A literal description of my state of mind
A literal description of my state of mind
Someone, somewhere along the line, seriously screwed up with my laptop. I took it in to the repair shop today because it no longer recognized the CD-ROM drive. I should get it back, good as new, in two weeks.
The warrantee doesn't expire for another month and a half.
In Nevada, the Goldwell Open Air Museum.
Ignore the pretentious bullshit such as:
[a] group of prominent Belgian artists created a self-described art situation
Just follow the link, check out the photos, and bask in the cool.
At least, that's what they used to say, now you can't even hit what you can see.
"I can't see the [expletive deleted] thing," said RAAF Squadron Leader Stephen Chappell, exchange F-15 pilot in the 65th Aggressor Squadron. "It won't let me put a weapons system on it, even when I can see it visually through the canopy. [Flying against the F-22] annoys the hell out of me."
Your tax dollars at work, and apparently delivering what was promised.
Thanks to QandO for the pointer.
I laughed my ass off during my commute home today. Newsradio breathlessly announced, "Stock Market Crumbles".
Holy shit! I needed to hear more!!! I mean, China had a bad tumble overnight and just yesterday Alan Greenspan said the "R" word in a conversation.
After the commercial break, "upcoming stories" told me that the market had been down 500 points today, which is a big deal. Less than two minutes later I'm given the details that the 500 point loss was the low point of the day, and that currently the loss was 340 points. Still bumpy, but not the end of the world.
Five minutes later, the loss was reported as 305 points. Now I'm chuckling, especially when they remind everyone that today's "3 percent drop" pales in comparison to Black Monday in 1987 when the market dropped 22%.
Two minutes later and the loss is less than 300 points. This is comical.
I realize that the market will rise and fall (last week it set a new record high). I also know that over time, the stock market always goes up. I have a 401k and hardly ever pay attention to the market, other than in a general way. For instance, I've known that for weeks there have been warnings about a sell-off being long overdue. Today was the excuse everyone needed.
I don't even know what the final figures for the day are. I do know that it's not the panic-inducing event those nitwit broadcasters tried to make it out to be.
The highest U.N. court cleared Serbia on Monday of direct responsibility for genocide against Bosnia. Serbia argued an obscure point that the court agreed with, which means that the Srebrenica massacre, targeted entirely at Bosnian Muslims (and filling more than eighty mass graves), was technically genocide, but not really Serbia's fault even though it was commited by Serbian troops. Or something nuanced like that.
Small comfort.
Over at QandO, I learned about this nifty little add-on for us Firefox users called CoolIris. Simple to use, when you hover over a link, a small icon appears next to it, move the cursor over the icon and a preview window appears that shows what's at the other end of that link. Move your mouse away from the window and it automatically closes again. It does much more, but that's the foundation of the app. I've found it easy to get used to, fairly customizable and unobtrusive. Check it out.
Although the forecast has been changing constantly for the last couple of days, what was supposed to be sleet and rain turned into over four inches of wet, heavy snow.
Power was out for not quite two hours (I took a nap), and it looks like it's warming up a little bit now. Not a good thing, if it all re-freezes overnight. Tomorrow morning is looking to be a lovely commute.
Last night my beloved San Jose Sharks were in town to play the Washington Capitals. You may recall that my wife had gotten us a pair of tickets for the game and gave them to me as a Christmas present (quite kick-ass, I must say).
In the extended entry is the low-down on the evening, for those so inclined to read all about it. But here I'd like to point out the odd coincidence that of the last three hockey games I've gone to, each has gone to overtime and then a shootout, and each time the team I wanted to win did just that.
If you'd like me to attend a hockey game for your favorite team, I'm sure we can arrange something.
I left work a little early yesterday so that I could drive home and pick up Liz. The plan, which worked almost perfectly, was to park in Rosslyn (I have a monthly pass), metro over to the Verizon Center early enough to have some dinner, and then enjoy the game.
