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 28, 2003

The swarm continues to gather strength...

I had been doing a bit of casual Googlebating the other day (shut up! everyone does it!) and noted that my parodic diatribe against President Lincoln going to war over cotton had been found and linked by the author of Half Bakered (Reading the Memphis Papers So You Don't Have To). I dashed off a thank you (as I am wont to do, for I am mannerly and civil), and just today as I was rummaging through the huge sacks of mail that pass through our loading dock here at the Axis of Weevil World Headquarters, I found a reply to a that note--

Hi Terry,

Gotta say I love Possumblog. I check it everyday.

WOW! I've never gotten an e-mail from someone who is certifiably insane. How very interesting! And it becomes even more clear...

May I apply for membership in the Axis of Weevil? I was born in Alabama and lived there for thirty years -- 25 in Huntsville and 5 in Birmingham. I went to Auburn! Well, for a year, anyway, but still.... I moved to Memphis about 15 years ago and while I love it here I have to admit that my heart is still in Birmingham.

Somehow, Tony Bennett comes to mind. But not in a good way.

I used to live in the "UAB student ghetto"

And 1969 Las Vegas Elvis comes to mind. And once more, not in a good way.

and I still fondly remember being able to walk into the front yard, look up over my shoulder, and see the Vulcan watching over me.

Now that he's down on the ground for restoration, you can go up and look him right in the butt!

True story: Last time I went to visit my mother, she asked if I wanted a drink. When I said, "Whatever's in the fridge," she replied, "There's Milo's tea." ;-)

I remember coming home from Auburn one day while my mom was at work, and there was a bottle of Sprite on the kitchen counter. Being a highly sanitary person, and about to die for something to drink, I took the cap off and drank a big swig. It sure did taste funny. That was because my mom had been using the bottle to fix up some plant food.

Anyway, I promise not to screw up, or blow anything up accidentally, or at least make y'all act like you don't know me.

Thanks.
Mike Hollihan

Well, you're definitely overqualified then! I quickly responded to make sure Mike didn't mind losing his anonymity and insure that he has fully read the disclosure of terms and conditions of membership, and he responded that he had, and fully agreed to them, and even went so far as to volunteer himself to be the designated driver at the next company picnic. (For the record, Possumblog is dry, as is the Headquarters Building. The addled ranting found herein is not the result of alcohol consumption. Believe it or not.)

ANYWAY, without further muss and fuss, it is time to add yet another wayward, misguided individual to the ever more ponderous and intransigent Yellowhammer Benevolent Association of Internet Scriptography--

HAVING Successfully completed his membership form (in triplicate) and shown himself devoid of all the necessary caution to stay away from such convocations, it is with great pleasure, and by the authority of Ned, the security guard at the State of Alabama State Docks Commission building, that we, the mighty Axis of Weevil do hereby accept one Mike Hollihan of Half Bakered fame into the warm clutches of our collective bosom. (Sorry, no bosom pictures either).

AS WITH ALL NEW MEMBERS, Mike will be receiving his very own World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, just now being loaded into the Pinto and sent out onto Highway 78. Being that everyone should be getting pretty darned tired of rereading the contents of this marvelous assortment of goodies, please scroll down the page a bit and you'll see what's in there.

Go, now, Mike, and make us proud!

posted by Terry at 5:02:00 PM

Democrats attack White House on economic policy

Well.

I'm sure there's nothing political about it.

posted by Terry at 3:40:00 PM

Missed this one from a week ago--Bob Dylan--Music legend, now a bag lady.

posted by Terry at 3:28:00 PM

Hey Kids! What time is it? Ittttttt's Scourging Richard time, it's Scourging Richard time...

Yes, that right, it's number Ell-Dubba Ecks-Vee-Aye of the continuing struggle of Charles Austin to figure out what makes Richard Cohen tick--

[...] Much of the criticism is maddening, but, to a degree, the Bush administration brought it on itself by initially acting unilaterally.

There, I told you that Richard couldn’t quite bring himself to actually defend President George W. Bush. Sure, he can see the silliness of his critics, but, well, they are criticizing President George W. Bush after all.

It too casually denounced the Kyoto environmental protocol and the International Criminal Court.

Casually? No, I think they were rejected out of hand as not being in America’s interests and in fact, being unconstitutional. And what does this have to do with the agenda of the World Economic Forum, other than being part of the laundry list of illiberal complaints about the US not sacrificing its sovereignty?

When certain allies volunteered to do some of the fighting in Afghanistan, they were rebuffed. We'll handle this ourselves, the Bush administration said -- and it did.

Quite well, if I remember correctly, without being hamstrung by our NATO allies inability to integrate with our forces or to act forcefully in a clear manner. Remember Bosnia? Is this the kind of help Richard wanted us to depend on?

Little wonder, then, that Bush earned a reputation for unilateralism. [...]

Little wonder? You mean like Little Stevie Wonder!!

Man, I love him!

posted by Terry at 3:15:00 PM

In addition to risking the dangers of carpal tunnel syndrome, Marc Velazquez also spends part of his time pondering world affairs, and sent along the following with his earlier e-mail--

[...] wish you could post pictures for before and after the haircut [of this past weekend--Ed.]. I'm trying to imagine a possum with "near Kim Jong Il levels of poofiness", but it starts to get too scary.

Well, there are pictures of me out there strung on the information superhighway, but in them my Charlie Brown-sized gourd is covered with a hat, so they are of little help in order to determine hair stylitude. And yes, I'm sure the mental image I described is a bit scary, but that's what makes Possumblog the hard-hitting source of information that it is--never shying away from the bizarre and uncomfortable, but embracing them with both arms (and opposable big toes and prehensile tail). Anyway, on to Marc's epiphany--

It did inspire me on a bloodless/nucular-less way to overtake North Korea:

Have a couple thousand South Koreans disguised as illustrious leader Kim Jong Il, with the poofy hair, advance past the border and order the soldiers to lay down their weapons and return home. That and a sack of groceries would probably persuade them [...]

And it could be the next FOX reality series, Who Wants to be a Dictator! "We took 2,000 Koreans, dressed them up as Benevolent and Thrifty Leader, and sent them behind enemy lines..." They could each have a pair of those video camera glasses like Lil' Kim wears, and the zany antics could all be caught on tape.

Certainly beats my idea of continually calling him and hanging up, or ringing his doorbell and leaving a flaming sack of poo on his front steps.

posted by Terry at 1:54:00 PM

Thus Starts the Flood of Incident Reports...

Just got the following from Steevil, evil brother of Dr. Weevil, regarding our aforementioned bureaucratic fascination with indistinct hazards:

You haven't yet gotten pinged because you don't have a Materials Safety Data Sheet for the white board cleaner in your office? Other hazardous materials where I work are Fantastik, Windex and 409, that get you sentenced to HAZMAT training. I've fantasized about smuggling some of my boat fixing goodies (toluene, acetone, methyl ethyl ketone to start with) to put in the safety coordinator's office (our company doesn't believe in locking offices) and turning her in for the violation. Since I already have a reputation for being ornery, I'd just get myself in trouble without affecting the stupid policy, so I just put up with it.

Well, you see, Steevil, that presupposes that your attempt at jamming would be discovered--just be sure to wipe down the containers for fingerprints, and bribe the security guard for the video tape, sit back and watch the wacky hijinx follow! As for our compliance with OSHA requirements for MSDSs and the like, I'm sure there is a worker bee somewhere in the building with a large fat file of these. Or not. (And the white board cleaner is the least of our worries, what with all the rubber cement thinner and waste toner boxes about.)

Then we hear from Marc Velazquez , who reports the following:

I have an incident to report and would appreciate it if you could transcribe this on the appropriate forms in triplicate (remember to bear down on the pen!) and forward to the appropriate authorities: A potentially hazardous keyboard is staring me in the face that could result in the disabling habit of BLOGGING. The keyboard DREW ME IN to the blogosphere, and it could have the same effect on fellow co-workers. An incident of blogging ALMOST WENT OVER my break time, with the fast typing nearly causing CARPAL TUNNEL SYNDROME.

Thank you for your help in addressing these near-dangerous incidences...

We apologize, but all of our service representatives are working with other customers at this time. Please hold the line, and someone will be able to assist you shortly. If you need immediate assistance, please dial extension 223 and press star-9, then the pound sign. At the tone, state your name and a brief description of your problem. Press 5 to send the message, or stay on the line for further options. A customer service representative will be with you in approximately ::pause:: Forty...eight...minutes. Thank you for your patience--we do appreciate your call.

Finally, beloved, yet slightly sadistic, reader Toni Albani sends this link to a story that cries out for an incident report. (Probably best to go ahead and fill out the paperwork, and not to wait for the swelling to go down.)

posted by Terry at 1:29:00 PM

Everybody’s Writing-Desk Book

Another in my finite, yet seemingly endless, series of excerpts from the little book Miss Reba gave me for Christmas. Today “Structureless Composition”!

[...] Lack of Skill in the Art of Expression.—Let strict attention be paid to the lengthy narrative of any one in unstudied conversation, and, unless he be skilled more than common in the art of expression, it will be found that his sentences tend to get confused one with another. The less cultivated is a speaker, the more is the confusion of his speech. Throughout whole pages of scullery scandal and parlor gossip it is often hard to tell where one sentence leaves off and another begins. When Saul (a remarkably strapping young man) inquires of some maidens drawing water whether Samuel is in the city their simple answer is: “He is behold he is before you make haste now for he came to-day to the city for there is a sacrifice of the people to-day in the high place as soon as you come into the city”, and so on and on and on without break or comma, except such as the reader interpolates. Similarly, when Lady Capulet says to the nurse that Juliet is not fourteen, her uncalled-for reply is a history of many more words than there are days in the year, all tumbled out helter-skelter, without a pause. The punctuation, as even the simplest reader does not fail to perceive, is not the nurse’s, but only later on intercalated by Shakespeare himself, in his editorial capacity, for the sake of the reader’s easier apprehension. The conversation of Mrs. Quickly of Eastcheap, as of Mrs. Nickleby of our times, exhibits equal literary art.

Even among practiced speakers, a lengthy speech, whereof each sentence stands out clear and distinct from its neighbors, is rare. The speeches of most members of Congress or of Parliament have to go through a considerable amount of dressing before being read in the morning papers.

The first (unassisted) letter of any boy or girl shows more or less interminability and confusion of structure. Young writers, on first trying their hand at their Mutual Improvement Society or Debating Club, are disposed to flourish long sentences. It is not enough to put one simple statement, or one principal and one subordinate statement, into one sentence. On the contrary, after making one statement, the are prone to support it with another on, or two, or more, and the, perhaps, tack on some modifying statement, and then, again, perhaps, a modification of that modification; all crowded uncomfortably into one obscure and confused sentence.

Distribution of Matter in Sentences.—As a rule, thoughts do not present themselves singly, but rather in a crowd; and it needs so much more command of one’s thought to disentangle them and rank them in order than tumble them out in a medley just as they happen to come. The easy distribution of matter into handy sentences requires ready command of the matter and much practice in writing. […]

posted by Terry at 12:00:00 PM

From the Inbox

No, my real inbox that has real paper in it.

YOU KNOW, one of the nice things about working with a bunch of bureaucrats (aside from the obvious) is that they never cease to come up with new things to cement their place in the philosophical food chain, to wit, this fascinating memorandum from our Occupational Health and Safety Division (which I didn’t even know we had), entitled “Incident Reporting”:

Employees: An incident is similar to an accident except that it does not necessarily result in injury or damage. No matter how trivial they are, incidents should be reported just as accidents are. You have the responsibility to report all incidents that are recognized as potential hazards. If you don’t take the time to report incidents that you are involved in, they could later result in a disabling injury or fatality for you or your fellow employee.

Yikes! What a pile of scary, yet decidedly non-specific, throwing together of rivets and boilerplate! Of course, there is nothing to indicate the definition of “accident,” or how similar to an accident an incident must be to rise to the level of an incident, except the stern warning that nothing is too trivial to report—WHEW!!—that last tap on the space bar caused my thumb to slide off the key and onto the EDGE OF MY DESK, which must be pointed out, COULD HAVE HAD A SPLINTER! I must report this—but I just touched the edge of the paper and I came THIS CLOSE to getting a PAPER CUT! AAAAAGGGGGHHHH! And then there is that pack of STAPLES! And when I reached in my desk, my finger grazed the end of the STAPLE PULLER!! (Have you seen the prongs on those things!?!?) Let’s not even discuss LETTER OPENERS!!

