You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it. Robin Williams

Location: Kentucky, United States

Wednesday, April 30, 2003

Way back

When I was a child, my parents and my paternal Grandparents lived next door to each other. There was only a driveway dividing the two houses. I lived in both homes and would freely go back and forth, spending the night wherever I chose. If I got in trouble in one house, I just moved across the driveway. Out of sight out of mind.

My Grandmother’s name was Sarah. She was the pianist at an old fashioned, tent meeting style, Holiness Pentecostal church my family attended. She never had formal lessons but learned to play by ear. It was simple music; she would alternate hands back and forth, pausing to walk the bass line through changes. What she lacked in theory she made up in volume, playing very loud, banging out chords on a monster antique upright with ivory keys. On Saturday nights, they would sing and play so loud my ears would buzz while lying on a hard slat-board pew, trying to sleep.

My Grandfathers name was Robert Lee after the civil war Robert E. Lee. Friends called him Jernal, a corruption of the word general. He was a small-scale family farmer, mostly raising crops for food. He held an eclectic assortment of jobs during his lifetime including delivering mail from the back of a slow moving mule.

All of his family was poor and tales of my Grandfather’s penny-pinching way with money are legendary. On a trip to visit my Uncle Paul in the suburbs of Washington D.C., my parents drove my Grandparents to and from the airport. Frankie, their only daughter, a flight attendant with American Airlines was able to get round trip tickets for family members free. They paid nothing for food, lodging or entertainment because they stayed with their son and his family. On the way home however, Papaw had to go to the bathroom and the only thing available was a pay toilet. My Grandfather returned home upset because he paid ten cents to get into the toilet but could not get his bowels to move.

Tuesday, April 29, 2003

Information Addiction

My throat is so sore today I can barely talk. I try to keep my conversation to as few words as possible to avoid the pain. I am reminded that Ghandi devoted one day a week to silence. I have always been attracted to the idea, but have never tried to put it into practice. Today it is forced upon me and it has made me think.

I need mind rest, a settling of ideas. Like sediment suspended in a cacophony of white noise, I have no place to think: to clarify the noise in my head. On rising, before I am fully awake the 24- hour news is on to force the mind to work, a ladder to climb up from the sleep deprivation that drives my workweek. Then into the bathroom where I read magazines until I am awake enough to shower. The drive to work is NPR with the BBC telling of the cricket scores in Europe. At work, I read my growing list of bloggers and news sites that are appropriate to the stories of the day. I surf the web while I am on hold on the telephone. I read while I eat. More news on the radio on the ride home. It goes on like this until bedtime where I read myself to sleep.

I picture myself getting out of the car at work. Twenty-three years of footsteps hit the ground at once. All of us, all of me walk across the parking lot together divided by the seconds or minutes where I have walked this same path day after day. Through the grass, across the heli-pad, one step on grass then pavement to the ambulance entrance. We push the call light in near unison and say together, “It's Timmy” in a voice like a crowded stadium swelling to a roar. Over and over, the days laid out as a path that ends in the unknown, a place where hope is afraid to look.

Over stimulated, and sleep deprived, the shower is the only place were the noise of information is silenced. It is there that ideas open like flower buds seeking sunlight. Thoughts that have been fermenting in my subconscious break through to the surface, ripple across my mind and are gone.

I know the answer to this is to set aside quite time, time to be still and listen. But I am addicted to the stimulus. If it were possible, I would wear glasses with tiny screens. One lens showing FOX news and MSNBC, the other a broadband link to the web continually surfing, riding the surge of information till I am crispy inside, immune to feeling, callused yet gratefully numb.

Monday, April 28, 2003

Whatta ya mean the weekend is over?

