even particularly funny, because hey y'all, we're all rednecks now.'' [...]

posted by Terry at 11:29:00 AM

Oh good grief

First it was the "Brutal Afghan Summer" (or Winter--take yer pick), and now we have the Brutal Iraqi Summer...U.S. Could Fight Iraq in Summer Heat-British Source

By Howard Goller

LONDON (Reuters) - A British defense source said on Tuesday that searing desert heat would not prevent the United States from leading a war against Iraq in summer, defying conventional wisdom the weather would stand in Washington's way.

"It is a factor that has to be considered but it's not a crucial factor in the sense that it would stop anything happening," the source said. [...]

Conventional wisdom, eh? Now I realize that Iraq has a lot of desert, but for the record, Baghdad is at latitude 33 degrees, 20 minutes north--while that wonderful town of Tuscon, Arizona where little old people go for the nice dry hot weather sits even further south, coming in at latitude 32 degrees, 08 minutes north.

Yeah, it's searing heat alright. But it's a dry searing heat.

(And by the way, my hometown is at 33 degrees, 37 minutes north)

posted by Terry at 10:28:00 AM

As you all know...

I am a very deep thinker. Just the other day, I thought how much better this world would be if someone would come up with better single-site catalysts based on caged diimide ligands. And then in my morning blogstroll, I note that someone did!

Congratulations, Greg! (And glad to hear Miss Possum is bouncy again.)

posted by Terry at 9:33:00 AM

Monday, December 16, 2002

I post this under extreme duress...

This just in from long-time reader Garland Stewart:

Dear Friends,

Big AL, the University of Alabama's mascot, needs your help!! Even if you're not from Alabama, how could you not be for Big Al?

Big Al is in the top 12, for All-American Capital One Mascot Team. At present he has only 6% of the vote. Tennessee, Penn State, Miami and the Air Force are whoopin' him so far. Even if you're a War Eagle, don't you want our state to win?! Let's put Alabama on the Mascot Map!

We only have until December 20, to turn this thing around for Big Al. So, click below and vote. Remember, only one vote is allowed per person. And please don't forget to forward this to every Southerner you know.

Roll Ride!

Vote for Big AL - Alabama's Mascot http://www.capitalonebowl.com/mascot_vote.php

Whew!

Hhmmmmmmh.

whoooh.

Hold on a minute. MMMMMmmmph.

Urrrghhhuhhh.

::grunt::

Errrrrrrrgh.

::sigh::

Must. Not. Curse.

The Possumblog Editorial Staff ask that you please support Big Al in his bid to become America's favorite mascot.

Hhhhhmmmmmmmmmm. ::heavy sigh::

Man, that hurt.

posted by Terry at 4:53:00 PM

Have a cuppa, luv...

[...] It was now evening, and I immediately dressed myself in the costume of an Indian, equipped with a small hatchet, which I and my associates denominated the tomahawk, with which, and a club, after having painted my face and hands with coal dust in the shop of a blacksmith, I repaired to Griffin's wharf, where the ships lay that contained the tea. When I first appeared in the street after being thus disguised, I fell in with many who were dressed, equipped and painted as I was, and who fell in with me and marched in order to the place of our destination. [...]

Via America's Homepage at the Georgia Institute of Technology, an account written by George Hewes, a participant in the Boston Tea Party, which occurred this night 229 years ago.

Thanks from us all, Mr. Hewes.

posted by Terry at 3:42:00 PM

Bellicose Women Update

Ohio Teen Girl Tackles, Hogties Intruder

DAYTON, Ohio (AP) - A petite 17-year-old girl awakened by intruders sprinted from her house barefoot in pajamas and tackled one trespasser, pinning and hogtying him for police.

Melissa Alexander said her experience training horses and playing soccer and softball helped her as she took down the taller and heavier 18-year-old man. Two others were arrested later, and police were looking for a fourth suspect.

"I still don't know what came over me," Alexander said Thursday. "I wasn't thinking at first, then he started making me mad."

Her mother marveled at the feat.

"She had it all under control," Vickie Stanley said of the 5-foot-3, 110-pound daughter she described as "a little bitty thing."

Police said the man Alexander tackled — Jason Burkett, of Brookville — is 5-foot-10 and 140 pounds. [...]

Heh heh.

posted by Terry at 2:24:00 PM

Adventures in Headline Writing

Shelby to continue hunt for terrorists in new banking post

...and how they got in my new banking post I'll NEVER know!

posted by Terry at 2:16:00 PM

Lieberman leans toward White House run

And all I can think about is this.

posted by Terry at 2:09:00 PM

Fragmentary Fred First of Floyd Flees Flummoxed Fileserver, Failsafes to Friends Flat For Fortnight (or so)

It appears fellow Weevilite Fred First has been having some troubles with the host of his blog, so is hanging out in Ron Bailey's bloghouse until matters are settled. Be sure to keep a lookout for when Fred gets his new domain mastered, and until then, Fragments from Floyd can be found here.

posted by Terry at 1:45:00 PM

Buhm-buhm BUUUUUUUHMMMM!!!