It also tells me I’m supposed to report incidents I am involved in—but what if I see someone opening a box with a pair of scissors, AND THEY DROP THEM!!! Why, they could have lost a TOE over that! Surely, in the interest of workplace safety, I should report that, too, right?

Like a finely-tuned anvil, thus works the machinery of government.

posted by Terry at 11:07:00 AM

From Larry Anderson over in the Kudzu Patch--

[...] The people attending the luncheon are in the upper income levels, but I know several of them who have volunteered for military service if they are needed. Each week, we have people who demonstrate for peace at one of Huntsville's major intersections. I do not doubt their sincerity, but it seems to me that peace comes to those who are willing to fight for it. [...]

posted by Terry at 10:06:00 AM

H.D. Miller, synergy, Hans Blix, Terry Tate!

posted by Terry at 9:43:00 AM

From tomorrow's Sydney Morning Herald

[...] While discussing the Presidents Cup clash between American and International golfers, scheduled for South Africa in November, [Greg] Norman said it was the responsibility of all leading US players to commit to the event.

But mid-sentence he switched to global politics, saying: "The Stars and Stripes are not very popular, which is sad. When you are on top everyone likes throwing stones at you. Australia has been dragged into it.

"We've been side by side with the Americans in every war America has fought. We are great, loyal allies. It is what Australia has to do. Wherever America goes, Australia is going to be with it, a la Bali. We should be there [in Iraq], absolutely ... we have to be with them.

"We have a lot of what democratic society gives us, our freedom of speech. If we lose that ..." he said tailing off, perhaps himself wondering how the subject had gone from golf to the Middle East crisis.

posted by Terry at 9:02:00 AM

From the Bleat--

[...] I’ve been drum-tight all day, skittish and jittery; we are very very close to the point at which certain introductions will be made: crap, meet fan. Fan, crap. I remember last year reading a Drudge headline that said something like PENTAGON: NO IRAQ WAR UNTIL 2003, and that seemed impossibly distant. But here we are.

Here we are.

On 9/11 Gnat was playing with an Elmo phone - the movie I made for that month has her standing in front of the TV, the smoking towers behind her. She’s holding out the phone and punching numbers, a big smile on her face, prerecorded Elmo saying SIX. SEVEN. FOUR. Jasper Dog, having sensed something very bad, is on his back, his paws in the air, and he’s whining. But Gnat knew nothing then. She’ll know something this time. I’ll catch her staring at me as I watch the news. You okay, Daddee? You okay? I smile and lie, because that’s my job.

That phone is still around, but it’s sunk to the bottom of the toy bin. When the bin’s packed tight and you slide it closed, sometimes the weight of the toys presses the keys and makes Elmo talk: SIX. SEVEN. FOUR. Every time that happens it reminds me of 9/11. Weeks and months and maybe even years will pass, but let 9/11 happen again and it will be yesterday, and all the days in between will seem like minutes spent in slumber. [...]

And of course, there is a chorus of voices on the other side of the street--'don't remember, let it go, grow up, violence never solved anything, it's our fault.' Believe as you want, it is your right. But understand that the people who do remember, who refuse to allow injustice a free hand, who have reached some level of intellectual adulthood, who understand that violence, regrettably, sometimes can only be stopped by the use of violence, and who refuse to apologize for wishing to live as free people, are the very ones who protect and guarantee your right to wallow in your delusions.

Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.--Sir Winston Churchill

posted by Terry at 8:32:00 AM

Monday, January 27, 2003

And I thought Oakland was the only one who stank...

Then I read what Matthew Engel, noted cricket writer and upper-class wannabe, had to say about it. Luckily, Lee Ann Morawski intercepted his wobbly pass and slammed him into the turf on her way to a beautiful runback all the way back down the field.

[...] “It is that national genius that has enabled an event without deep historic roots to become quite overpowering. The Super Bowl began only in 1967, when two competing leagues merged. At first the competition was lopsided, but in 1969 Joe Namath, the New York Jets quarterback, ‘guaranteed’ an upset victory over the Baltimore Colts and then delivered it, and so the legend began.”

So what if the Super Bowl tradition has no deep historic roots. Roots grow, they don’t just pop out of nowhere. Does Reporter Engel perhaps think that the vaunted traditions of the Sceptred Isle sprang from the sea along with the cliffs of Dover? Maybe God created the Earth with British traditions intact? Creationists have similar ideas about fossils.

The weird socialism that Reporter Engel whines about started in the 1990s to end the dull lopsided games that nearly killed the Super Bowl. Legends are born, thrive, and become traditions, unless they are those British planted-in-the-Earth-at-the-creation-to-freak-out-the-Darwinists-type traditions.

“Super Bowl XXXVII does look like a promising addition to the annals, partly because it pits the league's best offence (Oakland) against the best defence. Oakland are the favourites because irresistible force always seems more compelling in sport than the immovable object.’ "

Thank you, oh Wise One, for allowing we poor, violent, verbose Americans an excuse for why we are watching erotically exploited pom-pom girls. [...]

Hey, Matt--"Offense wins games. Defense wins championships."

posted by Terry at 5:06:00 PM

A very useful idiot...Daschle Asks Bush for Proof on Iraq Arms

Especially interesting in light of this little bit of harsh unilateralism from the Gentleman from South Dakota.

posted by Terry at 4:35:00 PM

A site for people like me who need constant postive reinforcement. (Via The Straight Dope)

posted by Terry at 3:59:00 PM

And Another for the Birthday Roll!

Chuck Myguts over at redneckin celebrated the big Oh-One yesterday--many happy returns to Phenix City's Nattering Nabob of Negativity!

posted by Terry at 3:27:00 PM

Whatever happened...

One of the things I forgot but then remembered about this long past few days was a promo for the NBC Evening News--I'm not sure what day it was, but Tommy came on and used his Serious Voice (the one he uses when he speaks of The Greatest Generation) and said something to the effect of 'with the talk of war in Iraq and the world situation, what has happened to Afghanistan?' There are a few shots of Bagram and some Marines, and then we are urged to tune in and find out why we ignore Afghanistan.

Huh?! What's this WE business, Kemosabe?

Afghanistan is doing just what it's always been doing--we have men and women on the ground every day having potshots taken at them. YOU guys are the ones who say WHO gets covered, WHAT gets covered, WHEN it gets covered, and WHERE!! It is ludicrous to sit there and act as though your own editorial decisions, by which YOU chose to quit covering stories in Afghanistan (leading to the subsequent lack of reporting on Afghanistan) is somehow the fault of YOUR VIEWERS! Yes, yes, I know you want to push your stupid new Jeff Goldblum sillyfest, but please, if you're going to ask the question, at least ask it the right way--"Why Did NBC Stop Covering Afghanistan?"

(I forgot to mention the retribution I demand for this--namely that dewy-fresh, doe-eyed Pentagon correspondent Norah O'Donnell be sent to my office posthaste for a sound spanking!)

posted by Terry at 3:19:00 PM

So, then, The Weekend...

Which was more or less like the three days I was off, with the exception that we had Chinese takeout on Friday evening in celebration of Miss Reba's birthday. Poor girl--we usually get to go out to dinner and a movie, but with little sick kids, that just didn't pan out. But, the greatest gift (at least from my point of view) is that she sure is one fine looking 43 year old! It never ceases to amaze me when we run into these horrible looking old women she says she graduated from high school with. Just a tip, girls--no drinking, no smoking, no running around works pretty well, and is a darned sight cheaper than botox and detox.

Anyway, Saturday was laundry day, and I managed to break free long enough to go get my hair cut after it had reached near Kim Jong Il levels of poofiness. As always, my instructions were for "my hair, just shorter," but this time I tried to get the girl to cut the back a bit more so as not to be burdened with a proto-mullet a week later. I thought at first she was going to shave me like a Jarhead, but it wound up looking okay. Of course, it's a WHOLE lot colder on my scalp now.

Got back and ran a few errands and found that my old friend Franklin was still alive. I figured with all the subzero weather that the new battery I bought not too long ago would be dead, but after several stabs at the gas pedal, he cranked right up. Got back from those duties, and found that Oldest Daughter still had not finished her homework.

Three days, some of it done, most of it not. Of all the buttons she can push on my great Keyboard of Rage, being deliberately ignorant and lazy are the two that set me off like nothing else I can imagine or describe. I can understand not knowing something; but I cannot understand the complete unwillingness to know it when the opportunity comes along. Especially when it's someone who is smart. She is very smart, but was so completely devoid of motivation to do one particular part of her assignment (a persuasive outline and letter), that even after I threw a fit and vowed not to help her one single bit more, and was then persuaded by the tender pleadings of my wife to help dictate out a short outline of what she needed, EVEN THEN she would not take the simple step of WRITING IT DOWN HERSELF!! Grr. And aargh. Midnight last night, and she was still expending tremendous effort to resist doing what she KNEW to be the right thing. One part of it was finishing off a couple of paragraphs her teacher had started--"Well, I just don't agree with her, and I don't know what to write." ::blink::blink:: "IT DOESN'T MATTER IF YOU AGREE WITH HER!!" Great jumping monkeys. Maybe she'll grow out of this.

Anyway, got the kids all scrubbed and starched Saturday night, then Sunday I stayed home with Middle Girl while Reba and the other kids went to church. We finished folding clothes and watched the rest of Lawrence of Arabia on DVD, then Sunday night Reba stayed home and I went, which means that I missed everything that went on on the Super Bowl until about 4 minutes into the third quarter. Man alive, the Raiders stank up the joint. That's about the extent of my commentary--I was so disinterested in the outcome that I just couldn't settle in for all the nuance and stats. Other than I think it's very nice that John Madden is still able to work despite having been lobotomized by a chimp with a rusty spoon. And I think Caddy is dead. Well, been dead for a while, but it seems no one can bring themselves to shut off the ventilator. Sorry, but the XLR is no '48 Coupe de Ville, and I think the vapid "Break Through" ad campaigns appeal only to people who don't really like cars. Blech.

That's about it--it sure was a long, five days.

posted by Terry at 1:03:00 PM

A Great Big Birthday Boy Shout-Out to Axis of Weevil Minister of Nucularity, J Bowen at No Watermelons Allowed!

You'll hear NO yawns from us!

posted by Terry at 11:31:00 AM

The Fat Guy Scott Chaffin on what's REALLY important about the Super Bowl.

posted by Terry at 11:24:00 AM

From EjectEjectEject, on War. Read it all.

posted by Terry at 11:05:00 AM

Brewers find French tax hard to swallow

BRUSSELS (Reuters) - Belgian brewers are finding it hard to swallow a new French law that would raise the tax on strong beer nearly tenfold, and are accusing France of hypocrisy and protectionism. [...]

Well, you know, gotta go with your strengths.

posted by Terry at 10:45:00 AM

Blix: Iraq Has Not Accepted Disarmament

Why, this is absolutely STUNNING! HOW could this BE!?

Iraq Says It's Done All It Can Do

There, now! See, they say they've done all they can! Isn't that enough for you people?!

posted by Terry at 10:37:00 AM

Cat Bathing Update

My first post prompted a flood of e-mail...well, one message...from Larry Anderson over at Kudzu Acres on alternatives methods of cat bainage:

A friend sent this. I am still trying to decide which of my dog friends has learned to type.

Directions:

1. Thoroughly clean toilet.

2. Lift both lids and add shampoo

3. Find and soothe cat as you carry him/her to the bathroom

4. In one swift move, place cat in toilet, close both lids and sit on top so cat cannot escape.

5. The cat will self agitate and produce ample suds. (Ignore ruckus from inside the toilet, cat is enjoying this.)

6. Flush toilet 3 or 4 times. This provides power rinse, which is quite effective.

7. Have someone open outside door, stand as far from toilet as possible and quickly lift both lids.

8. Clean cat will rocket out of the toilet and outdoors, where he will air dry.

Sincerely, The Dog

Indeed, a worthwhile alternative. Although I can't quite figure out why you need to clean the toilet first--seems like the powerful agitation action would be good for cleaning both cat and pot. Anyway, I'm sure Larry will also be working this up into PowerPoint and posting it to our vast file of Continuing Education programs.

posted by Terry at 9:30:00 AM

Well, now, first things first...