It has been a long weekend. The weather here was beautiful, bright springtime warmth, with cotton candy clouds. I spent the entire time indoors with another hospital-acquired virus. I taught Sunday school and left the boys at church for Rachel and Robby to take home. Robby and I were supposed to ride Sunday afternoon but I was still shaky and weak and knew I would not be able to keep up. I did get some things cleaned up on the site though, the archives are back, and my counter is working again. Like a lot of others, I am learning HTML by trial and error. I have a book I bought for the boys but it numbs my brain when I try to read it. I carry it around a lot, but the osmosis approach does not seem to be working. Maybe if I slept with it under my pillow?

Sunday, April 27, 2003

This is my new blogchalk:
United States, Kentucky, Leitchfield, Pine Knob, English, Timothy, Male, 41-45, computers, photography. :)

Thursday, April 24, 2003

New site news

I have finally found some time to work on the page, and have a new web address. If you came here from Anothertime try the new domain www.timothy-tucker.com. I still have some bugs in the new template to work out, but since this is my first time at this I am pleased at how it has worked out so far.

Wednesday, April 23, 2003

Am I Hot or Not

Yesterday a coworker told me I was Hot.

As you can imagine, a forty-three year old happily married man doesn’t hear that from strange women very often and I told her so.

“ Not that kind of Hot you dummy, I meant you are RADIOACTIVE from spilling that Nuclear Med on the stretcher.”

“Oh, yeah, I knew that, just kidding. Uh, how Hot am I?”

“Not very. You are not in any danger”

“Uh, which Hot are we talking about now?”

“Either one, doesn’t matter.”

I am not sure how I should feel about that.

Monday, April 21, 2003

There outta be a law

I spent the weekend trying to come up with a way to protect my kids from p-rn spam. We tried four different parental control software packages in the last couple of weeks. Either it does not work with XP and lets everything through, or it locks down everything and no site can get through. Did you know that McCafee considers the word “love” explicit sexual content for the age group 13-17? Zack’s computer could not even access the McCafee web site.

We had a family meeting about it and decided to TCP/IP into MSN. There I can set e-mail and messenger controls to a restricted list of just their friends and MSN emails me a list of every site the boys visit while allowing us to cooperate on which sites will be available.

Beverle says it should not have to be this way and she is right. When my boys step out the front door, I know their feet will not land in some red light district. Yet, when my twelve-year-old turns on his computer he gets advertisements to fetis-h sites. If a person approached Zack with this material I could have them arrested as a predator, but the way the law is right now I can’t even find out who is sending this crap to my kids.

What really ticks me off the most about this though is all the hypocrites who say it is my fault if my kids see this material. My tab so far is around $120 for useless software, plus $9.95 a month for MSN. Then my kid has to email me for permission to access the Neo-pets web site. Yet, one of the spam messages connected to a p-rn site that had nothing in the header or the url that denoted it’s content. The only reason for that would be so it could get around parental control software. I do not get it. It is against the law to sell cigarettes to minors but we can’t do anything about these (insert expletives of your choice here) ???

Nothing would be greater, than to be a baked potater, at the say-er-ay-der..... everybody sing!

The Seder was a wonderful success. The crowd was one hundred and twenty strong. During the meal, guests came up to me with very intelligent questions. I discussed the meanings of Passover the whole time and did not get a chance to eat. The music came off as planned and the harmonies where beautiful. Jason did a great job running the multimedia. The pictures added so much to the atmosphere. Afterward most of the crowd stayed to help clean up. What had taken from ten o’clock that morning to set up came down in under an hour. Rachel and Robby spent the night with us. The next morning I slept until 10:00.

Tuesday, April 15, 2003

Chametz? Lets!

I am off work the rest of the week starting this afternoon. Starting tomorrow evening, we can not eat anything that is leavened, so tonight is Pizza night. Before we begin the eight days of unleavened bread, we eat up all the “Chametz” in the house. Yesterday we finished the hot dog buns and bread, followed by blueberry muffins. It is not a good time to be on a diet. Zachary has a full bag of breaded chicken nuggets to eat today, plus all that pizza I will bring home after work. All leavening must be out of the house tonight. After dark, we should go through the house with a candle and check for any left over Chametz, but the boys think they are to big for a “yeast hunt”. We do discuss the meaning behind the search; how we should examine ourselves for even the smallest speck of leaven in our lives. What I have learned from doing the Chametz house cleaning though is that you can never find it all. At first, it is easy; you grab the leftover loaf of bread, empty out the cookie jar, and throw out the crackers. Then you look under the boy’s beds to find any sandwiches that may have “escaped”. Half eaten PBJ’s chained together, running incognito, disguised as little green bushes. “You’ll nevah get me coppa. Top of da wuld Ma! Top of the wuld!”