We were hoping that Victor would be able to join us for dinner, but he got stuck at work and we didn't see him until the break between the first and second periods.
Before I get to the game itself, I'd like to tell you here and now that I don't have a lot of good things to say about DC, but one thing that they do right is the metro. Schedules and weather conspired to keep us from doing a dry run beforehand, and I was a tad concerned about how smoothly it would go since we'd be using metro for the first time with her in her wheelchair.
We hit a snag immediately upon entering the first metro station, namely, that after using our fare cards to get through the turnstiles, we were confronted with four escalators leading down. No elevator in sight. We asked the station employee in the kiosk about where the elevator was hidden and found out that the elevator is located across the street from the station! His solution was practical, we exited the station, crossed the street, took the elevator down to the station proper and at the turnstiles I just manually opened them up and we walked through. This set off an alarm, but he was expecting it and immediately shut it off. No problem.
This is typical of my experiences with metro. They aren't about fussing, they're about solving the problems you have, immediately and with minimum hassle. Every time.
Even other passengers on the trains were cool about our circumstances. Because of the design of most chairs and the station platforms, the best way to enter and exit the trains are backwards (to keep from throwing one of the little wheels in front). Sometimes that involved clearing a space on the platform to swing around, or even on a train full of commuters. Not one complaint and nothing but cooperation. Thanks commuters, y'all did yourself proud.
The seats at the arena were awesome. We sat in the handicap row, which meant a comfortable folding armchair for me and a gap for Liz to park her chair. We were right up against the rail, so the view was unobstructed, even when folks in front of us stood up (like during the shootout). We were a little higher than the rink glass, and just behind the goalie's left shoulder, giving us a long view of the ice. I love sitting at the side of the rink, but seeing the game from the end gives you an appreciation of how much crosswise movement goes on. Try it sometime for a different point of view.
As for the game, what can I say? The Caps jumped out to a quick two goal lead. My beloved Sharks came back to tie it up and in overtime Nabokov stonewalled Ovechkin and Semin before Cheechoo tossed a backhander high over Johnson's shoulder to win it.
I was pleasantly surprised to see many Sharks fans there, way more than I expected. That was the common thread, as my wife (and others) pointed around and said "see, you aren't the only one here tonight".
The ride home was long and slow, thanks to interstate construction, and my butt is definitely dragging today after way too little sleep. Well worth it though.
Thanks Liz, for one of the bestest Christmas presents ever!
This morning in the parking garage, I'm walking towards my exit when a young man in a little car pulls into an open space in front of me. I don't know if he's showing off or what, but he hits the gas halfway into his turn and smacks head-on into the concrete wall behind the parking slot.
I asked him if he was all right and got glared at for my trouble. I was tempted to ask him where his mental handicap hang tag was.
This morning on radio traffic, I heard about an exploding manhole that had traffic blocked downtown. This is unusual for two reasons. First, this normally happens in Georgetown, not downtown proper, and secondly it's too early in the season for exploding manholes. This isn't supposed to start until springtime.
I've never heard of such a thing happening in any other city. Is this just a local phenomenom?
Update: Rob, over at Left & Right, is the man to see about DC's 'sploding manholes.
A side-splittingly funny smackdown delivered with style.
Thanks to Off Wing Opinion for the pointer.
Rocket content only peripherally related: One of the funniest rocket names I've ever seen was "Spock's Johnson". Straight up, it was.
On Saturday we picked up our first foster rabbit. We'll be taking care of Ozzie until Bunny Lu Adoptions can find him a permanent home. He's still in the settling-in stage and rather jumpy, but so far he's eating and using his litter box normally, so it looks like it'll be ok. As you can see, Ozzie is pure white with haunting "ruby" eyes.
Rachael fell in love with Ozzie when she was home for Christmas break, and would like nothing better than for us to bond him into a group with our other two, Fred and Java.