Over the weekend, I received the nicest e-mail from a well-known blogger, who had just learned of the existence of the mighty and powerful Axis of Weevil from Ambassador to the Bootheel State Charles Austin (by the way--be sure to check Charles' masteful Super Bowl coverage)--anyway, to the letter:

As a true Son of the South from the great state of Jawja, I humbly ask for membership in the "Axis of Weevil." I promise to wear the mantle proudly and do NOTHING...well, very little...or the least I can anyway, to embarrass the rest of the group.

I am asking as part of my pursuit of happiness.

Acidman

Awww. That's nice, and not a single curse word! But, for all of you long time readers, you all know that the rules are incredibly strict, and just being from the South won't cut it, so I had a bit of urging to do in order to insure compliance. I wrote him back with this--

"Hey Mr. Acidman!

[delete personal mushy stuff] I know we would be glad to have you, as long as you are willing to at least say that living in Alabama wouldn't be such a bad thing--the rules are ~~relatively lax~~ [INCREDIBLY PERNICIOUS], but if you can't say it in good conscience, you at least have to lie about it with great conviction. Lord knows I wouldn't want to impede your pursuit of
happiness! [secret information redacted]

Hmmm. What would he say? Would it be too much for him? Then I received my answer--first this reply:

I am eternally grateful. And I actually like Alabama, too, except when the Crimson Tide or the Auburn Asswits come to play my beloved Bulldogs. We'll have to work on that cosmic disconnect. Okay?

And then this nice post on Gut Rumbles:

Did I ever tell y'all how much I like Alabama? It's almost as good as Georgia and Texas. The more I think about Alabama the more I love it. That's one hell of a great state.

I've spent a week in Birmingham before and I ~~couldn't wait to get my Cracker ass out of there~~ loved every minute of it. Honest.

Alabama is a great place, as long as their football teams stay out of Georgia. If they come HERE, however, it is a Bulldog's duty to hurt them. I'm sorry about that.

But rules are rules.

Yep, they are, and unfortunately since I never included one that says you have to talk nice about Auburn (Note to self--impose despotic executive decision making this so at next Glee Club meeting), and seeing as how Rob the Acidman has made the good confession and publicly proclaimed his love for the Wonderful World of Alabama, and in that Gut Rumbles proudly stands upon the ramparts of the fight against idiocy, and in spite of the fact that most of Rob's blog could not be quoted from the pulpit, and seeing that his first car was a red '68 Javelin and that I used to be the owner of a Matador Red '69 390 Go-Pak equipped AMX (the two seater) which would swap ends when the weatherman mentioned rain, and in that he seems to have successfully completed all the other requirements, IT IS WITH GREAT PRIDE that WE, the Cotton State Geographical Society, by the power granted to us by several people who wish their names to be unknown, do hereby extend to Acidman Rob the tremendous honor and privilege of membership within the Axis of Weevil, and remind him that no warranty is expressed or implied, and that continual use may cause painful itching and/or irritation.

CONGRATULATIONS, pH0man, and to welcome you to the team, you will be receiving your very own World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack. Rob is well aware of the bounty of pleasure that comes in the Gift Pack, but for those of you who haven't read anything on this thing past last week, the WFAoWGP consists of Dreamland ribs, a gallon jug of Milo's sweet tea; a G-Lox Wedgee gun rack from Mark's Outdoor Sports for Acid's pickup; 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 a six pack of Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale. In addition, we all remember that Jimmy from next door has returned to help out by providing our new inductees with one of his very nice painted rocks. Nurse Tawana from the Center says that this work has been very beneficial for Jimmy, and his condition seems to be getting some better. So, then Rob, pick up you keys from Edna at the front desk, fill out your W-4, find an empty desk, tell Jimmy what color rock you want, and get to work!

posted by Terry at 9:24:00 AM

I have returned

Wow--it's lke I haven't even been gone! Same stack of crap on my desk, same set of gape-jawed coworkers, same Monday morning staff meeting to attend. I may just have to call in sick.

Anyway, there will be more exciting new as the day progresses and I get it typed up, but as a preview, stay tuned for Tales of Unfinished Homework; Dreaming of a Plane Crash; Moose and Squirrel; I Almost Get a High-and-Tight; A New, Highly Corrosive Weevilite; Franklin Still Lives; The Raiders Stink; and More Tales of Unfinished Homework!

Now, I have my meeting to attend, and will obviously be a while typing up all the above garbage, but there is at least one thing I think I can be of help with right away. Yesterday, a hardy soul found his or her way to Possumblog (after looking at seventeen other sites) by Googling for powerpoint presentation how to bathe a cat.

Now, it is an unfortunate fact that I still have not finished this presentation, but maybe I can help out nonetheless with the instructions, and when I get the images finished, I'll post them.

1) Get a cat.
2) Run a small tub of warm water, and have plenty of towels nearby.
3) Grasp cat firmly, but gently, by the front and rear legs.
4) Hold cat up to face.
5) Starting at the ears, lick cat thoroughly until it is completely moistened. This may take 10 to 15 minutes, depending on the size of cat and the length of fur. Particular attention should be paid to licking in the direction of fur growth.
6) Release cat and wash hands and mouth in small tub of water.

There now, hope that was of some help. Be back in a bit.

posted by Terry at 8:25:00 AM

Saturday, January 25, 2003

What a day.

I am tired--I have been typing on and off for nearly five hours, and what do I do? Get on the silly Blogger wire and start typing some more! Moron.

Anyway, as I mentioned, I got myself up and went to gather up our earnings. Nate McCord wrote me a message and asked why I didn't do direct deposit. Good question--it all has to do with the near continual horror stories of misrouted paychecks from my lovely workplace. Mr. Bank and Mr. Credit Card and Mr. Telephone and Mr. Gas and Mr. Water and Mr. Sewer and Mr. Cell Phone and Mr. Reddy Kilowatt and a host of other people already GOT their checks, and they are now coming back to Mr. Credit Union, which means that Mr. Possum MUST RELY ONLY ON HIMSELF to get the loot into the account at least a minute or two before the other stuff starts clearing--I simply can't take the chance of a snafu. And, whatever's left over I go blow on whiskey, cigarettes, and betting on the pups. (Not really.)

So, to town, on autopilot most of the way thinking of how incredibly chilly it seemed this morning. Quite a bit of snap. Brisk, I would say. Enough nip to have put on my long johns this morning, which will later form the basis for A Learning Experience™.

Until that time, though, I found myself stuck in an odd amount of backed up traffic in the lane going to the 22nd Street exit ramp. It was around 9:30, yet it was backed up like rush hour--hmmm. Oh, wait, there's a wreck. Thus starts the process of trying to get around the thing by having to pull out into the adjacent lane and dodge traffic that is going 122 miles per hour. (There is no emergency lane, which is a Bad Thing.) Carefullllll--NAIL IT!!!!!!!! I slammed out and got around the clog, which was three vehicles with a variety of people talking into their hands, and then, another one--two cars, and just as I was about to get back over, ANOTHER one! Three separate wrecks within the space of an eighth mile--what in the worl...oh. Oh.

It's the friggin' circus.

I mentioned Wednesday about the dog trainer guy, and had forgotten that today was the opening day for The Greatest Show On Earth, and that there was a matinee. The exit to the convention center was clogged with school buses and a line of moms and tots from the hinterlands whose only trip into downtown Birmingham is to come to the circus. And who, if they manage not to collide with someone, are blissfully unaware that the exit ramp, although narrow, IS capable of holding two cars abreast.

Two cars side by side can navigate the ramp almost TWICE as fast as one with a single lane. Imagine that! However, a single file line of cars with people who don't have the foggiest idea of where they are going OTHER than to the circus moves ONE THIRTY-SECOND as fast as normal. It took me THIRTY MINUTES to get from the ramp to my office. Not that I didn't try. I moved in beside two blondes from the fringe in a Toyota Highlander who looked at me as if I was Ghenghis Khan--they were totally baffled that anyone would dare think that this thirty foot wide slab of concrete could actually hold TWO vehicles! A girl in a car ahead of me was obviously a regular--we kept trying to stay to one side and do a vehicular pantomime to convince people to double up. Nope. No go. Everyone else stayed right there in the middle. ::sigh::

Into the office, swap pleasantries with folks, note a roll of drawings in my mailbox, pick up my notes from my Wednesday meeting, get my check, and back out. I then swung by and picked up Reba's check--the receptionist didn't quite recognize me at first--I usually come by all neat and clean and combed, but today I had on my big field coat and ratty jeans and my Hewitt sweatshirt and an Auburn baseball cap holding down my wild, Cosmo Krameresque pile of wild unkempt hair. Ee-yew. But they gave me her money and it was off to the credit union, and then back to Trussville. Homeward was much less traumatic and I was able to go on autopilot again.

Stopped off at Winn Dixie and got some condiments for lunch and batteries for the Thermoscan--gotta have that with all the sick kids. Got home and guess what?

Yep, Oldest Girl had decided she could no longer do homework, and had to take a nap. ::sigh:: She managed to sleep the REST OF THE DAY. Anything to avoid doing what she knows she has to do. Grr. On the other hand, Middle Girl was up and about and after we ate lunch, she played computer games the rest of the day while I typed up my minutes.

As I mentioned, in amongst all of this fun, I had a profound learning experience. As I said at the top, today was a long-handle day. I have an old waffle weave pair that I have had nearly twenty years. Don't gasp--it so rarely gets cold enough to wear them that they last a long, long time. Long enough for a man to forget that when nature calls, there is more than two layers of fabric that must be peeled away in order to release the horsie from the barn--to allow the snake to drain--to put out the fire-- And that when you really have to do all these things, and your zip-flip rhythm is throw out of kilter by not one, not two, but THREE SEPARATE FLIES, you can sometimes get into that desperation mode, in which you dance about like Michael Flatley, deftly stomping your feet and flailing about your crotch when you realize that you AREN'T READY! Luckily, I made it. Barely. And learned a lesson that will be forgot as soon as the longjohns go back in the drawer.

The rest of the afternoon was normal stuff, went and got the little kids from school, got home and noticed our new neighbors sure had a lot of water pouring out of the side of their house and from under their garage door. Bursted water line. Poor kids--they're a young couple and just moved in a month ago. I ran over and their garage was locked and then went and rang the doorbell while trying my best to keep Catherine from braining herself on the ice slick concrete driveway. No one home, so I sent my kids inside and got my handy pair of Vise Grips and went back out and turned their water off at the meter, then left them a note about what I had done. Makes me worry, because our kitchen sink cold water was frozen this morning, and I surely don't need another bill to pay.

Reba got home and we had a nice supper of much-craved-for Chinese food, then it was back to working on my pay-producing drudgery, and then this.

As I said, I am tired.

So, have yourself a good weekend, stay warm, and I will see you on Monday.

posted by Terry at 12:41:00 AM

Friday, January 24, 2003

Look...

Just because I'm built like an Eskimo DOESN'T mean I want it to be 2 degrees when I wake up in the morning. Gimme some of that good old global warming, please, and make it snappy!

Like I can complain--it gets this cold maybe every ten years, and in a couple of days it'll be back up to 60. Oh well. One thing, though. It sure gives the local TV weatherdrones something to do. Last night, the new little fellow on FOX6 used the term "bone-chilling cold" at least 8 times within the space of two minutes. WE GET IT, ALRIGHT!?

Anyway, we are now into Day Three at Home with Surly Preteen, Now With the Added Dimension of a Sick 4th Grader! Got up this morning and did my usual impression of R. Lee Ermey by beating a trash can to wake everyone up (not really, of course. I just use a bullhorn, like normal people.) and Rebecca woke up and started crying and complaining of a headache and stomachache. I fetched the thermometer, and sure enough, 100.6. Great. She's just now getting over strep throat, and now she's got this crud.

I dosed her up with stuff and sent her back to bed, and spent the rest of the time trying to get Boy out of bed and dressed. Oh, he feels fine, but if everyone else gets to stay, he wants to, too. After the fourth time to pass by his room and attempt to roust him, he used his Tiny Voice™ --"Dad--I...don't...feel good. ::sniffhacksniff::" Luckily, the Thermoscan was still handy--"Look! 95.8! Get UP and get DRESSED!" Turn on T.V.™ "::sniffcough:: Yes, sir. ::sniff::" How utterly pitiful. Catherine, on the other hand, was ready to git. The cold just makes her more irrepressibly wiggly. I got her all dressed and in YET ANOTHER attempt to stall, Jonathan came back in carrying his toothbrush. "Dad, I think I need to use a new toothbrush." I had told Rebecca to get a new one the other day when she had started getting over her strep, and so now everyone in the Peanut Gallery wants to swap out for a new one. "Son, you just opened that one a month ago! Go USE IT!" ::sigh::

Got them fed and out the door, and almost into the van. Slight problem in that the sliding door was firmly frozen shut. (Did I mention that this cold weather garbage is simply ridiculous? Make it stop, now, please.) They piled in by going past the front seats and it was off to school, then back here, where I found Oldest and Middle Girls piled up in front of the television in Ashley's room. Remember the homework she was supposed to be working on yesterday? Well, golly gee willikers, it's STILL NOT DONE! Imagine that! So, she was sent back to the word mines to finish this, which, given her usual ennui, means that it will still not be done at the end of THIS day. Of course, there is always the possibility that she will follow the lead of the kids in this story, which was forwarded to me by Janis Gore of Gone South, whom I think is concerned for my safety.