Then it begins to get harder. The big things were easy or smelly anyway. Now you start looking for crumbs in the bottom of the stove, at the back of the pantry, or worked down under the cushions of the couch. It becomes harder to get at, but your always surprised and shocked at how much you do find. You start coming up with new places to look: the hamper, the medicine cabinet or between the washer and dryer. You no longer find anything big, but you wonder “How did those crumbs get there?”

That is why in a Jewish home after the final search and a token amount is burnt to destroy it, a blessing is said that disowns any Chametz that may be left in the house, whether forgotten or unknown.

That is why as a Christian I realize that as hard as I may try, and try I must, I can never remove all the hypocrisy from my life. This teaches me two things; first, like our spiritual forefathers I need the blood of the Passover Lamb on the doorposts of my life so the Judgment of God will “Pass Over” me. Second: although seeing these same faults in others prompts me to teach and encourage, it leaves me no room to condemn. I can only condemn myself.

So after days of cleaning and purifying yet not reaching the mark, we sit down to a meal and teaching that tells us of our need for the Hand of God to redeem us from our slavery to Pharaoh. It is accomplished by the sacrifice of another in our place, an unblemished one, meek and gentle. We eat bitter herbs to remind us of our life in bondage before; in slavery to ourselves. Then we look to the future, when “next year” we will share this meal in the city of “God’s peace”.

So tonight, miserably stuffed with all the pizza we can get down, groaning and queasy from so much grease and bread, we will try to ignore the comparison between our complacent lives and our bloated bellies, while looking forward to the clean “Bread of Affliction” the following evening.

To all who keep it and to those who do not

Sunday, April 13, 2003

Sell Phone

Several years ago, I signed up for a “free” carpet cleaning. It came by appointment, with a salesman attachment. Now, I had no intention of buying a vacuum cleaner, let alone one that cost four times as much as what you could buy at “Wal-Mart”. I don’t even like vacuuming, let alone mowing the yard.

When the salesman came to our house he showed us the “suck up a bowling ball” demonstration, followed by the “you clean the carpet first with your vacuum then I will suck up handfuls of disgusting detritus dating back to the Jurassic period deep from within your carpet with mine” routine. As he cleaned the carpet, he would make sales pitches. “Without any hard work on your part this machine will keep your house spotless, so you can spend your time being the confident, charismatic person you really are, or would be if you weren’t buried under all this disgusting dirt.” Actually, he was trying to give us the vacuum; it’s just that he had this family to feed. He might even be willing to forget them for the sake of our friendship but his Boss refused to let him give the vacuums away. Mean ole Boss, who does he think he is, anyway? Therefore, he would compromise and sell it to us so cheap it would be more like a gift between lifetime friends.

I however was having none of it. I was too smart for that. I knew a “free” cleaning that came with a salesman was not free. Now I had to go to work and all I had to do was “Just say no”. Isn’t that simple, two letters; and repeat as necessary. Just keep your wits and whenever he takes a breath, say NO.

Then I gradually came to realize that he really was a very nice person, and maybe, no I was sure of it, surely we could be best buds.

He kept offering us deals, each one better than the last. “I’ll give you one hundred dollars for your old vacuum, twenty-four months at fifty a month minus the special one day just for you two-hundred dollar rebate plus shipping and handling. By the way, did I mention that if you give me the names of all your friends and relatives and they buy a vacuum and sell me their soul, I will give you a three-dollar finder’s fee? Friend, just send five hundred of those wide-eyed innocents my way and your vacuum cleaner will be free.