One thing is certain, Ozzie is a lovable guy. If you hold your hand out to him, he'll put his head under your fingers so that you can scratch behind his ears. He wasn't too sure about the dogs at first, which was driving Trix crazy. Trix loves the rabbits even though they don't act like dogs, I believe that he thinks they're retarded puppies. Because Ozzie was so skittish, tonight was the first night that they've been in close contact. We expanded the pen so there was some running -around room, then Trix and I went in and lay down and waited quietly. Before long Ozzie came up to us to check things out, and he and Trix sniffed each other a bit. Trix mostly stayed on his belly, dragging himself around by his front legs so that he was on the same level as Ozzie. I've never seen anything like it. Within an hour Trix and Ozzie were laying side by side on the floor, just chillin'.
So far, this foster bunny thing is working a-ok.
Unlike some of our neighboring counties, Prince William County, Virginia has decided that they want to be unfriendly towards illegal aliens. And how would they go about it?
The idea is for officers at the county's Adult Detention Center to become trained as ICE, (immigration and customs enforcement) officers, which would allow them to deport dangerous criminals who are also illegal aliens.
I like. The deportation proceedings begin after the sentence is served.
The Prince William Board of County Supervisors has asked county staff to complete the study by Jan 16. The county, where about 20 percent of residents are foreign-born, is one of several local governments grappling with a wave of new residents, many of them illegal immigrants. Supervisors said the problem is driving up costs for schools, health care, law enforcement and social services.
The study has been completed and the Supervisors are expected to sign a detailed invoice tomorrow, after which they'll send it to the federal government.
"I really think they should pay, but it is more symbolic," [Supervisor] Covington said.The study will include the impact on the police department and jail and court system. Supervisor Maureen S. Caddigan requested that the county's hospitals and health clinics also be reviewed.
Additional education costs are not part of the study. So far, even the Hispanic organizations are supporting this effort because of the lack of detailed analysis on the impact of illegal aliens on local economies.
Well, not blamed actually, but the possibility* is there.
So China has discovered pole dancing. I'd like to welcome any and all Chinese visitors looking for pole dancing music. In fact, while you're here, I'd like to correct one misconception you seem to have about the west.
Celebrities such as Britney Spears and Paris Hilton are said to be followers of this trend.
The above statement outrageously overstates America's give-a-shit factor when it comes to those two (it's measured in mille-fuckits). Don't pole dance because nitwits like that do it. Pole dance for yourselves, pole dance for your boyfriends and husbands. Pole dance for world peace. Oh look, another one of those "possibilities".
*About as much possibility as me being elected Pope.
While I was recuperating the ol' back (a while back), I had the opportunity to watch a few movies, back to back (ok, I'll stop). There were some very forgettable ones, but I found a gem in the stacks.
The Bat (1959) is a tight little thriller starring Vincent Price and Agnes Moorehead. The plot is quite intricate, and the cast is very much up to the challenge.
Agnes Moorehead plays an author who writes murder whodunnits, and she's rented a mansion for the summer. The mansion is owned by the local banker, who's away on an extended hunting trip with his doctor (Vincent Price). Price gives a wonderfully understated performance, unlike some of his later scenery-chewing roles where his inner-ham shines brightly.
In the story, the banker has embezzled a million dollars from his bank and figures that his head cashier will be blamed. Before you know it, the banker winds up dead and the scramble begins as several people have figured out what must be one of the worst-kept secrets in movie history, namely, where the money is hidden.
Mix in a mysterious serial killer nicknamed "The Bat" who's terrorizing the town, an outbreak of actual rabid bats, murder on the side, greed, embezzlement, and a missing million dollars, and you have a whole lot of possibilities to consider. The movie manages to juggle all the details in such a way to keep you guessing and not confuse the basic story.
Agnes Moorehead's character is refined and well-to-do, but she's no pushover. In fact, all of the women in the movie are strong.
Doctor: Do you know how to use that gun?
Agnes Moorehead: My books are full of guns, and I only write about what I know.