Well, now I need to go run and pick up my paycheck from work, and go to the bank so that no one will come and take the house away and put our furniture on the curb, and sadly I think I really will have to get some stuff to work on while I'm here. I thought Wednesday that this would all be over now, and played hooky from doing MY homework, but if I don't get it done, I will be all messed up next week. So, this might be the only post for today. If so, please be sure and check out the fine assortment of blogs up in the header--I haven't had the time to get around to everyone, so I know I'm missing some extra-high quality bloggage--and all of you dress warm and put on a hat!

posted by Terry at 8:52:00 AM

Thursday, January 23, 2003

Like McClellan...

...Oldest sure has a bad case of the "slows." Been working all morning on her stack of homework, and even managed to work in a nap. Hard to be real mad at her since she is still recovering, but her usual tempo of moving with all deliberate speed seems to have not been at all damaged. Even lunch has been a fascinating experience, watching her as she verrry slowwwly eeeeeatsss aaaa hammm sandwiiiiiiich by peeling little bits of ham from around the outer edge of the bread and slowly putting it in her mouth and AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH--EAT! EAT! very carefully chewing it with the satisfied mien of a Holstein chewing her cud.

Surely she will finish eating before dark. Homework is another matter.

posted by Terry at 1:40:00 PM

What, a Man?

Trekking up a wondrous towering mountain range of indignation, Mr. Lileks observes Mr. Harris lifting his leg. And falling over. And somehow manages to work in American Idol--

[...] There was one singer who impressed me - a little too much emoting, but he was pretty good. Big guy, too. Six feet and change, buzz cut, straight shoulders. He qualified for the next round. They ran his name and story at the bottom of the screen, and we learned that this guy is a Marine. They showed him bursting out of the audition hall, and shouting HOOYAH!

Then he called his sister.

I hope he wins. I’d guess that he knows his way around a firearm, and has spent some time in a pickup; one might call him a good old boy. I imagine he gets some ribbing from fellow Marines. I imagine they’ll all be rooting for him to win, too - and that is a quintessentially American definition of masculinity. We’re so secure with the basic facts that we can play around with the details to our hearts’ content. He might just be the first Marine whose recording career will begin after he has secured a SCUD launching outpost, and that is simply one of the many definitions of what it means to be a man. [...]

Yep.

posted by Terry at 1:25:00 PM

Once more, my archives are crapped up by the wonderful crew at Blogger, who refuse to fix their stupid STUPID program. Thanks, fellows!

posted by Terry at 10:59:00 AM

Extending Alabama's Cultural Hegemony, One Blog At A Time

Just the other day, your intrepid marsupial pal received an e-mail from an editor working at a real, live, honest-to-goodness, dead tree and online NEWSPAPER in a major American city east of the Mississippi. The gentleman wrote to inquire about the post I did a few days back, in which I transposed today's "no war for oil" protester yammering to 1861, having them protest "Mr. Lincoln's War" as simply about cotton. In answer to his question, the post was based upon a certain, turned-out-on-her-buttocks, Georgia congresswoman's rant of a few months ago.

It was also very interesting to see that the nice fellow who wrote gradumicated from Jax State! Wow, local boy does good in a rough-and-tumble, rye-drenched, cigarette-smoke-choked big city newsroom! Cool.

I asked my correspondent, since it was obvious that he spent a bit of time reading blogs, if he had one of his own, dangling the vaunted keys to the Copier Room of the Axis of Weevil World Headquarters before him. Quel horreur! BLOGGING! Such a low and demeaning thing for a Real Journo to even contemplate--why, the silliness of even CONTEMPLATING writing a single comma or schwa without an EDITOR!! (He didn't really act like that--just a coy statement that HE would never tell, but still, I felt the need to smack a pro around to make me feel all important and stuff. I'm just that way.) Anyway, we swapped a few comments about pop culture and life, and that was it.

UNTIL, I received a mysterious e-mail from a blogger who was pointing me to an entry about the glories of France. Now, usually I automatically delete such e-mails, because I figure that they are from some lefty trolling for hits ::coughbrendanoneillcough:: but this one I decided to follow, and to my shock, I see that this anonyblogger shared some awfully strong similarities to Editor Man, most especially his metriculamatation from Jax State! He notes that he "has been told he might qualify" for induction into the Weevil Swarm, although he himself notes that he has a few strikes agin him:

[...] I know, I know: My blog is crap. I haven’t updated in forever. And I think Monica Lewinsky is cute. But even with those strikes against me -- and despite the fact I haven’t been to Alabama in two years -- maybe y’all will see fit to admit me on double-secret probation, OK?

No, NO, NOO! You either is a Axis of Weevilite, or you ain't! NO second class memberships, NO honoraries, NO probations--we simply don't have the staff or file cabinets necessary to keep up with another layer of status, and Edna in Personnel is already having a hard enough time keeping up with everyone's vacation requests!

SO, despite (or, maybe because of) his fondness for women with their own kneepads; and despite (or, maybe because of) his real-life usefulness as a potential tool for the Directorate of Propaganda; and having successfully convinced the Membership and Entertainment Committee that he fulfills all the other stupid requirements, it is with great pleasure that we all sayyyy, Hellllloooo Bloggy! (Imagine saying it like Wakko and Yakko saying "Helllloooo NURSE!")

BY THE POWER granted us by Royal Charter of James I in the Year of Our Lord 1608, we, the collective brain trust making up the Alabama Writing and Scrapbook Society, otherwise known by the appellation The Axis of Weevil, do hereby drag Hello Bloggy into full and complete fellowship in our odd and fascinating collection of ne'er do wells, with all of the terrible agony and Nigerian e-mails devolving thereto.

Your secret identity is safe with us, unless we are captured, in which case all of us are pretty much expected to sing like canaries. As with all new inductees, you will be receiving your very own World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, which, to the uninitiated or those who are too lazy to merely read down the page a bit, consists of Dreamland ribs, a gallon jug of Milo's sweet tea; a G-Lox Wedgee gun rack from Mark's Outdoor Sports for Happy's pickup; 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 a six pack of Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale. Many of you will recall that we used to offer a coupon for Kool-Sealing the roof of your trailer--this work was occasionally done by Jimmy, who lives next door and has a 'condition' (and is not to be confused with Jimmy in Marketing). Jimmy has had several unfortunate falls, exascerbating his condition, BUT he now has a new therapeutic project that does not require him to use a ladder or maintain his balance. So, Happy will be the happy recipient of one of Jimmy's new painted rocks. Please let us know what color you want. As soon as we have that, Jimmy will get to work, and then will set the rock wherever you want it. The remainder of the Gift Pack will be left at the secret drop site we arranged previously.

In other news, the new sign by the road looks very nice, except the Pepsi logo is much bigger than what they said.

posted by Terry at 10:57:00 AM

Trapped with Sick Preteen, Day Two

Well, she's feeling somewhat better. Her fever broke last night sometime, and she is a bit perkier. Not much, but enough. Since I was going to be home again today, I just threw on a sweatshirt and jeans and took the other three to school while Ashley stayed home for a few minutes and tried to watch an entire video in 30 minutes. I told her I was going to stop and get her books and homework and when I got back, the TV was going silent. For once, I got no grief or rolling eyes. Hmm...must still be feeling under the weather!

Anyway, got the other three bundled up in their entirely inadequate foul weather clothing. I tried desperately to find Catherine her toboggan, but the kids have dragged them all out and been using them for doll and bear headwear, thus making them scarce when ACTUALLY NEEDED. I'm sure someone at school will castigate me when I pick them up this afternoon for having sent her out without a hat. Not that I didn't try--in supreme frustration, I grabbed the camo touque,eh, off my head and told her to put THAT on. No dice. I turned the orange side out. No dice. "OKAY--when your hair freezes and your ears hurt, don't cry to me!!" "Okee-dokie, Daddy! I love you, Daddy!!" ::sigh::

Anyway, got them dropped off and stopped back by the middle school to get Oldest's junk. You know, it's nice that there are still places in the world where a large, disheveled, dim-looking man can walk into a school wearing a knit camo hat and a dirty black M-65 field coat and not get a second look.

Went to the office and they already had stacks of assignment sheets piled up for everyone, so the nice lady at the desk got me the appropriate sheaf, and led me down the hall to Ashley's locker. What a mess. Just like her bedroom, without the bed. The secretary piled up all the books into my arm, and we briefly discussed whether or not to throw away all the crumpled papers and other bits of ephemera--no, best not--impossible to tell what's important and what's not.

Got home, and I managed to get her up and get her to get in the tub and scrape off a bit of the funk of ill health and the icky effects of raging pubescent apocrine. Also decided it was a good time to wash her sheets. Eww.

Well, she's out now, "Hey, you feel a bit better now that you're clean?" Pitiful scratchy voice--"Ahhh ::cough cough:: no, not really." "Well, at least you're clean." ::sigh::

Fixed her some breakfast, dosed her up with non-drowsymaking decongestant, and sat her down with her lists of homework and her stack of books. This is going to be interesting.

posted by Terry at 8:40:00 AM

Wednesday, January 22, 2003

At Ease, Soldier.

posted by Terry at 10:58:00 PM

The Baghdad Hat Club for Men congratulates Beloved Leader on his ability to magically shield his heart and gonads from UN inspectors.

Is it just me, or does Saddam's inner circle seem to be thriving from a lack of food? Those are some mighty big boys--the guy to the left even looks a bit like Jimmy Rane, who to my knowledge, has never missed a meal.

Well, bless their little quivering hearts. Eat up while you can, fellows.

posted by Terry at 2:05:00 PM

Oh, I forgot to mention yesterday that I managed to see the Golden Globes over the weekend. Of particular interest were the new Celine Dion/Chrysler ads, which quite frankly were absolutely the most wondrously wrought piles of goose leavings I have ever seen. The Pacifica ad was the worst--Celine being ferried to a Celinefest in the rain, while she lounges in the back, thoughtfully ululating and waving her arms about like a gibbon on methadone. Nice voice, but the inclusion of visuals of THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SINGER IN THE WORLD! was just too horrifying. (And a strong argument for much more strict immigration screening) In the article linked above, there is this nice quote--

[...] "Celine Dion personifies the Chrysler brand slogan, 'Drive Equals Love," said Jim Schroer, Executive Vice President, Global Sales and Marketing, DaimlerChrysler. "This is the kind of branded harmony you dream about." [...]

Yep, sorta like when the malaria flares up.

One good one was from GE in their homage to the Wright Brothers--grainy, faux-old-timey, moving-picture-type opening showing The Boys diddling around with the Flyer--playing with the controls, rotating the props into position. The announcer says something about GE not being around when the flight was made, but they sure could have helped. The next scene, the camera tilts up and atop the wing is a big GE turbofan. It starts spooling up and dust and boys and ladies' hats and chickens start flying backwards in the exhaust blast and suddenly the flimsy little plane launches off its rail like a Tomcat on a carrier catapault and rockets off into the clouds, as bebowlered and mustachioed menfolk look up in bewilderment. Last shot is the plane flying above the clouds--silly, but very cool ad.

(Oh yeah, I forgot--never has there been a more fitting paradigm of Kipling's reference to "a rag, a bone, and a hank of hair" than this. At least there was an opposing viewpoint. And another. RRrrowwwlll!)

posted by Terry at 12:47:00 PM

Shockingly like Jack Nicholson as The Joker.

posted by Terry at 12:23:00 PM

Obesity Suit Against McDonald's Dismissed

[...] "This opinion is guided by the principle that legal consequences should not attach to the consumption of hamburgers and other fast food fare unless consumers are unaware of the dangers of eating such food," Sweet said.

