Saturday, April 20, 2002

The real reason I dipped into the mailbag
Here's that golf game. Not sure what the system requirements are but it works in your browser window.
Dipping into the mailbag
On my Yahoo! account the only non-spam I've gotten since Friday afternoon was a standings report for a fantasy baseball league in which I'm last in hitting, last in pitching, last overall, last in 2001, and last in 2000 (my first year as an expansion team). I'm sick of this. Handwringing will follow a few months from now as to whether to say the hell with that particular league.

No new work mail (actually one, I'll get to it soon), although I like the unexpected result that now when I "check other mail" from Yahoo!, anything still in my work inbox (read or unread) will be uploaded (downloaded?). This has something to do with how MS Exchange works versus MS Outlook.

Highlights from my Silicon Age account, still my account of record for question-writing purposes:
> Date: Sat, 20 Apr 2002 14:22:43 -0400
> From: Samer Ismail
> Subject: NAQT: kidney stones

Luckily this is about a flawed question I'd written and not about anybody's health. Brief startle though.

> Date: Sat, 20 Apr 2002 09:21:32 -0700
> From: Chad Kubicek
> Subject: Sorry, Bruce
> Married Chris Schuman on April 13
> yar :(

Oh well. There are other point guards in the sea. Depending on the water level they find it very hard to pass.
Madonna versus Weird Al
I guess this one's for the usual masses.

At the party I went to tonight I met someone who doesn't like Weird Al Yankovic. Now, I'm in no position to carry a candle for him. I do like his stuff, where my impression is (was) that more or less everyone likes him and so by extension I have no unique attachment to him. He's pretty good and all. Other than shock, my only real reaction to the news that someone dislikes him is to each her own.

I wish I'd known the part about not liking Weird Al, though, to avoid a potential faux pas. This same person mentioned that she really likes Madonna's cover of "American Pie" and that she seems to be the only person who feels that way. I made a throwaway reference to The Saga Begins and failed to get much of a reaction. What hurts a little here is my particular reference to that song vastly overstates my own geekiness, at least relative to both the Star Wars freaks and the Weird Al freaks whom I count among my friends.

Turns out my acquaintance actually idolizes Madonna generally. This is a first for me, meeting/conversing with a female Madonna fanatic. Previously they'd all been either gay men or Tim. Again, I don't know what to think, though I admit I'm highly intrigued. This dates back to when she bought the True Blue album, off of which her favorite song is "Live To Tell." Happy coincidence: That's also my own second favorite Madonna song, right after "Crazy For You."

I guess Madonna's popular enough that you can't generalize much about her fans. In fact she's so popular that I started to diss her recent career for having become profoundly middle-of-the-road. We had a brief argument about the merits of the song Beautiful Stranger, although it can't have been a profound argument since I remember so little of the details.

I got much more flak for dissing Pink Floyd, who the Madonna fan likes a lot, never mind that the affinity seems to be mainly for The Wall itself. My problem with Pink Floyd really isn't The Wall so much as their other stuff. Someone else mentioned Animal Noises, which does seem to exemplify what it is I hate about Pink Floyd.

Some people just have strange musical tastes. Then again, if they're well defined enough then I can recoil but also be intrigued. Far cry from the people who "don't like music" or who just go through life listening to whatever mix station without actually developing preferences.
Triple Your Social Pleasure
Anaheim 0 0 4 0 2 0 3 0 0 - 9 12 0
Oakland 0 0 0 1 0 0 2 0 4 - 7 12 1

Recap and box score here.

The short version of my evening is that I had not one, not two, but three things to do with other people:
1. formally hang out with co-workers at Pyramid Brewery
2. A's game, above
3. my friend Igor's birthday party

Longer version of this can possibly be found on-line somewhere depending on when you read this.