You may remember Darla Hood of Little Rascals fame. She appears here, all grown up in what turned out to be her final movie role.
I'm not sure why, but the servants always seem to get all the best comic lines. In this case it's the maid, and she's a hoot.
Something else that I saw that amused me no end is that the men all wear suits, which is normal for movies in the 40's and 50's. The funny part is that even The Bat is wearing a suit while he prowls around looking to murder again.
This one is worth looking for, especially if you're a Vincent Price fan. Recommended.
Update: Victor points out that this is a remake of the original 1926 silent version! Cool. Now I'll have to look for it.
It's been colder than a witch's you-know-what in a brass bra. Highs in the upper 20's and single digit nights. Perfect soup weather.
I started a pot of Beef and Barley soup last night and let it cook all night and all day today in the crock pot. Basically, I tossed a bunch of things into it that we had on hand, and it came out good enough to fool people that I might know what I'm doing in the kitchen.
Beef & Barley Soup
Ingredients
1 lb stew beef
1 Tbsp olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 can diced tomatoes
1 small can V-8 juice
4 cups beef stock
2 carrots, chopped
1 cup frozen corn
1 Tbsp worchestershire sauce
2 Tbsp red wine vinegar
2 Tbsp brown sugar
1 Tbsp Hungarian paprika
1 tsp rubbed sage
2/3 cup barley
Brown the stew beef in a hot skillet with the olive oil. When done, toss it into the crock pot and set the heat for high.
Add the tomatoes (with juice), the V-8 and the beef stock.
Stir in the worchestershire, vinegar, paprika and sage.
Add the garlic, carrots and corn, then let it simmer for an hour or so before turning the heat down to low.
Let it cook for several hours (overnight in my case) and then add the barley (about 5am as I was getting ready for work). Either leave it on low to cook for the rest of the day, or turn the heat up to high and cook for another hour or until the barley is done.
If I had had them, I would have added onions and celery, but I don't know that those would have been an improvement. The vinegar and tomatoes give a nice tang, balanced by the brown sugar. The broth was rich and savory, and by dinner time tonight the meat was falling-apart tender.
We've got quite a stretch of cold weather in the forecast. I think I'll keep the soup pot out.
If I were elected Pope, I'd change my name to Methusela I.
It couldn't hurt.
Found over at Texas Best Grok.
This is a list of the 50 most significant science fiction/fantasy novels, 1953-2002, according to the Science Fiction Book Club.
Bold the ones you've read, strike-out the ones you hated, italicize those you started but never finished and put an asterisk beside the ones you loved.
The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien
The Foundation Trilogy, Isaac Asimov
Dune, Frank Herbert
Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert A. Heinlein
A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula K. Le Guin
Neuromancer, William Gibson (this is on my 'get to someday' list)
Childhood's End, Arthur C. Clarke
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick
The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley
Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
The Book of the New Sun, Gene Wolfe
A Canticle for Leibowitz, Walter M. Miller, Jr.
The Caves of Steel, Isaac Asimov
Children of the Atom, Wilmar Shiras
Cities in Flight, James Blish
The Colour of Magic, Terry Pratchett
Dangerous Visions, edited by Harlan Ellison
Deathbird Stories, Harlan Ellison
The Demolished Man, Alfred Bester
Dhalgren, Samuel R. Delany
Dragonflight, Anne McCaffrey
Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
The First Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever, Stephen R. Donaldson
The Forever War, Joe Haldeman
Gateway, Frederik Pohl
Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
I Am Legend, Richard Matheson
Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice
The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin
Little, Big, John Crowley
Lord of Light, Roger Zelazny
The Man in the High Castle, Philip K. Dick
Mission of Gravity, Hal Clement
More Than Human, Theodore Sturgeon
The Rediscovery of Man, Cordwainer Smith
On the Beach, Nevil Shute
Rendezvous with Rama, Arthur C. Clarke
Ringworld, Larry Niven
Rogue Moon, Algis Budrys
The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
Slaughterhouse-5, Kurt Vonnegut
Snow Crash, Neal Stephenson
Stand on Zanzibar, John Brunner
The Stars My Destination, Alfred Bester
Starship Troopers, Robert A. Heinlein
Stormbringer, Michael Moorcock
The Sword of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Timescape, Gregory Benford
To Your Scattered Bodies Go, Philip Jose Farmer
You'll notice no "love" asterisks nor "hate" strikethroughs, mainly because people's tastes vary so much. I'm not a big fan of fantasy, and yet I've read most of them on the list. I also own almost every bolded title on the list. I discovered SciFi early and read everything I could get my hands on.