"If consumers know...the potential ill health effect of eating at McDonald's, they cannot blame McDonald's if they, nonetheless, choose to satiate their appetite with a surfeit of supersized McDonald's products." [...]

Darn--I was looking forward to my cut from the settlement--I guess I'll have to go back to investing in lottery tickets.

UPDATE--After reading the sad tale of Uncle Floyd and Aunt Myrt, I may reconsider even THAT option.

posted by Terry at 12:16:00 PM

Hey, the news said that Tom Ridge has just now been confirmed as Secretary of Homeland Security by a unanimous vote of the Senate.

Hey, hon, could you get me some coffee?

posted by Terry at 11:59:00 AM

Daughter is currently doped up on Nyquil and sleeping heavily. She sounds horrible, but her temperature is back down. I know she's really sick, because I brought her home a chocolate creme pie shake from Sonic, and she said she would eat it later. Poor kid.

I really intended to use this time to stay caught up at work--I even forwarded myself the meeting agenda. But I just can't do it. Too much distraction--right now, the news guys are having their cooking segment--the glory of BREAD!

posted by Terry at 11:51:00 AM

The horror...the horror

One of the drawbacks of being at home (and having no cable) is being at the mercy of local programming. Just now, on the NBC13 midday news, their special guest is a guy from Ringling Brothers who does a dog act. To demonstrate, he brings out these big steamer trunks and starts throwing them down on the floor--an apparent cue for a big lovable Old English Sheepdog to jump out of one, run and tip another over, then go back and hide in his box as the man turns around to stack another trunk--and what's this!? Why, (::chuckle chuckle::) someone has KNOCKED OVER A TRUNK! Hee. Titter.

Except.

Except, for some reason the dog doesn't hear the empty trunk thud to the floor. So, the guy picks it up and SLAMS it down and turns around. "Hup, Blgouofg, Hup, Hup!" I can't really hear the dog's name, just a gutteral grunting of dogname. Finally, the pooch pops out, at the wrong time, and there is a sort of confused scuffle, and eventually manages to knock the trunk over, and then the guy reaches around and gets his box to stack and turns around, all the while chattering like a madman at the dog. "It is probably the studio you know HUP! that he is not the hearing HUP! Bloguosjf! of the...WHAT, who has come and knocked my box over!? HUP!"

It obviously didn't work right, but in the interest of sho-biz tradition, the show went on. And on. Much HUP!ping and attempted box stacking until the trainer decided to bring out the OTHER dog, a cute little Jack Russell who crawled over him as he did a tumbling roll on the floor. Nothing like seeing a grown man roll head over butt in a tiny news studio as a dog tries to stay on his topside.

posted by Terry at 11:46:00 AM

Aaaggghhh!

You know, nearly two hours of meeting is almost a bit too much--and not only that, but I am now going to have to go back home and tend to a sick almost-teenager. The middle school had 250 (!) kids either not show up or get checked out yesterday due to a fast moving something or other. She was starting to sound croupy last night, and woke up this morning with a bit of a fever. So, back to the house, where I will force myself to work on meeting minutes--luckily, there will be sufficient time for guilt-free blogging, too, so it's not so bad.

Anyway, until I can get back to the house and get the machine fired up, please feel free to make yourself at home. Whatever you do, please use a coaster for your glass. And keep the door closed, it's cold outside. And the chips in the pantry have been open for a while, so they may be a bit stale. And the dip is sorta old--drain off the water and it should be okay.

Oooh--I gotta go!

posted by Terry at 9:28:00 AM

Tuesday, January 21, 2003

So, where was I?

Oh yeah, I was about to relate the entire boring history of this past weekend. But I just got back from giving blood, and the off-brand Fig Newton and real caffeine-and-sugar Coke hasn’t kicked in yet, so I am in a bit of a swoon.

This one didn’t go as well as some—I believe there is some sort of law in physics that states that it is impossible for a 26mm diameter needle to fit inside of a vein having a diameter of 2mm, but that seemed not to matter to my loving venipuncturist, a great American who MADE it work, by golly!

But I did get to watch a bit of Judge Hatchett as my life slowly emptied out into a plastic bag, and a little bit of the news, and I even got to see the hot Philipina nurse (spoken of at length in some post in the far reaches of the archives) who had come in from doing a remote collection, so I suppose it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

If you can give blood, be sure to do it. It only hurts a little, and then you lose all consciousness, so it’s okay.

And in other things, this morning has been a bad one for our computers—the gurus dudes downstairs moved the entire department to new servers and new software, and I have been struck with several episodes of utter calamity this morning as all of the bugs find new places to hide. It seems to be working okay for the moment, but that is bound to change.

ANYWAY, as I mentioned we had our lectureship at church over the weekend. Being the ~~stupid~~ kind and loving servant I am, I had volunteered to cook. Usually on Saturday a few of us will grille a pile of chicken breasts, (after marinating them in Dale’s—you just think I’m kidding about this stuff, but we use it for everything. Including…well, never mind) and then have some other fixings like beans and potato salad and stuff. Sundays we just have a pot luck, and everyone brings what they want.

Since I volunteered to cook, I also found myself volunteered to make up the menu for Saturday, go get the meat beforehand and marinate it, and find myself some other ~~suckers~~ helpers. Okee-doke—I put a big list out on the table last week and begged people to bring some food, then found a willing assistant, and got a check to cover the cost of the meat.

Thursday rolled around, and I had intended to go get the birds, and go up to the building and get ‘em soaking. Hmm. I wonder if we still have those aluminum pans from last year? Go and find out “No!” so there’s another thing to put on the grocery list. Then it was off to Sam’s Club to find the legendary Gigantic Bag of Frozen Chicken Bosoms.

Got there right at 8:30 p.m. And I carefully read on the door that they closed at 8:30. Which explained why the parking lot was dark and no one was going in. ::sigh:: Well, tomorrow is another day.

Friday came around and I had intended to go at lunch and get the chicken, but sometime during the morning, one of our elders called and was worried about cooking the chicken because the weatherman said it was going to be about 10 real Fahrenheit degrees Saturday morning, and didn’t I really want to just get some chicken from Winn Dixie or KFC instead. Me, being ~~stupid~~ a good and faithful servant, told him not to worry about it. Whenever he calls, we always get off on something else, and by the time thirty minutes had rolled around and we got back to cooking, I had decided that maybe going and getting some chicken was a better idea than standing outside getting alternately frozen and smoked. So I said okay. He even called around, ordered from KFC, and told them when we were going to get it—70 breasts, 20 thighs, and 30 legs, all to be ready to pick up at 11:30 Saturday. Well, good show! I called my volunteer cook and told him we were reprieved and relieved. And for once I might even get to hear the first lecture.

Saturday, it was indeed cold as a well digger’s pick—Reba woke up with a screaming backache, so I told her to stay home and let the kids stay in. No use getting everyone out in the weather. Got dressed and got up to the building early, helped set up the tables, reassured everyone that although I was not cooking, there was going to be good old KFC at lunch. Went in the auditorium and settled in--the first two speakers were great, and then right there at 11 o’clock our preacher said it was time to go eat.

WHOA! HEY, hold on! The schedule said lunch was supposed to be at 12! Oh, this was not good. I quickly raised my hand, as did the fellow who did all the chicken ordering and we both told the preacher and everyone else it was going to be a few minutes until we could eat so we could pick up the meat. “Oh, okay, then,” he said.

I ran out and headed up the road to the Colonel’s place, and told the manager I needed my chicken NOW! please. Ever so slowly she said, “Well, you knoooow…you ARE a little bit earrrrly. You weren’t s’post t’be here ‘til 11:30. It’s all fixed, but we ain’t packed it up. Yet.”

Okay, okayokayokayokay “I’m so sorry, but they quit early and now everyone is ready to eat so I need it as quick as you can pack it up!”

“Okaaaay. Would you like something to drink while you wait?” It is never a good thing to be given the option of a beverage while you wait, for such an offer indicates a level of uncertainty about the estimated time of completion of the task upon which you are waiting. “Thanks!” Grumblepraygrumble. Stand. Sip. “We’re workin’ on it.” “Thank you.” Sit down and sip.

“Sir?”

Oh crap. “Yes?” “We got all the chicken cooked, except he forgot and only done half your breast pieces. It’s going to be about, oh, I don’t know, maybe another fifteen minutes or so.”

(Note to self—have KFC manager-exploding mind waves recalibrated—did not work despite repeated attempts.)

Well, then, let’s see now—it’s all cooked and ready to pack--no, it’s all cooked and it’s going to take a while to pack—no, it’s all cooked except for the parts that aren’t, which will take fifteen minutes. Like I really believe it’ll only take fifteen minutes. “Is there not anything else you can do?” This was a stupid question, but it was all I had. “We could give you some legs and wings…” Such hope in her voice, such helpful chipperness. “No, I think I might better wait on the breast, since that’s what I’m supposed to be picking up.” I sat back down.

Just then, the man who told me not to worry about cooking, who took it upon himself to get the chicken ordered, whipped into the parking lot—“Terry! They’re EATIN’!” He was desperate. Explained situation, and he was even more agitated—I thought he was going to fall down and do a Curly spin right on the floor. He offered to take what was done on to the building, so they finished wrapping that bit up and he took it out to my car. Hmm. I guess he’s not going to go back to the building first, after all. Can’t say that I blamed him. Last pan in the back seat, and he related how he tried his best to get everyone to stop and wait, but to no avail. It was like he was describing a fire fight.

Got back to the building and was swarmed by poltophiles—the trays were set out, and by the time I had hung up my coat and come back, it was all nearly GONE! I reassured everyone that the rest would be there shortly, and offered my continued apologies.

Got finished, cleaned up, wrapped up the LEFTOVER CHICKEN for the next day, listened to the next two speakers, then headed for the house. Saturday night was the normal exercise in child bathing, hair drying, nail cutting, ear doodling, and singing all the songs on the O Brother soundtrack with Catherine. She’s quite an interesting little singer—a mixture of Emmylou Harris and Lou Reed.

Up early Sunday, and on to Day Two of the lectureship. Two more good lessons, then lunch, which was not late this time, then two more speakers, then time to go home.

Or so I thought. Since we got out early for the day, Reba decided we needed to go get some stuff for the kids to do some sort of craft thing they were doing. ::sigh::

On to Michael’s, stand around looking at bits of string and paper and glue and flowers and stuff, hold other stuff while Reba takes Catherine next door to Books-A-Million to use the restroom, go to checkout and get stuck behind woman trying to run a return scam of some sort on the cashier, who herself was young and new and tried to deal with the situation by being snotty. Finally got the harpy out of the store, but the cashier was still out of sorts, which was not helped by a certain four children who felt the need to handle and touch every tiny refrigerator magnet and bit of junk laying by the cash register.

Finally, we got home. Never has a three day weekend been so welcome. Even with the threat of horseback riding lessons hanging over me.

Reba had signed the older three kids up for a one day horsemanship camp. You may recall that this was a weekly class back during the summer, and for some reason, my lovely wife felt the need to sign them up for another day of fun. Which meant either she or I would have to go with them. Which meant that I would have to go with them. Which is fine, I like the horsies and all, but all day long is a bit too much.

Imagine my supreme delight when I found out I didn’t have to stay! Hooray! Now I could go back home and wallow around on the couch and read the Sunday paper! Filled out the paperwork and gave them all a stern talking to about minding Miss Amy, or else, and came on back to the house.

Where I found that my skills were required for a huge variety of secretarial chores—Reba is trying to get a grant to go back and finish her bachelor’s degree—so I had to hunt down all of our financial information, and scan forms, and then go to flipping Target for an ink cartridge, and try to explain in numerous ways to Catherine why she didn’t get to go with the other kids to play with the horses. It made her very sad, until I let play on the puter, after which she forgot I existed.

Interesting little child, she is. While I was gone to take the kids, she and Mom had been watching Martha Stewart Living on TV. Martha mentioned her house in New York, then later her house in Connecticut, and Cat piped up and told Mama, “She sure gotta lot of houses, don’t she!” Reba laughed and told her that she might be getting to move to the state prison soon. Catherine thought for a moment and said brightly, “Hmm—then she’ll have a NOTHER house to fix up!” Ah yes, the Big House. Reba got tickled and told her that it wasn’t a house, but jail. “Did her do something bad?” “Yep, it’s called ‘insider trading’.” “Oh. She shouldn’t oughta done that, Mama!” Indeed!

If you don’t have a five year old, you need to get one.