I don’t know when the tide turned. You would think there would be a moment, a warning light, at least a Luke Sky Walker “I got a bad feeling about this” hint before you crossed over into the land of “Gotcha sucka!” Don’t you think?

While I was admiring our just bought eight hundred dollar suck-machine, in the back of my mind the little CPA voice had been adding things up. As the sales induced narcotic wore off, I came to the realization that as the salesman had been working his way thru all the various ways of saving me money we had apparently struck bottom and had worked our way back up the money ladder. The problem was that with all the different combinations; rebate this, half off that, bring in a coupon during the dark of the moon thing, I got lost.

That is when I realized that three offers ago while I was still just saying “NO” was quite a bit cheaper than when I had finally broke down and paid for the vacuum I neither needed nor wanted.
All of that came to mind Friday afternoon while standing at the counter of our local cellular dealer. This was the third time this week I had been in trying to consolidate
My wife and my accounts into one cheaper bill. We both had identical plans, but since we rarely use a tenth of the minutes we buy each month.

(Where do those extra minutes go anyway? Do they relieve some poor soul a few
prayers in purgatory? Is this the “If I could save Time in a bottle,” Jim Croce sang about? Maybe this is why all those dark matter equations just don’t add up for physicists the world over? What if we are doing severe damage to the space-time continum? This could make global warming look like a tempest in a teacup. Aren’t there any government agencies looking onto this?)

All I wanted to do was drop my wife’s line, get her a new phone and add combine our lines to share my minutes. Waste not, want not.

(Where did that expression come from? Waste not, want not; what does that mean? Does it mean; if I eat everything on my plate then I won’t stay hungry? Wouldn’t that make it, Waist not, want not?)

One the first day, I told them want I wanted to do, they said no problem. Well, one little problem, they had no phones. Could I come back the next day? They would have a new shipment of phones and they would fill out the paper work and have it waiting for me, OK? Sounds good, OK tomorrow it is. Next day after waiting in line for forty minutes there is a different Lady behind the counter. I tell her who I am, but no smiles today, and no, there isn’t any paper work already filled out. Therefore, we start over from the beginning. I want a new phone for my wife, and I want to consolidate our account. She informed me that could not be done; it would violate my service agreement. I told her the lady from yesterday said it would be “no problem”. She informed me the lady from yesterday did not know what she was talking about. So I ask what my options were. She said I could re-sign my account but the contract would not end until 2006 because I would have to add it to the end of my current account. No, I do not think I want to sign to a three-year contract “tank you, no tank you please”. So now, she gets all nice and says she will call her boss and maybe she can get him to make an exception in my case. Her boss we find out though is in a meeting today and will not be able to give us an answer until tomorrow. Can I come back tomorrow?
Ookaay, tomorrow it is.

Saturday, April 12, 2003

They tell me it was beautiful outside today

I am in full Seder panic mode. My creativity does not kick in until the eleveneth hour. I wish I were different but that is just the way it works. Thursday we are hosting a Messianic Seder. Today was my first try at Powerpoint. Adapting my homegrown Haggadah to Microsoft took all day. No brain left to blog. I have this I would like to share wit my bud Daniel though.

Life Will Not Be Like Star Trek
Written by Scott Adams, published in "The Dilbert Future" by
HarperBusiness. Copyright United Media, 1997. Please keep this notice
with the text if you forward it by e-mail.

There are so many Star Trek(tm) spin-offs that it is easy to fool
yourself into thinking that the Star Trek vision is an accurate vision
of the future. Sadly, Star Trek does not take into account the stupidity,
selfishness, and horniness of the average human being. Allow me to
describe some of the more obvious errors in the Star Trek vision.

Medical Technology
On Star Trek, the doctors have handheld devices that instantly close
any openings in the skin. Imagine that sort of device in the hands
of your unscrupulous friends. They would sneak up behind you and seal
your ass shut as a practical joke. The devices would be sold in novelty
stores instead of medical outlets. All things considered, I'm happy
that it's not easy to close other people's orifices.