I don't care for Anne Rice (except for "Ramses the Damned"), and I've never read a Harry Potter book. I love Farmer and Zelazny and have read "Gateway" multiple times, but my first recommendation from the list which you've probably never read is "A Canticle for Leibowitz". Powerful story.
There ya go. If you want to take it and run with it, leave a link in the comments.
Somehow, I'm not surprised that this happened in a bar.
Wiese, a die-hard fan of the Chicago Bears, signed a pledge in front of a crowd at a Decatur bar last Friday night that if the Bears lost Sunday's Super Bowl, he'd change his name to that of the man who led the Indianapolis Colts to victory.
As the loser of one of these silly bets (I wound up doing laundry for five years after a "can't lose" bet with my wife), I can appreciate the confidence that he felt when he made that wager.
So Tuesday, Wiese went to the Macon County Courts Facility and started the process of changing his name.
You've kept your honor, Scott... er, Peyton.
If you're planning a quiet evening watching a movie together, don't pick War of the Roses.
Super Bowl Helps Nevada Sports Books Set Near-record for Wagering
How do you set a near-record? By not breaking the actual record!
Thanks AP, we're all a little stupider for reading that.
Spent an eventful weekend visiting Robyn and her new husband Henry. Well, that was the excuse, anyways. The real reason we travelled to Norfolk was for minor league hockey.
Liz discovered that President Bush was going to be visiting Williamsburg on Saturday, which is right on our way. In order to avoid any potential traffic problems caused by security around the decider-in-chief, we took an alternate route which made for a beautiful drive through the countryside.
After spending the afternoon visiting, we headed downtown to see the Norfolk Admirals play the Philadelphia Phantoms. This was Henry's first live hockey game.
The people at the arena (Scopes?) were really nice, but I was truly pissed off about the accomodations for the handicapped. We wound up on the lower parking level, and the only way to the entrance was to go up the vehicle ramp, where we almost got run over by a cop! He was insisting that there was an elevator, and we were insisting that the damn thing was inside a locked foyer and not accessible. Once inside, the staff listened to my complaints and did their own check and sure enough, the parking elevator was locked up. Odd thing is, nobody there had a key to unlock it, because it was mainly for the adjoining theater. I can't believe that they've never encountered this situation before, and it took me a while to calm down.
So anyway, game time. The Admirals are in the middle of a great season, so the arena was better than 3/4 full. They're a farm team for the Chicago Black Hawks, and we enjoyed spotting the various incarnations of the Admirals uniforms from years past. They've changed logos a couple of times, and back a few years ago their team colors were blue and gold, which made for really good looking jerseys. Now they wear Chicago's red, black and gold.
I'd heard that minor league hockey had been tamed. No fights, no hitting. Let me tell you, NOT TRUE! In the first few minutes of the game two guys dropped their gloves, threw off the helmets and went at it. As usual, the refs waited until they fell to the ice in a heap to break it up. After the next face off, two more guys did the same thing. The place was going wild! There were a couple of scrums later on and quite a bit of pushing and shoving, but that was it for the fights.
As for hitting, there were some hellacious hits. Norfolk is a smaller and faster finesse team but they dished out more than they took during the game.