Anyway, got finished with my stuff, then went and picked up the kids. They smelled like the barn and were dead tired, but they had fun. Supper, baths, to bed, and up again ready for another day today. Which is now almost gone.

The server switch computer bugs contributed to a massive mess earlier today, which delayed the posting of this mess. First the mouse pointer went crazy, then after I switched the computer off and back on, I kept getting all sorts of missing driver software messages, then I couldn’t log in to the network, and in general had a time of it. I went downstairs and did penance in front of the sysadmin, who was stacked up with everyone else’s bugs. He said he would get to it as fast as he could. I left for my bloodletting, came back, switched the Magic Gates Box off and on, and everything was working fine again (mostly). Only later did I learn that none of the boffins downstairs had been up to fix my machine. It mysteriously fixed itself, more or less. Of course, I can’t open any of my .jpeg files. And all of my Word documents seem to have been strained though a colander, then reassembled by capuchin monkeys using their own droppings for adhesive.

Oh well, that’s life, I suppose. Anyway, tomorrow morning will feature more Exciting Real Life, as I have my biweekly special meeting to make sure no one builds anything unsightly around here, so I will be checking in later than usual.

See you later on tomorrow! (And there will be a special surprise!)

posted by Terry at 3:59:00 PM

You know, one of the drawbacks...

of being associated with anarcho-syndicalists communes such as the Axis of Weevil, aside from the decisions of the weekly executive officer having to be ratified at the special bi-weekly meeting, is that there is a constant level of miscommunication and potential for misunderstanding.

JUST LAST WEEK, I mentioned that a nice suggestion had been made by a man named "Jim Smith" that we should include the refreshing beverage, Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale, in the World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, and I allowed that it might be a good idea to replace the Dale's Steak Sauce with a six pack of said beverage. Not a day goes by, and one of the newest members, Wind Rider over at Silent Running starts oppressing me--

The bad news often comes with the good though. While Terry has brightened the day welcoming Meryl into the fold, the announced changes to the Axis of Weevil gift pack caused a strange tightness in the chest, and odd shooting pains in the left arm. What? Take out the Dale's? Good heavens man, add the Buffalo Rock, sweet nectar that it is, but please, don't deprive us of the Dale's!

This horrendous turn of events was further compounded by the mention of Browdy's Deli. Responsible for many a set of hiccups on a Sunday drive - stopping there after a trip to the Botanical Gardens or the Zoo, to get the fresh rye and pumpernickel, so good as to cause small children to eat it wolfishly without washing it down with anything. Shame on you Terry. Shame.

OH! Now we see the violence inherent in the system!

In any event, it was JUST a suggestion, and due to my tireless efforts, we will not have to choose between either liquid concoction! I have just negotiated a partnership deal with Buffalo Rock Bottling Company (also the local Pepsi Cola bottler) to provide free six packs of Ginger Ale! Of course, there are some changes which will be required at the Axis of Weevil World Headquarters--1) The new mini-fountain service in the break room is all Pepsi product--the Coke machine has to go. 2) The sign out by the road will now have Pepsi Cola plastered across the top 2/3rds of the sign. The upside is that it is much larger, and is now illuminated. 3) Buffalo Rock will now have cobranding rights when any member decides to launch into a particularly effective Fisking of someone, ex. "The Buffalo Rock/Pepsi Cola-Wind Rider Peace Activist Smackdown," or "The Buffalo Rock/Pepsi Cola-Charles Austin Scourge of Richard Cohen." 4) We get new softball jerseys! The Pepsi logo is very inconspicuous. That's about it. Sorry, but we can't get Shakira for the office Christmas party.

Having settled that little task, I then see over at Meryl's place (what is it with the new people!) that she didn't find my use of her butt-cracking accident particularly appealing as proof of her desire to join up with us, and so I had to write her and tell her I meant no disrespect to her tookus, and offer to tell a similar story about my own clumsitude in order to make her feel better. She wrote back that she was just joking, but you know how these things are, so here goes:

Once, probably about twelve years ago or so, one Saturday I was trimming back my mother's hackberry tree with my brand new pole lopper. For those of you who don't know, a pole lopper (the thing at the top of the linked page) has a small hook on the end of an extendable pole--after you grab a branch with the hook, there is also a small rope, pulley, spring, and lever operated guillotine-type blade that swings around and cuts the limb. Hook, pull rope, cut, release. Hook, pull rope, cut, release. Nice tool, and you can also attach a big curved saw blade for limbs bigger than an inch or two.

Any of you with hackberry trees know how they grow, and my mom's had grown all out of whack, so I spent the better part of the day out there trimming and cutting and sawing and lopping, to the point that by the time I was finished, I had a stack of limbs on the ground almost as big as the tree itself. Cleaned all that mess up, and I was pretty well beat.

In a manly and deliberate fashion, I hefted up my pole lopper and started toward the house, the long cord and little wooden handle trailing back behind me. I strode wearily along until suddenly the lopper cord hung itself around the stump of a tree--I gave the pole a little tug, sufficient to cause the meaty part of my thumb joint where is attaches to my hand to slide itself neatly into the hook just as the blade swung down, caused by my tugging on the rope handle, which was still nicely hung in the stump.

Hook, pull rope, cut, release.

Ow. Oh, mother-of-all-bad-words. This is bad. Ow. Oh, no. Oh, oh, oh. O. At least it was still attached--I gingerly opened my thumb up and there was a very neat slice down into it, and a shiny bit of white at the bottom. Oh. This is bad. B-b-b-b-Bad (Insert obligatory George Thorogood lyrics).

Or not. It didn't hurt. It didn't bleed. So, I just doused it with a bit of peroxide and wrapped my thumb down to the side of my hand and let it heal. A few days later I took a look at it, and the cut had already healed, and I could wiggle it with aplomb, and even today it is quite useful for continually tapping the space bar and pushing the magazine release.

But, please, any of you with a pole lopper--do as I do now, and wrap that cord up before you start walking with the lopper!

So there, Meryl--empirical proof that the current CDC data showing the South as a region to have higher accident rates than the rest of the country is accurate. You are in good company.

Finally, whatever happened to the old thing about "never belonging to a club that would have me as a member?" Apparently the lure of being associated with the finest group of bloggers the world has ever known, along with the potential for free schwag, has drawn YET ANOTHER POTENTIAL APPLICANT!! Heaven help us--

To the Possum-man, Chairman of the Axis of Weevil:
Dear Sir:

After a careful review of the rules of membership for the Axis of Weevil, and in light of the recent admission of Miss Meryl to the Axis (though she hails originally from New Jersey), and the fact that I live a few scant miles north of her, I submit the following supporting information in a bid to be likewise named a member of the revered Axis of Weevil:

1) Born in, or now live in, or once lived in, or would like to live in, Alabama. Would certainly not object to living in Alabama. I currently live below the Mason-Dixon line, which makes me (technically) a Southerner. And, as Nick points out, we live in Southern Maryland, which makes me a Southern Maryland Southerner. That must count for something. Also, I visited Alabama once when I drove down and back in a single weekend to pick up a dog. And my dad grew up in Asheville, North Carolina, which makes me sort of a Southerner by birth, even though I grew up in ::shudder:: Hill*ry Clint0n and Chuck Shumer country. (You can't hold it against me, though -- I was a child, and I have had the very good sense not to live there since I was in my very early 20's.)

2) Not ashamed to admit to #1. See above.

3) Staunchly anti-idiotarian, or can at least pretend pretty good. I'm pretty sure I qualify. Definitely not as articulate or informed as Miss Meryl, or Possum-daddy, but my BS meter works pretty good.

4) Functionally literate. I think so. Check my blog to be sure.

5) Don't type in ALL CAPS or all e.e. cummings case or MiXeD. GoTCHa.

6) Update your blog more than once a month. Unless seriously ill or at the mercy of non-functional network servers.

7) Willing to be made fun of. I'm pretty sure this would be OK. I'd have to check with my other personalities to be sure, but at the very least, I can guarantee there would be no bloodshed.

8) Willing to make fun of yourself. See #7 above.

9) Have a framed picture of John Moses Browning. No. But I looked him up on that world wide web thingy, so I know who he is. And I own a gun. A hand-gun, even. Does that count?

10) Personal library must contain more books than you will ever read. Most definitely. Nick and I were just talking about this -- as well as the need to build and install more bookshelves to accommodate our burgeoning collection.

11) Must be able to recite Monty Python and the Holy Grail and give an episode synopsis of all Andy Griffith shows from memory. "But it's just a little rabbit." "Help, help, I'm being repressed!" "Your mother was a bedwetter and your father was a windowdresser." "I f*rt in your general direction." "We want... SHRUBBERY!" "Why, I don't know.....AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" As for Andy Griffith, there was that one show were Aunt Bea needed a new freezer, and wound up trucking a freezer full of defrosting meat down main street in Opie's red wagon to stash it in the Market's freezer (with all the dogs in town in attendance), even though she didn't buy it there, and Andy got mad at her. Or the one where Opie went to that snooty boys camp, and Aunt Bea wound up making a shrimp lunch to impress his new friend, and Andy got mad at them for puttin' on airs, and then got hisself busted when he bought a new suit to go to the dad's get together, and Opie pointed out that the best way to have friends was to be yourself, so Andy did and everyone liked him, and they all planned a fishin' trip in his little boat. Or the time Andy and Barney got called up to that mountain shack to help out 'cause one young lady's former beau was terrorizing the family, and it all wound up being a big excuse for everyone to sit around singin' and playing gee-tar and such like. 'Nuff said. (Now, I would be delighted to go live in Mayberry right this minute. Is it anywhere near Alabama?)

12) Your pickup truck must be in good working order--use of ether to get it started is not recommended, but will be allowed on a case-by-case basis. No pickup truck, but we do own a fully functional 1996 Chevy Tahoe, which Arianna Huffington can pry from our cold, dead fingers.

So, there you have it. I believe that this -- combined with the fact that I am ::ahem:: your Favorite Blogchild(tm) -- makes it clear that I should be accepted into the Axis of Weevil. I will even forgo the Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, though I would appreciate a case or two of Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale.

Anxiously awaiting your reply, I am sincerely yours,

Francesca "Miss Yorkie" Watson

Man alive, that's someone with a serious case of oddity about her! Well, given her stellar, er, almost complete...ah...very nearly almost complete...close-enough-for-government-work level of completion, The Board of Registrars has stamped this one as "accepted"!

SO ONCE MORE, WITH FEELING--By the authority of Ned, the HVAC technician at the Governor's Office of the State of Alabama, The Alabama Protective Society for the Promotion of Virtue and Canning does hereby extend to one Francesca Watson full and impartial membership into our august legion of lunatics and animal food trough wipers, with all of the benefits and Pepsi-branded products commensurate thereto.

As always, the World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack is just now on its way to you and your family--chock full of Dreamland ribs, a gallon jug of Milo's sweet tea; a G-Lox Wedgee gun rack from Mark's Outdoor Sports for your gigantic, earth-raping, Huffington-bothering, Chevy SUV; 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 a six pack of Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale (you're pushing it if you think you're gonna get a whole case). In addition, we are very please to inform you that Magic City Trailer Supply has generously donated a set of precast concrete steps for your trailer!

Use them all in good health

Now then, staff meeting is over--get out there and scare people!

posted by Terry at 9:42:00 AM

Friday, January 17, 2003

Oooh--what a good way to wind up the week--fan mail!

From Jim (or Jay) Smith (yes, I'm sure it's his real name and not some sort of alias) in Winterville, NC, in re: the World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack:

Why no Buffalo Rock in the gift pack? Jefferson County is the only place I have ever seen it. Nothing helps a cold or cures a hangover like it.

Good question, "Jim Smith"! First of all, lay off the demon rum. Second, for those of you who don't know what he's talking about, there are few things finer than a nice, cold, spicy, Buffalo Rock ginger ale. Born in 1901 and the pride of Birmingham, Buffalo Rock is still bottled and consumed by a small coterie of cognoscenti. As for its exclusion from the WFAoWGP, all I can say is that the original list was hurriedly slapped together in a fit of high silliness, meaning that many high quality products got left out.

HOWEVER, I think the suggestion is a good one, and for future shipments, I think we might substitute a six pack of Buffalo Rock for the Dale's Steak Sauce. You can use it for marinade just like Dale's, and it's not nearly as salty.

Thank you, Jim Smith of Winterville, NC, for bringing to light this shortcoming. (There are so many from which to choose.)