It would be great to be able to beam your molecules across space and
then reassemble them. The only problem is that you have to trust your
co-worker to operate the transporter. These are the same people who
won't add paper to the photocopier or make a new pot of coffee after
taking the last drop. I don't think they'll be double-checking the
transporter coordinates. They'll be accidentally beaming people into
walls, pets, and furniture. People will spend all their time
apologizing for having inanimate objects protruding from parts of their

'Pay no attention to the knickknacks; I got beamed into a hutch

If I could beam things from one place to another, I'd never leave the
house. I'd sit in a big comfy chair and just start beaming groceries,
stereo equipment, cheerleaders, and anything else I wanted right into my
house. I'm fairly certain I would abuse this power. If anybody came to
arrest me, I'd beam them into space. If I wanted some paintings for my
walls, I'd beam the contents of the Louvre over to my place, pick out the
good stuff, and beam the rest into my neighbor's garage.

If I were watching the news on television and didn't like what
I heard, I would beam the anchorman into my living room during the
commercial break, give him a vicious wedgie, and beam him back
before anybody noticed. I'd never worry about 'keeping up with
the Joneses,' because as soon as they got something nice, it
would disappear right out of their hands. My neighbors would have
to use milk crates for furniture. And that's only after I had all
the milk crates I would ever need for the rest of my life.
There's only one thing that could keep me from spending all my
time wreaking havoc with the transporter: the holodeck.

For those of you who only watched the 'old' Star Trek, the holodeck can
create simulated worlds that look and feel just like the real thing. The
characters on Star Trek use the holodeck for recreation during breaks
from work. This is somewhat unrealistic. If I had a holodeck, I'd close
the door and never come out until I died of exhaustion. It would be hard
to convince me I should be anywhere but in the holodeck, getting my oil
massage from Cindy Crawford and her simulated twin sister.

Holodecks would be very addicting. If there weren't enough holodecks to
go around, I'd get the names of all the people who had reservations
ahead of me and beam them into concrete walls. I'd feel tense about
it, but that's exactly why I'd need a massage.

I'm afraid the holodeck will be society's last invention.

Sex with Aliens

According to Star Trek, there are many alien races populated with
creatures who would like to have sex with humans.
This would open up a lot of anatomical possibilities, but imagine
the confusion. It's hard enough to have sex with human beings,
much less humanoids. One wrong move and you're suddenly
transported naked to the Gamma Quadrant to stand trial for
who-knows-what. This could only add to performance anxiety. You
would never be quite sure what moves would be sensual and what
moves would be a galactic-sized mistake.

Me Trying to Have Sex with an Alien

Me: May I touch that?

Alien: That is not an erogenous zone. It is a
separate corporeal being that has been
attached to my body for six hundred years.

Me: It's cute. I wonder if it would let me
have sex with it.

Alien: That's exactly what I said six hundred
years ago.

The best part about having sex with aliens, according to the Star Trek
model, is that the alien always dies a tragic death soon afterward. I
don't have to tell you how many problems that would solve. Realistically,
the future won't be that convenient.

I would love to have a device that would stun people into
unconsciousness without killing them. I would use it ten times
a day. If I got bad service at the convenience store, I'd
zap the clerk. If somebody with big hair sat in front of me
at the theater, zap!

On Star Trek, there are no penalties for stunning people with phasers. It
happens all the time. All you have to do is claim you were possessed by
an alien entity. Apparently, that is viewed as a credible defense in the
Star Trek future. Imagine real criminals in a world where the 'alien
possession' defense is credible.

Criminal: Yes, officer, I did steal that vehicle, and
I did kill the occupants, but I was possessed
by an evil alien entity.

Officer: Well, okay. Move along.