My biggest problem with the Admirals is that they tended to make one pass too many. I screamed myself hoarse to put the damn puck on the net as they repeatedly passed up shots to try to make the perfect set up. As expected with minor league hockey, the skill level was a shade below what you're used to seeing in the NHL. Passes just missed, or if they did hit the tape weren't controlled well. Lots of "oops, forgot something" moments as they frantically hit the brakes and tried to reverse to gather up a missed puck.
No matter, the game was fun and we'll be doing it again soon. I wish we lived closer, because season tickets would be great. Oh yeah, lower section tickets were $16.00. Can't beat that. The title of this post is a combination of what was announced as a Phantoms player left the penalty box - "Philadelphia is at full strength" - the crowds hollered response each time - "AND YOU STILL SUCK!". Cracked me up.
The Admirals came back from two down to tie it up 3 all. No score in the overtime, and the Admirals took the shootout to win it.
On Sunday, Liz and I stopped at Williamsburg Pottery on the way home. This place is amazing, like a super-duper yardsale/flea market/k-mart/dollar store/nursury. Laid out in a sprawling jumble of buildings, you can easily spend hours there just looking around - and we did. Imagine your local craft store, which is probably pretty large if you're near one of the big chains. Now imagine that store if it sold nothing but baskets. That's one department at Williamsburg Pottery. Cool place. I picked up some smoked salt and rice vinegar in the gourmet section, along with a few other odds and ends for the kitchen.
So all in all we had a very enjoyable weekend.
Heh. I just heard from Robyn, who was up early doing homework after Henry left for work. He wants to go to the hockey game this Friday.
Later I'll get a chance to tell you about our wonderful weekend, but for now, in no particular order:
1. Charities that don't pick up when they say they will. You called and asked if we had anything to donate. As a matter of fact, we did. So, per your instructions, we packed up two boxes of stuff, put signs on them and set them out by the curb. Your people didn't bother to come by and the wind made short work of the plastic we'd covered the boxes with, so now tomorrow the trash guys get to haul off two soggy boxes of crap. Next time you call, you're going to get an earfull along with a request to take us off your calling list.
2. Did you know that a black coach won the Superbowl? Yeah, big whoop to most of America, both black and white. Thanks though, to those idiots who repeatedly whacked me over the head with the diversity shit all night long. Broadcasters (2a. Phil Simms is an annoying ass) and advertisers alike. In this day and age, we're supposed to be past the race thing. Note it once and get over it. By the way, congratulations to both Tony Dungy and Lovie Smith for getting their teams to the big game. Y'all are tops.
3. Rascal Flats. To me, their music sounds manufactured, like they're the Back Street Boys of country music. I was flipping through the stations this morning and heard their version of "Life Is A Highway" from the movie Cars. Gack. I'd rather listen to the Laurence Welk version, it would have more soul. I think I know where the Menudo rejects go when they reach puberty.
Unfortunately, I can't make it. Liz and I are headed down to see newlywed daughter Robyn and Henry this weekend. To make up for the lack of smoke, fire and noise, we've got tickets to see a minor league hockey game Saturday night. Go Norfolk Admirals!
That's true of rockets too. Of course, the trick is to control exactly where it comes down.
Dick Stafford links to some wicked cool video of a Delta 2 rocket that suffered an... uh, anamoly (their word) just seconds after liftoff. I'd seen the second of the three clips that he links to, and wondered what kind of damage was done to the facilities. Now I know. A chunk of burning debris landed in the parking lot where the folks in the blockhouse were working, incinerating a couple dozen cars and leaving a big crater in the asphalt where it hit. By incinerate, I mean windshields and tire rims were *melted*.
Dick also covers this more recent oopsie (unofficial term) that happened a couple of days ago on the SeaLaunch platform (including more video).
In both of these accidents, nobody was injured. It ain't called "rocket science" for nothing, people!
I even mentioned it last May.
Must see is this nifty CG video of one of NASA's Mars missions, with the opening soundtrack supplied by Lenny Kravitz. Kick ass.