Anyway, time for me to head out for the weekend. Full of fun, it will be--tomorrow and Sunday are both full up with a lectureship at church, then Monday, since it is a holiday, will be spent with the children. And horses. From 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. All day Monday--me, three-fourths of the kids, and a corral full of cold, smelly horses.

Whee.

See y'all Tuesday, then!

posted by Terry at 4:44:00 PM

Extending Alabama's Cultural Hegemony, One Blog at a Time

If you will recall from yesterday's program, a well-known blogger expressed her jealousy at not being a member of the Heart of Dixie Chevette Drivers and Weblog Club (a.k.a. The Axis of Weevil). I exchanged an e-mail with said blogger, noting that she seemed to more or less fulfill all the requirements, except for not having explicitly stated how much she would love to live in the Yellowhammer State.

In an apparent bid to show just how uncomfortable she is living outside of our fair state, she demonstrated her extreme snow aversion by going out upon the steps of her abode and falling heavily onto the back of her lap. Never has anyone deliberately gone out and done themselves an injury simply to show how completely ill-equipped she is to live anywhere other than the toasty, warm climes of Alabama. (By the way, the weatherman says it's going down to 8 real Fahrenheit degrees tonight.)

Given this high level of dedication and general clumsiness, how can we deny that Meryl Yourish is one of us!?

It is then with deep feelings of sympathy and no small amount of pride, that we accept Meryl's confession of being a High Holy redneck and her repentance for ever living anywhere near the Jersey Turnpike, and welcome her into our loving embrace--

By the authority granted me by the estate of the late Raymond Burr, I hereby grant asylum and full membership in the Alabama Blog Writers Colloquium and Sporting Clays Club, with all of the neverending excitement and pain associated therewith.

As with most of our recent additions, Meryl, please be advised that the parking situation at the Axis of Weevil World Domination Headquarters is still in a bit of a standoff. The Accounting Department was susposed to be having a layoff, but Raydean has refused to leave, so everyone's all up in arms about it. Oh, and the company car won't crank, so if you need to use it, you can't.

ANYWAY, as with all new members of the club, Meryl will be receiving the World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, and because we're such culturally sensitive sorts, we have replaced the Dreamland ribs with a nice roasted brisket from Browdy's Deli, along with the usual gallon jug of Milo's sweet tea; a G-Lox Wedgee gun rack from Mark's Outdoor Sports for her Cherokee; a package of Rabbi 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 an inflatable cushion ring from CVS Pharmacy. To your health, Meryl!

BUT WAIT! THAT'S NOT ALL...

Not only do we add Miss Meryl to our ever burgeoning ranks, but in amongst all the turmoil of the past day, I also received an unsolicited message from a genuine Bellicose Woman, wishing just like everyone else to be included amongst the other Weevilites. Yes, I was as shocked as you, but MommaBear at Site Essentials has particular charms that I cannot resist--first of all, this vehicle, and then her comments in reference to Items #3 through #8 of the Membership Requirements, to which she says:

I certainly fit all of them to a Capitol T !! That makes a total of 6, so I'm half-way there! 9 & 11 might be a little hard, though, for valid reasons. 1 & 10 are no problem, though. 2 would be fine...I'll say anything to get what I want, and then find a way to deny it later, if need be. How'm I doing, now?!

If you're willing to lie to get in, good night a'livin', you MUST be assimilated! To top it off, she also adds this:

I have two side-arms that are my 'carry guns'...tools...all the rest are my "toys", although they require a hell of a lot of care when handling !!

I really am 68...well, the chassis is, but I know I'm still only 43, which was one of my best years! So there !!

Indeed! So, not to make it an extra special day, The Alabama School of Internet Time Wasting does hereby rejoice in the addition of YET ANOTHER member to the burdensome bureaucratic nightmare known as the Axis of Weevil!

To MommaBear, we extend to you as much love and affection as possible to someone married to a Tennessean, and by the power conferred upon me by my neighbor on the street behind me who looks like a young Phyllis George, I hereby induct you into the awe-inspiring and not-the-least-bit-silly Audemus Jura Nostra Defendere Blogging Chapter of the Cotton States Sewing Co-op, with all the benefits, group insurance rates, and light-headedness pertaining thereunto.

Welcome to you, MommaBear, and as with Meryl, you will be receiving your very own Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, with the exception that it will be filled with the normal assortment of unclean animal products, and instead of the inflatable seat ring, we are including a signed copy of Billy Joe Bob's friend Cletus' newest campaign flyer.

The parking situation, as mention, is a problem, so please be sure to use the gravel lot behind the tool shed. Be sure to tell Edith at the front desk that you need a stapler and a desk blotter.

EXCELSIOR!

posted by Terry at 2:20:00 PM

Incommunibloggo for the past few hours due to a computer glitch, but obviously it's working again.

Whoo-whee, yesterday was a long one. In the morning I had a meeting with the owners of the old Kress department store building that I wrote about back in November. I was volunteered by my coworker to produce a drawing of the building facade, which although quite in keeping with her normal demeanor, sorta stuck in my craw given the fact that one of the building owners is himself an architect, and the other owner owns half of downtown. Seems like they could have managed to come up with something themselves, but whadda I know. In any event, they liked the proposal, which basically is to take out the added-on crap from the last seventy years and make it look a bit more like the original. It won't be quite right, but it will be better than what's there now. (Loads slowly--don't waste time if you're impatient).

Then sometime after that I had to go to a merchant's association meeting, which was a bit disappointing due to the low turnout. It was raining and cold, and their mailout had gotten messed up, so it wound up being me and about seven other folks, three of whom were the association officers.

Then there was lots of other junk to do around here when I got back. Blech.

Went home and found an interesting bit of paper in Little Boy's backpack last night--it seems that his RLC class at school (the little smart kids) is going to be doing a project about running a business. Well, that's neat, American Way and all. Hmm, let's see...learning how to run business...must raise capital from "Bank of Mom and Dad"--(heh, cute)...must pay back "loan" with 5% interest--(wow, I wish the bank would pay me like that), must pay 'rent' for space used to make product, must keep up with expenses, must produce ad display for product at the RLC Marketplace--(sounds like one of those horrid projects requiring much too much "parental guidance," but hey, it'll be good for him), will need a box or plastic bag to use as a cash register, calculator to help make change (he's still a little shaky on the whole "counting back" concept, and it'll be good experience for when he has a Ph.D and has to work the checkout at McDonald's), will need blah blah...

Well, now, this sounds kind of fun--teach the kids all about capitalism and the way a market works and credit and entrepreneurial vision and marketing and...wait a minute--'All profits from the sale of your products will be given to the RLC program. This will be used to purchase software, supplies, treats, and other items the program uses throughout the year.' Whoa up, pard! "All?" "ALL!?"

Now, I know well and good the intent of this thing is a fundraiser for the program. Fine and dandy. Ask me straight up and I'll pull out the wallet, just like I do for every other panhandler.

But if we're going to teach the little tikes about capitalism, the model for this is a bit wrong unless you're Fagin or North Korea. Entrepreneurs don't go into business in order to give away all their profit--even flaming, Birkenstock-wearing companies like Ben and Jerry's have to hold back a bit for plant investment, pay raises, and such.

SO then, a dilemma--do we play along good-naturedly in the spirit of fundraising, or do we be a hard-ass and make it a realistic exercise in fully understanding the profit motive...oh, come on, now! By now, you ought to know me well enought to know the answer to that. There are more than enough Trek fans out there to know that this calls for a little Kobayashi Maru action! I mean, they ARE supposed to be teaching these kids about critical thinking and creativity, right?

Heh heh.

posted by Terry at 11:46:00 AM

Lileks BLOGS!

posted by Terry at 8:59:00 AM

Sniper Victims' Families Sue Gunmaker

As a reminder, this has nothing to do with concern for the families or victims of this crime. The dead are merely a convenient stepladder in the continued attempt of the Brady Center to affect a political change to eliminate private firearms ownership. That's it.

posted by Terry at 8:44:00 AM

Wow! What a shock...Blix Not Worried About Found Weapons

Well, they weren't smoking guns or anything, so they're okay.

OH, this just in...Hamas rejects truce plan

Man, who could've predicted THAT!?

posted by Terry at 8:18:00 AM

Saddam Urges Iraqis to Defend Themselves

...because he will be too busy getting the heck outta Dodge to do it for them.

[...] Saddam didn't refer to Bush by name but alluded to him as Hologu, the grandson of Genghis Khan, who destroyed Baghdad and killed its ruler in 1258. [...]

Hey, Saddude--maybe not the best historical reference there, buddy.

posted by Terry at 8:13:00 AM

Thursday, January 16, 2003

Due to overwhelming demand...

Have you every had to call a repairman just to "relight your pilot light"? (Wink, wink--nudge, nudge, eh? Eh?) Have you every wished that every man had opposable toes on his hind feet and a naked prehensile tail? Have you ever lived near some weird guy who tended to walk around waving his arms and screaming about the guvmint like he was hopped up on radiator moonshine? Well then, we are proud to announce a new addition to the fine lineup of Possumblog, LLC.--Emmett's Fix-It Shop, which is much like the Emmett's Fix-it Shop on the Andy Griffith Show, except stuff will actually get fixed, because we've allowed Emmett to be kidnapped by a gang of guys running a meth lab in Mt. Pilot, and replaced him with me. Whenever you have problems with balky appliances or electronics, simply e-mail them to me and I will fix them and send them back. Nothing could be simpler!

In all seriousness, thanks to Meryl for the kind words--the posts she references are on down the page a bit--stupid STUPID Blogger won't send you to the right place about three quarters of the time.

And in a related very serious matter, there is also this pitiful cry for help from Miss Meryl:

I'm sorta jealous that I can't become a member of the Axis of Weevil [...]

What a sad, tortured existence Meryl must lead. She even goes to the point of saying--

I don't even know who John Moses Browning is, let alone what he looks like. Then again, I do know the names of most of the towns off the exits of the New Jersey Turnpike, and I can find my way around New York, so maybe we can make it some kind of tradeoff. Tour guide for when the Axis comes north to visit. [...]

Well, bless her heart.

Now I ask you--how could anyone stand there and not feel a pang of remorse, or gas, or something, about her tender pleadings. It's almost as if she completely missed the part in the qualifications about the occasional necessity of invoking the Calvinball rules. Meryl, never say "can't" when it comes to membership in the Axis of Weevil. Qualification Number 1 is quite clear that you don't have to live here, or even be from here--all it takes is the desire to proudly hold your head high when you say "Y'know, I wouldn't mind living in Alabama, " and the willingness to be prepared for the onslaught of ridicule when you say it.

Come on, Meryl--say it...SAY IT!

to be continued...

posted by Terry at 3:14:00 PM

Stacked up with paying work this morning, so there's going to be little in the way of stuff to read here--BUT, if you want something really good that illustrates the difference in the way people think, click over to Francesca Watson's place, in which she responds to a surly person who took issue with her opinion on the treatment of the American pilots who mistakenly bombed Canadian troops--

Dear Mr. Burke --

Thank you for your e-mail. I'll try to respond carefully to your comments.

First of all, my husband was a career military officer in the United States Marine Corps. My position on matters of this sort are based on many years of personal experience, living the life of a military family, at one point while my husband served under fire in Somalia. (It was men under his command who were blown up in their humvee in Mogadishu on the day the Ranger travesty occured.) Prior to our marriage, he served on the ground in Vietnam. So please rest assured that I have a great deal more compassion for the Canadian soldiers involved in this incident, as well as for their families, than you have given me credit for. [...]

It gets better.

I would never wish to impugn anyone's motivations, but it does seem that certain people are much more vitriolic than others in their insistence that the pilots were criminally liable for what happened--almost as if their real beef is not that some good and brave soldiers died by the hand of their allies, but that the whole thing could have been avoided by not being in Afghanistan in the first place. You know, if some particular country had not been such a reckless cowboy and gone and thrown its weight around like it owned the world, maybe those soldiers would still be alive. Such talk always seems to come from folks who disdain the military and military service, who think that since Francesca's husband was a Marine and was in-country in Viet Nam, that he must really enjoy killing babies, that Saddam would play nice if would only leave him alone, that the best way to have peace is to not have enemies. But again, I can't speak for the motivation of others.