A's looked lackluster for eight innings, made stupid mistakes all over the place, like the Triple-A callup pitcher failing to get to first base in time in a key play in the Angels' first big inning. But then out of nowhere they almost made it all back. Beat up the Angel bullpen in a non-save situation, then beat up on Troy Percival when he was called in. I lost a ton of respect for Mike Scioscia tonight, as he proved himself to be a stat whore by summoning Percival precisely when it officially became a save situation (tying run on deck). If Percival had blown it I'd have laughed and laughed.

That's false. I'd have been screaming my lungs out at the time, then after the fact upon reflection I'd have laughed and laughed.

Friday, April 19, 2002

And now (via RealOne) for something completely different: A bygone era.

When he pets me
He's sweet and gentle.
It just gets me
Honest and truly, I'm sentimental

--He's Mine, The Platters
Is System of a Down the Emerson, Lake, & Palmer of my generation?

Difference: three egos worth of hubris wrapped up into basically one nutcase.
Mark your calendars...

Years from now is everyone going to have a weblog, the way these days everyone has an e-mail address? Is that how news will travel?

Can't decide if that'd be good or bad. Either way, I'm just giving you crap (you = the reader? you = Mark & Sarah?) -- seriously, I can't emphasize it enough.


The alt music crapped out in a hurry
Did it jump the shark on "My Way or the Highway" or on that Gorillaz song?

I hadn't heard anything Durst in awhile. (Maybe he's blacklisted from the San Francisco radio market? Who knows.) That means I hadn't felt my reflexive, irrational dislike for him in awhile. Not sure what he ever did to me but there's just something not right about him.

Probably just the rivalry thing.

Meanwhile, the lefty slant to that Everlast song never really registered until I had the lyrics in print in front of me. There's something a little wrong about the same guy preaching at me when he's only a few years removed from Jump Around.

Holy f*cking confluence. I did NOT want to know that. Or that. I attempt to disbelieve. It's true and frighteningly true.

Anyway, lefty preaching. Antidote: Creed. I want to see or hear ads with Scott Stapp smugly declaring, "We sing: You decide."
Oh great. The crappy server
Suspect only blogger/blogspot users will identify with this but I'm apparently on the server that not only mangles the paragraph breaks (at least in what you see in your own blogger window), not only messes up the timestamp, but even keeps asking me for my username and password to FTP.

Can someone just take that server out and shoot it?

That's an Internet abbreviation I hadn't thought of in awhile. It's early 1990s Usenet lingo. Suppose some group had off-topic thread drift and you wanted to insert something topical into your post. If it were a sports group and your post were otherwise berefit of sports, you might stick in an ObSports: and then your throwaway sports reference.

The more you know...
"Hot Alternative"
The RealOne UI is surprisingly confusing, especially on the point of what my current subscription does and does not entitle me to. Just now I tried to listen to a Britney Spears(!) album they'd advertised, but was told my membership didn't permit this. Did I want to upgrade? Eh, no.

So instead, from the "Music" tab I click on "Free Listening Party," see a list of albums (Six Feet Under soundtrack is really good, the rest look unappealing), click instead on a link that says "Hot Alternative."

What's the first song streamed on "Hot Alternative"? Three guesses. (I guess you can go ahead and guess before you hit the link.)

This is a telltale sign of a kickass song -- no, not the fact that it's still getting airplay all over the place, but rather that I can hear it over and over and over and over again for months on end, yet still not be sick of it. How much longer can this last?

Oh, and I also heard it on the radio on the way to work this morning. Also heard the weirdest radio edit on an Everlast song. This is arguably the most heavily radio-edited song in recent alternative airplay (non-Eminem division, I guess), but they found a new one to blank out.

I can see "fucking slob" or "goddamn" or "cuttin' off his balls" or "whore" or "finest weed" or "drugs" or "shit-faced", but this morning they blanked out "Colt 45". Who are they kidding?

ObPolitics: So now it's a pro-choice song (second verse) with a gun control radio edit. Who knew?
More from the mailbag
Every now and then you receive communication so mind-numbingly idiotic that you briefly question your will to get up in the morning. Cliche-ridden, bereft of insight, clanging with unwitting discord.