I wish I had a phaser right now. My neighbor's dog likes to
stand under my bedroom window on the other side of the fence
and bark for hours at a time. My neighbor has employed the
bold defense that he believes it might be another neighbor's
dog, despite the fact that I am standing there looking at him
barking only twenty feet away. In a situation like this, a
phaser is really the best approach. I could squeeze off a clean
shot through the willow tree. A phaser doesn't make much noise,
so it wouldn't disturb anyone. Then the unhappy little dog and
I could both get some sleep. If the neighbor complains, I'll
explain that the phaser was fired by the other neighbor's dog,
a known troublemaker who is said to be invisible.

And if that doesn't work, a photon torpedo is clearly indicated.

Given the choice, I would rather be a cyborg instead of 100 percent
human. I like the thought of technology becoming part of my body. As a
human, I am constantly running to the toolbox in my garage to get a tool
to deal with some new household malfunction. If I were a cyborg, I might
have an electric drill on my arm, plus a metric socket set. That would
save a lot of trips. From what I've seen, the cyborg concept is a modular
design, so you can add whatever tools you think you'd use most.

I'd love to see crosshairs appear in my viewfinder every time I looked at
someone. It would make me feel menacing, and I'd like that. I'd program
myself so that anytime I saw a car salesman, a little message would
appear in my viewfinder that said 'Target Locked On.'

It would also be great to have my computer built into my skull. That way
I could surf the Net during useless periods of life, such as when people
talk to me. All I'd have to do is initiate a head-nodding subroutine
during boring conversations and I could amuse myself in my head all day

I think that if anyone could become a cyborg, there would be a huge rush
of people getting in line for the conversion. Kids would like it for the
look. Adults would like it for its utility. Cyborg technology has
something for everyone. So, unlike Star Trek, I can imagine everyone
wanting to be a cyborg.

The only downside I can see is that when the human part dies and you're
at the funeral, the cyborg part will try to claw its way out of the
casket and slay all the mourners. But that risk can be minimized by
saying you have an important business meeting, so you can't make it to
the service.

I wish I had an invisible force field. I'd use it all the time,
especially around people who spit when they talk or get too close to my
personal space. In fact, I'd probably need a shield quite a bit if I also
had a phaser to play with.

I wouldn't need a big shield system like the one they use to protect the
Enterprise, maybe just a belt-clip device for personal use. I could
insult dangerous people without fear of retribution. Whatever crumbs
of personality I now have would be completely unnecessary in the future.
On the plus side, it would make shopping much more fun.

Shopping with Shields Up

Me: Ring this up for me, you
unpleasant cretin.

Saleswoman: I oughta slug you!

Me: Try it. My shields are up.

Saleswoman: Damn!

Me: There's nothing you can do to
harm me.

Saleswoman: I guess you're right. Would you like
to open a charge account? Our interest
rates are very reasonable.

Me: Nice try.

Long-Range Sensors
If people had long-range sensors, they would rarely use them to scan for
new signs of life. I think they would use them to avoid work. You could
run a continuous scan for your boss and then quickly transport yourself
out of the area when he came near. If your manager died in his office,
you would know minutes before the authorities discovered him, and that
means extra break time.

Vulcan Death Grip
Before all you Trekkies write to correct me, I know there is no such
thing as a Vulcan Death Grip even in Star Trek. But I wish there were.
That would have come in handy many times. It would be easy to make the
Vulcan Death Grip look like an accident.

'I was just straightening his collar and he collapsed.'

I think the only thing that keeps most people from randomly killing other
citizens is the bloody mess it makes and the high likelihood of getting
caught. With the Vulcan Death Grip, it would be clean and virtually
undetectable. Everybody would be killing people left and right. You
wouldn't be able to have a decent conversation at the office over the
sound of dead co-workers hitting the carpet. The most common sounds in
corporate America would be, 'I'm sorry I couldn't give you a bigger
raise, but . . . erk!'

And that's why the future won't be like Star Trek.

Written by Scott Adams, published in "The Dilbert Future" by
HarperBusiness. Copyright United Media, 1997. Please keep this notice
with the text.