Perhaps it would be good to read the report of the incident, which can be found on the Central Command website. In the end, the pilots are implicated by their actions, but there also seems to be enough failures all along the chain of command:

STATEMENT OF OPINION

COALITION INVESTIGATION BOARD

TARNAK FARMS FRIENDLY FIRE INCIDENT

NEAR KANDAHAR, AFGHANISTAN
17 APRIL, 2002

Under 10 U.S.C. 2254(d) any opinion of the investigators as to the cause of, or the factors contributing to, the incident set forth in the investigation report may not be considered as evidence in any civil or criminal proceeding arising from such incidents, nor may such information be considered an admission of liability of the United States or by any person referred to in those conclusions or statements.

CAUSES OF THE INCIDENT

The Coalition Investigation Board found by clear and convincing evidence that the cause of the friendly fire incident on 17 April 2002 was the failure of Major [Y], the 170th Expeditionary Fighter Squadron Weapons Officer and the incident flight wingman, to exercise appropriate flight discipline. This resulted in a violation of the rules of engagement and the inappropriate use of lethal force. Under the circumstances, Major [Y] acted with reckless disregard for the foreseeable consequences of his actions, thereby endangering friendly forces in the Kandahar area.

The Board also found by clear and convincing evidence that an additional cause of the incident was the failure of Major [X], the 170th Expeditionary Fighter Squadron Commander and the incident flight lead, to exercise appropriate in-flight leadership. This resulted in his wingman's violation of the rules of engagement and inappropriate use of lethal force. Under the circumstances, Major [X] acted with reckless disregard for the foreseeable consequences of his actions, thereby endangering friendly forces in the Kandahar area.

SUBSTANTIAL CONTRIBUTING FACTORS

The Board has also found substantial evidence of four contributing factors:

- First, the commander of the 332nd Air Expeditionary Group, Colonel David C. Nichols, openly expressed frustration with what he perceived as severe failings with regard to the Operation ENDURING FREEDOM Airspace Control Order, command and control processes, and flow of intelligence information to the units, but failed adequately to communicate these concerns to his superiors. His failure in his responsibility as a commander to notify his superiors of such serious concerns, coupled with his indiscrete sharing of these concerns with subordinates, bred a climate of mistrust and led to an operational environment within his unit inconsistent with the Commander's Intent for Operation ENDURING FREEDOM.

- Second, the 332nd Air Expeditionary Group Commander failed to establish clear standards or provide adequate mission planning support to line pilots for use in pre-flight mission planning, leading to the lack of an appropriate level of situational awareness by the incident flight.

- Third, the 170th Expeditionary Fighter Squadron suffered from a lack of clearly defined squadron leadership roles and responsibilities, contributing to a lack of uniform training and standards for squadron personnel, including the incident flight pilots, before and during combat operations.

- Fourth, the 170th Expeditionary Fighter Squadron failed to establish an adequate squadron mission planning process, resulting in inadequate mission preparation and the lack of an appropriate level of situational awareness by the incident flight.

OTHER FINDINGS OF SIGNIFICANCE

The Board has made 11 other findings of significance which, although neither causal nor substantially contributing to the 17 April 2002 incident, nonetheless may enhance the safety and efficiency of combat operations within the Operation ENDURING FREEDOM Area of Operations. The Board has made recommendations for corrective action in regard to each of these findings.

Finding 1: Mission planning and preparation was not consistent across several units.

Recommendation: Commanders implement a mission readiness inspection for Joint Task Force-Southwest Asia.

Finding 2: Airspace Control Order breakout, display and use are inconsistent in Operation ENDURING FREEDOM operations.

Recommendation: Commanders ensure emphasis is placed on breakout, display, and use of pertinent Airspace Control Order information, including annotation of Areas of Operation on mission maps and AWACS scopes.

Finding 3: The Coalition Air Operations Center has no capability of recording internal or external communications to aid in debriefing.

Recommendation: Equip the Coalition Air Operations Center with communications recording capability.

Finding 4: Ground forces are not required to report live-fire training or activity within the given Air Tasking Order day.

Recommendation: Establish requirements for ground forces to specifically identify and adhere to their planned periods of live-fire activity within a given Air Tasking Order.

Finding 5: Ground forces are not currently represented at the Air Expeditionary Group level.

Recommendation: Assign Ground Liaison Officers to at least the group level of Expeditionary Air Force units.

Finding 6: The Airspace Control Order description of the Tarnak Farms did not encompass all types of weapons that were being fired.

Recommendation: Ensure descriptions for live-fire training areas accurately and completely reflect the types of weapons being employed.

Finding 7: The JTF-SWA Air Defense Artillery Liaison Officer was not properly trained in Battlefield Coordination Detachment operations.

Recommendation: Ensure augmentees to all Coalition Air Operations Center divisions are properly trained.

Finding 8: U.S. Air Force AWACS have no capability to record external and internal communications or the Situational Information Display (SID) to aid in mission debriefs.

Recommendation: Equip AWACS with communications and SID recording capability.

Finding 9: Surface-to-Air Fire (SAFIRE) analysis was insufficient at the squadron level.

Recommendation: Coalition Air Operations Center ensure timely and thorough analysis and dissemination of SAFIRE reports.

Finding 10: The 332nd Air Expeditionary Group was not managing and monitoring Go pill usage IAW USAF directives.

Recommendation: Commanders ensure compliance with directives governing Go pill use.

Finding 11: Post-incident actions were not consistent with established USAF procedures.

Recommendation: Commanders ensure appropriate actions are taken after a major accident or incident.

In the end, many good men were caught up in a chain of events ultimately leading to the death of four soldiers. Avoidable? Probably. Criminal? Perhaps, in a statutory sense. But it should not be used as an issue to drive a wedge between our citizens and our soldiers, or between the armed forces of Canada and the U.S. To do this is to dishonor the lives which were lost.

posted by Terry at 9:04:00 AM

Wednesday, January 15, 2003

I live in a wondrous land

From today's Birmingham Business Journal--

C.S. Beatty Construction Inc. has completed construction of an off-road track and obstacle course for the new Porsche SUV at Birmingham's Barber Motorsports Raceway.

The Birmingham-based construction company says the 1.5-mile track was designed and built to test the Porsche Cayenne's traction control system. The track has rough, rocky terrain with 60 percent grades and areas that are steep or wet.

A Barber employee says the raceway has leased part of its property to Porsche in a three-year agreement that will have the car manufacturer testing vehicles. Porsche company representatives were unavailable for comment.

Pretty cool beans, I say. But rather than follow the link in the article (which due to some really pebble-brained reportage does NOT lead to the actual site of the Barber racetrack, but rather to a nice 18 year old kid's website over in East Alabama), a much better link to the ACTUAL Motorsports Raceway is found here. (Sheesh--and the big media types talk about bloggers needing an editor!)

ANYWAY, I think the Cayenne looks like a big pile of water buffalo droppings (the Touareg makes much more sense to me) but it goes like buffalo dung stinks, so it can't be all bad (::coughPontiacAztekcough::) No matter, though--I think it's neat that Porsche is going to do their testing here, and that the Porsche Driving Experience will be moving here. Willkommen, y'all.

Now to figure out a way to use my "press" "credentials" to get a tour and a few hours behind the wheel...

UPDATE--The BBJ has now fixed their links so that you get where you're supposed to be going. The young guy's racing site was very nice though.

posted by Terry at 3:20:00 PM

"Go read. NOW!"

posted by Terry at 2:15:00 PM

Now she's gone and done it...

And congratulations to her! Emily Jones has gradumicated up to her very own domain name and Movable Type software, thus freeing herself from the sweaty embrace of Blogger and Blogspot.

posted by Terry at 1:53:00 PM

You know, there's a lot of controversy about Sheryl Crow's remarks the other night, and the blogosphere is all over her like a cheap, thin white tee-shirt, but doggone it, she's right.

The best way to avoid war is to not have enemies.

Of course, the best way to not have enemies is by making sure they enjoy the wonders of the afterlife as quickly as possible, but she seemed to have just left that part out. Anyway, a Federal Department of Enemy Elimination makes good sense. Thanks, Sheryl! Splash a little water on that tee shirt, and I might even buy one of your albums.

posted by Terry at 10:17:00 AM

A REAL Award!

As opposed to the bogus Capital One Mascot Challenge (which robbed Penn State of a title in favor of some stupid thing called Monte who looks like Dancing Bear from the old Captain Kangaroo Show), here is a link to a story about a REAL competition, and a REAL award for none other than Aubie, mascot of Auburn University!

AUBURN -- Aubie, the mascot of Auburn University, has been named the nation's No. 1 collegiate mascot for the fifth time -- all in the past 13 years.

The lovable and mischievous costumed Tiger took the title from 15 finalists at the Universal Cheerleaders Association's 2003 national championship mascot competition in Orlando, Fla., last weekend.

"We're very excited that Aubie has continued the tradition of excellence, again bringing home the national championship," said Debbie Conner, the advisor to Aubie. "The students who have served this year have worked hard to get this title back."

This year's Aubie "team" is made up of head Aubie Taylor Griswold, a senior in electrical engineering from Montgomery; Jeremy Legg, a senior in textile engineering from Franklin, Tenn.; and Trey Mock, a sophomore in the College of Sciences and Mathematics from Marietta, Ga. [...]

War Eagle!

(And congratulations also to the University of Alabama's mascot, Big Al, who came in second.)

posted by Terry at 9:27:00 AM

Yet another Possum Baby!

At the risk of being accused of gross promiscuity, I am proud to announce the birth of yet another Possumblogchild in the form of Nate McCord's Wasted Electrons! As Nate explains in his first post, he has been a loyal reader of this silly blog for a while, and I've been pestering him almost as long to start his own blog. I really believe that he's only doing it so he can also be inducted into the Axis of Weevil and get the gift pack--but so what!! Good to have you on board, Nate, and since you seem so hepped up to get your stuff, Ms. Junie at the front desk has been sent out to load the company car with your goodies. She has been moving a bit slowly since she broke her hip, but for an eighty year old, I suppose she gets along pretty well. When she gets finished loading up, we will point her west and tell her to keep driving. That should be good enough, shouldn't it?

Anyway, all this has to be made all official like so the paperwork won't get messed up, SO THEN,

WHEREAS, the world cries out for yet another blog, and

WHEREAS, one Nate McCord has more or less fulfilled all the requirements for inclusion in the Alabama Blog Writing and Philatelic Society, more commonly known as the fearsome Axis of Weevil, and

WHEREAS, despite Mr. McCord being a presumptuous Yankee carpetbagger,

THEREFORE, It is with great joy and no small amount of fright, that by the power vested in me by the tiny voices in my head and by Christy who works 3 to 9 at Blockbuster, that we hereby bestow upon Nate McCord full membership in the Cotton State Writer's Social Society, with all of the pain and suffering pertaining thereto.

So now, everyone go welcome Nate. (We do apologize that you will have to wait in line for a parking space until later on in the month when we lay off a couple of people from Accounting.)

And as promised, the Axis of Weevil Gift Pack is on the way, 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 since Nate is in Osmondia, a signed photo of Merrill Osmond.

Welcome to the fray, Nate! Now then, can you get us a couple of F-16s?

NOW THEN SOME MORE, some of you may be new to the proceedings around here, and are baffled and puzzled by the Axis of Weevil. Welcome to the club--it is a continual source of bewilderment to many. In general, the Yellowhammer Recoil and Writing Colloquium seeks members who meet the following requirements:

) Born in, or now live in, or once lived in, or would like to live in, Alabama;
2) Not ashamed to admit to #1;
3) Staunchly anti-idiotarian, or can at least pretend pretty good
4) Functionally literate
5) Don't type in ALL CAPS or all e.e. cummings case or MiXeD.
6) Update your blog more than once a month
7) Willing to be made fun of
8) Willing to make fun of yourself
9) Have a framed picture of John Moses Browning
10) Personal library must contain more books than you will ever read
11) Must be able to recite Monty Python and the Holy Grail and give an episode synopsis of all Andy Griffith shows from memory
12) Your pickup truck must be in good working order--use of ether to get it started is not recommended, but will be allowed on a case-by-case basis

DISCLAIMER: As with the well-loved Calvinball, the rules may change in the middle of the game.

So that's about it. And again, the Axis of Weevil represents not only those who live in the state, but the entirety of the Redneck Diaspora--many of the blog writers listed as members no longer live within the confines of our borders, but have gone forth to spread the goodness of Alabama across the nation.

One day, we will rule the world, so be nice to us.

posted by Terry at 8:58:00 AM

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

HOME - ARCHIVES - E-Mail terryoglesby@gmail.com - The slow moving, omnivorous, prehensile-tailed marsupial of the web.

free hit counter Visits since 12/20/2001--
so what if they're mostly me!