Sorry, had to bitch. Can't really explain. Someone out there will catch my drift (no, probably not the sender).

Post-script: This entry probably saved me from a sending a condescending reply, the kind that's dripping in sarcasm and unnecessary antagonism, the kind that feels really really good at the moment but ends up creating too much trouble. The kind that makes both people look bad.

Thursday, April 18, 2002

Department of Useless Superpowers
Don't laugh at me but I think -- nay, I swear up and down -- that I somehow willed the injury of a fictional baseball player.

What's freaky is that it happened the very day (in simbase time, not real time) that I'd envisioned it happening. My post-season chances for this virtual season almost depended on this injury happening. I'd just been talking trade with some other owner and decided after all (thinking to myself so there's no paper trail on this), "nah, I probably don't want to do that deal. But if Alamar got hurt like, today, then I'd definitely do it."

For what it's worth the "real" Alamar seems to come from a game called Might and Magic. So I just willed the injury of the fictional representation of a fictional representation.
Live Through This: the Broadway Musical!
Somebody help me write this. I'd be much obliged. All Courtney needs is a little cheering up. Turn that frown upside down!
There is no milk
Not literally. Probably plenty of milk. But Courtney Love keeps pointing this out. There's a point in that song, sort of the bridge, where I always end up mouthing along to the f*** you part. One day I'll slip up and sing it out loud and boy won't everyone within earshot be surprised. That'd be a moment of sheepishness.

If in your code you have a line that contains nothing but a close-parenthesis and a semicolon, it looks like a really messed-up failed attempt at an emoticon.
The guy who announces things within the press box
Unidentified voice, enunciating extra-clearly: "Please note, prior to that base hit, Berkman was 2-for-30 as a pinch-hitter. 2-for-30."
Joe Nuxhall: "Prior to that base hit, Lance Berkman had been 2-for-30 as a pinch-hitter."

1. What's that guy's job title? I want that job. Note: This is NOT the PA announcer proper. He comments much more frequently and in more detail than one ever hears at the park itself.
1a. Why can't I hear what that guy says when I'm at the park? Could I listen to a special frequency?

2. What sound system is he on? He always sounds like (or "she" for a lot of games at Wrigley Field) the person who says "number 135, your order is ready" at busy fast food places.
2a. Why do I hear him on some broadcasts but not others?

3. Does an announcer like Nuxhall realize that we all heard the announcer guy over the air? Why repeat it?
"Aaron Boone has lit up Billy Wagner with a three-run bomb."
Nothing like exciting broadcasters for an exciting game.
Go Igor!
His Tashkent Tornadoes are currently #1 overall in Baseball Challenge.

Like seemingly everyone else on the leaderboard, he does change his lineup every day to maximize matchups.
"there's nothing wrong with just asking"
As seen in an e-mail I got this morning, that will be my new motto. Or, second motto, closely following the part about being laid back and in control. Or third, behind that and no whining.

Friday night marks game #2 in my absurdly good A's seats extravaganza. Weather permitting, it'll easily please me compared to game #1.

With Mark Mulder on the disabled list, the starter remains to be announced. That's a little bit disappointing: I was just about to get into a routine wherein Mulder pitching on a Friday night meant that I'd go to the game with an unsuspecting -- I mean, a distinguished -- guest, Mulder would completely mow down a weak opponent, and for a brief while I could pretend that I'd just shown someone that baseball was actually interesting.

Wednesday, April 17, 2002

Is it time for self-promotion yet?
Today I've gotten unsolicited e-mail from two different people whom I think of as quasi-celebrities, both as a result of weblog entries. That rocks. Maybe I'm doing something right. It's also hard to imagine two more unrelated pursuits than terse, acid-wit political commentary and obscene fake Family Circus captions.

Time to evaluate things: I write a lot. I write easily. No prose comes to mind that's singularly excellent but a lot of reasonably good turns of phrase come out of these fingers, with or without the brain's prior input. What's the best (read: most cost-effective or most enjoyable) way to direct this output?