Wednesday, April 09, 2003

Hu's on First

[Taped in the Oval Office:]

George: Condi, Nice to see you. What's happening?

Condi: Sir, I have the report here about the new leader of China.

George: Great. Lay it on me.

Condi: Hu is the new leader of China.

George: That's what I want to know.

Condi: That's what I'm telling you.

George: That's what I'm asking you. Who is the new leader of China?

Condi: Yes.

George: I mean the fellow's name.

Condi: Hu.

George: The guy in China.

Condi: Hu.

George: The new leader of China.

Condi: Hu.

George: The Chinaman

Condi: Hu is leading China.

George: Now whaddya' asking me for?

Condi: I'm telling you Hu is leading China.

George: Well, I'm asking you. Who is leading China?

Condi: That's the man's name.

George: That's whose name?

Condi: Yes.

George: Will you or will you not tell me the name of the new leader of China?

Condi: Yes, sir.

George: Yassir? Yassir Arafat is in China? I thought he was in the Middle East.

Condi: That's correct.

George: Then who is in China?

Condi: Yes, sir.

George: Yassir is in China?

Condi: No, sir.

George: Then who is?

Condi: Yes, sir.

George: Yassir?

Condi: No, sir.

George: Look, Condi. I need to know the name of the new leader of China. Get me the Secretary General of the U.N. on the phone.

Condi: Kofi?

George: No, thanks.

Condi: You want Kofi?

George: No.

Condi: You don't want Kofi.

George: No. But now that you mention it, I could use a glass of milk. And then get me the U.N.

Condi: Yes, sir.

George: Not Yassir The guy at the U.N.

Condi: Kofi?

George: Milk! Will you please make the call?

Condi: And call who?

George: Who is the guy at the U.N?

Condi: Hu is the guy in China.

George: Will you stay out of China?

Condi: Yes, sir.

George: And stay out of the Middle East! Just get me the guy at the U.N.

Condi: Kofi.

George: All right! With cream and two sugars. Now get on the phone.

[Condi picks up the phone.] Condi: Rice, here.

George: Rice? Good idea. And a couple of egg rolls, too. Maybe we should send some to the guy in China. And the Middle East. Can you get Chinese food in the Middle East?

Thank You, Mr. President.

We hear it was written by Chicago playwright James Sherman.
Copyright © 1998-2003 National Council of Dull Men, Washington D.C. All Rights Reserved.

With a little more sleep I would realize how bad an idea this really is

I realized something after my post yesterday on my “Hip” Retro-Geek watch. Most current fashion is always just a rehash of fashion from twenty years ago. My daughter is wearing stuff now that my wife wore in High school and she thinks it originated with her generation. When Bev and I were teenagers there was this big resurgence of fifties fashion.

If you want to really, and I mean really be cutting edge, ahead of the curve, originally HIP, just wear whatever just went out of fashion. Go to the stores now, buy whatever is in, but don’t wear it for two years. You will be a good ten years ahead of everyone else. Then just act stuck up about it. Look down on everyone dressed in the “Current” fad. Now that is what hip is all about. Far out. Keep on Truckin. Dude.

Tuesday, April 08, 2003

Actually, I don't know what my watch says.

I bought a new watch Friday. My old one is just, well…old. When the battery goes dead on a watch I take it as a sign to get a new timepiece, but with the new batteries they put in these now my heart could give out first. One watch I looked at had a guaranteed ten-year battery life. Who wants to wear the same watch for ten years? I know, buy more than one watch, one for fashion, one for work, blah, blah. Listen, I would rather buy a book than food, you think I’m going to waste book money on having two watches? This watch had been going at least six years. The back light had stopped working some time ago, and the hourly chime sound like a cricket taking its last breath. I kept thinking any day now, but no.

Beverle gave me a dress Elgin for Christmas. It lasted a week. The band was loose. I thought, “I’ll get it fixed tomorrow.” I threw a cardboard box at a dumpster; the watch went further. It still keeps time, just not all at once.