LOOK! Across the pond! It's a pest! It's a misguided moron! IT'S CAPTAIN EURO!!!! Via Mac Thomason, the next installment of our wondrously non-heroic nanny stater, as Captain Euro takes on...

THE NIGERIANS!!

[...] EURO: Citoyens, what seems to be the trouble?

RIOTER: A European! Get him! [Throws a rock at EURO. It hits him in the head.]

EURO: Ow. Please, gentlemen, let us discuss this like rational men. [The RIOTERS throw more rocks, eventually bringing EURO to his knees.] Please, ow, don -- OW!

[As the RIOTERS approach, EURO is dragged away by a golden lasso.]

WONDER WOMAN: What were you trying to do there? You can't just stand there and let them hit you with rocks. [A rock sails towards them, but WW deflects it with her bracelet and it harmlessly falls on EURO's head.]

EURO: Ow. Cover yourself, woman!

WW: What?

EURO: No wonder they're rioting, what with your scandalous attire!

WW: I just got here. They're rioting because someone made a joke, I think. [She drags EURO out of the path of the riot.]

EURO: Well, you certainly shouldn't encourage them. There's a shop near here where you can get an abaya. [...]

Mmmm. Wonder Woman.

posted by Terry at 1:39:00 PM

On the Twelve Days of Christmas, Charles Austin gave to me...

So stinkin' many Scourges of Richard Cohen that my comprehension of Roman numeral has been exhausted--they are LXVII, LXVIII, and LXIX, which I believe translates to 100, 143, and 96. Maybe not. Anyway, entertaining as shooting fish in a barrel can be!

posted by Terry at 11:16:00 AM

Hello!

Well, that certainly was an entertaining weekend.

Did I mention that I got an e-mail from Denise McClug...oh, yeah I did, didn't I. Many thanks to Bill Quick over at the Daily Pundit for sharing in my glee and sending a bunch of folks over this way on Saturday. I'm just sorry I didn't spruce up a bit more, but as usual, I never expect anyone to drop by except the regulars who have grown accustomed to the mess around here. In any event, thanks to Bill, and also thanks to fellow blogger and fan of Larry Shinoda Ron Bailey who wonders what Harley Earl would think of a Pontiac Aztek. I imagine he would think it was a very interesting dumpster, but might complain that the lift gate is a bit too high to comfortably empty a garbage can into. Then again, he might just set it on fire. Or pee on it. Good thing he's dead. One thing Ron mentioned is that he once bumped into Automobile Magazine's Jean Jennings (nee Lindamood) at the Mall of America--I look forward to hearing the exact details of that one. (Lindamood's another cool gearhead/gun nut chick I wouldn't mind driving cross country with.)

Speaking of my inelegantly named official list of "Old Broads I Would Really Like To Meet and....Well, You Know," reader Bet Mulligan from down in Inverness, Florida, wrote in with her thoughts on the New Beetle v. Real Beetle, and congratulated me on getting such a nice Christmas present from Miss Denise:

Congrats on getting that neat email from the car columnist! As an aspiring Old Broad myself, I smiled a mile wide when you sighed over her :)

For those who would take offense at the term "old broad," rest assured you are NOT on my list. And won't be on it. Ever.

For the rest of you, I think by now you know me well enough to know the qualities I ascribe to such women--self-sufficient, confident, mentally agile, brave, wise, full of life and humor, enjoys being around guys--even when they act like guys. And yes, you need to have some age on you. This doesn't mean that you young ladies can't shoot for old broad status--keep working at it, but a lot of the magic comes from perservering and fighting and building up some battle damage over the years. If you can still manage to crack a smile or still get all goosey when you get dressed up to go out, even when life has been unkind, you've managed to do something. Or, if you have finally overcome that muzzle blast induced trigger flinch. Or figured out how to heel-and-toe.

ANYWAY, the weekend was a blur of children and shopping for Mama. Target, Books-A-Million, Michael's, Target, Wal-Mart, Hallmark, Wal-Mart, CVS Pharmacy, Target, Wal-Mart. I still have difficulty getting the kids to concentrate on gifts for Mom rather than cool stuff they want Mom to have so they can play with it. SO, among other more Mom-appropriate items, Catherine got her a little stuffed Clydesdale, and Lil' Boy got her a Bedtime Care Bear with a lullaby video. I can't really complain, though. Several years ago after noticing how many times she asked me to cut something with my pocketknife, I got a cool little thumb-opener with a light on the end so you could see your door lock and gave it to her. She was somewhat less than thrilled, so I told her I would be glad to carry it for her. Still carry it to this day. And still tell her it's hers.

Honestly, I really can't remember much else--just lots of "Don't touch!" and trips to the restroom, which I believe will last for only another 12 years or so.

And today, and the rest of the week for that matter, will be spent trying to tie up as many loose ends as possible so that I can be on vacation next week. The whole week will be spent nestled into the bosom of my family, and I'm sure that I will only be slightly more insane after the end of it.

Or not.

So then, to work!

posted by Terry at 10:57:00 AM

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