I bought a Casio e-data bank watch. It came with a forty-page manual. I worked over an hour trying to figure out how to set the time. I heard at one time this was the L33+Geek watch. Now real Geeks use their cell phones for timepieces. I like to think I am wearing Retro-geek. That means I am ahead of the curve, insta hip. Groovy, man.

Monday, April 07, 2003

What I learned Today

"Looks like I've made an awful mess here",
is real high on the list of things
you don't want to hear your dentist say,
while he is looking at the floor,
after drilling your tooth,
while you smell smoke,
coming out of your mouth,
and your glasses are spotted
with a dirty grayish looking fluid.

Trust me.

Opay, ri-minse!!

Bap fum ba demptiss. Cam'p fih-wel mi tum.

I don't care what my watch says it is not time to get up yet

The boys are gone on a youth group spring break trip until Wednesday afternoon. That leaves Bev and I alone, right? We both work all three days; in addition, I have a dental appointment this afternoon, which I can not afford to put off, (again). Tomorrow after work, the Saturn has to be serviced. Wednesday we pick up the boys, grab something to eat and then have music practice for Seder a week from Thursday.

My eyes were so bloodshot from lack of sleep last week that a blood vessel popped in my left eye. Rachel was so grossed by it she spent most of the day Sunday with her hand over her eyes when she would talk to me. Sleep is not on the menu this week either it appears.

Friday, April 04, 2003

Is Ronald McDonald set on world domination?

Here is another idea for a site that I neither have the time or the intelligence to do. While Googling McDonald’s for my McDumb post earlier this week, I found several newspaper articles referring to terrorist attacks on McDonald’s restaurants in foreign countries. Maybe these attacks are not directly linked to Al-Qaeda, but they are still very disturbing because the attacks are really aimed at our culture, not just the local restaurants.

Several other sites use McDonald’s as an example of everything that is wrong with American culture. Personally, I do not like McDonald’s food. It is basically fat, salt, and sugar packaged to be convenient and filling. Our family usually eats there once a week before church on Wednesday, but just because we are in a hurry.

What I would be interested in following is a web-site that uses McDonald’s as a microcosm of American culture itself, while sociologically explaining the context of the subcultures that attack it. Anybody know of such a study being done? Think this idea would work?

Three killed in McDonald’s blast.

Explosion at Moscow McDonald’s

Indonesian protesters unswayed by McDonald’s defence.

South Korean anti-war protestors target McDonald’s

McDonald’s on the defensive over Iraq war

McDonald’s, embassy targeted

McBastards: McDonald’s and Gloalization

McDonald’s: A symbol of American Capitalism

Islam’s boycott Israel campaign

Wednesday, April 02, 2003

Hello, this is Timmy, I'm unable to come to the phone right now...

You know you need a vacation when you try to call home, but get your work voice mail instead.


“I would like two regular hamburgers, a medium fry, a medium chocolate shake, and a large coffee.”

“Sir, is that a large coffee or a Super-Size™ coffee? We have changed our coffee sizes. We used to serve small and large coffees, but now we have large and Super-Size ™. Do you want a Super-Size ™ coffee instead?”

I had been up since two-thirty that morning and still had an hour-plus drive to get home. I’ll sign the lawsuit waivers, just give me the whole pot with a straw. “Yes, I would like a Super-Size ™ coffee to go.”

As she is getting my order together she tells me that they have only recently changed sizes and not all McDonald’s ™ are using the new sizes yet. If I go to another McDonalds’s ™ instead of asking for a large or a Super-Size ™, I should just ask for “THE BIGGEST COFFEE YOU HAVE” ™.

She assembled my order and brought my coffee. I picked the cup up off the counter and looked it over. “Wait a minute, this is the same size as a large coffee.” She grabs a smaller cup out of the dispenser and holds it up. “No, this is a large, that is a Super-Size ™.” “I understand that,” I say “but the Super-Size ™ is the same size as the large used to be.”

“Well, yeah,” she says, “they just changed the name to make it sound like you get more.”