Writing trivia questions pays a fair amount per question, certainly not enough to live on but better than nothing. Then again, writing code (which doesn't really qualify as "writing" in this context) pays so well that money is unlikely to be the best deciding factor for how to spend spare time.

Writing weblog entries pays absolutely nothing and brings with it no quality control. Unclear whether the second part is good or bad. If I had more to say about politics then I could become reasonably well-known in this niche. Then again, among outlets that give you a lot of exposure but no money, I haven't had a thing worthwhile to say about baseball in months (at least, not enough to produce a coherent thousand-word essay in one sitting). I'll probably have enough to say about baseball before I have enough to say about politics.

Quitting my job and writing a lot (baseball, trivia, politics, you name it) would be astonishingly satisfying but the point at which I could no longer afford to live in San Francisco would happen well before the point at which I finally got around to taking full advantage of being here.

So... likely status quo. Hope everyone keeps finding the pearls among the swill.

Funny thing about political weblogs: I can't feel too guilty about so rarely updating mine when so many of my homepage links go to people who go days on end without updating theirs. Every time Postrel goes on a business trip; seemingly every weekend for Andrew Sullivan; and so on.
Joe Castiglione sounds very very happy. I honest-to-gosh picked the Blue Jays to win the AL East this year. Given their pitching I may have to rethink that.
anonymity through its very mundaneness
asparagirl ruminates and comes up with a phrase that fits exactly how I would have used to rationalize opening up via weblog.

Unlike her I don't worry so much about the general public. Maybe I should. Maybe some rainy day I'll go through old entries and make sure I'm not slandering anyone or at least make sure that nobody other than me has a legitimate gripe about compromising privacy.

I guess I worry about the specific people who know me and vice versa, who form that concentric ring of acquaintances wherein one could no longer really gossip about things that one shouldn't have been gossiping about anyway.

Sent to Oklahoma. Thoughts:

1. They'll love him there. Seriously they will. I predict a standing ovation. I have mixed emotions at best about this.

2. This has fantasy implications. Who's the Rangers closer these days? How soon does Jeff Zimmerman get off the disabled list? What frenzy of roster moves has this resulted in?

3. Fantasy implications can go too far. What becomes of all the nascent John Rocker / Carl Everett slash stories?
since it was an official game
Seattle 0 0 0 0 6 0 0 0 - 6 11 0
Oakland 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 X - 2 5 2

Pair of home runs by Jeremy Giambi. Floodgates opened in the 5th (both literally and figuratively), keyed by Cory Lidle throwing error on what should have been the inning-ending double play ball with the score still 2-0. Lidle left at 2-2, bases loaded. Chad Bradford came in, had nothing. Three hits and three runs later, the first of two rain delays.

Game time: 2 hours, 23 minutes of actual play; 2 hours, 33 minutes of rain delays. My friend David and I were there for all but the last half hour of the final rain delay. We left around 11:30, game called around midnight.
Do they boo Ichiro in your home park?
Driving home from Alameda I caught some radio call-ins on the A's broadcast right before the game was called. The broadcasters were wondering why so many Oakland fans booed Ichiro and hoping it wasn't racial. (Some woman had called in to repeat what the guy behind her had said, that he booed Ichiro "because he's a chink." [sic] Beyond the evils of racial slurs, I want to claim it's not even the right slur. I don't know my anti-Asian lingo well enough but isn't the c-word China specific?) Another woman with a lot of common sense called to point out that, yes, people booed Ichiro, just like they boo Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter and even Jason Giambi when he comes back to town: They're the best players on the opposing team. They're really good but on the wrong team.

Without knowing for sure, I suspect that Ichiro gets louder boos in Oakland than other places. It's arguably where he first became famous, gunning down Terrence Long on that throw to third from the right field corner. Tonight he legged out a double, beat out a ground ball to the pitcher, and... hit into a double play. The last seemed very uncharacteristic of him.

In many ways, Seattle is the perfect opponent. It's a really good team, a formidable rival, but doesn't have the mystique or the arrogant fans of (say) the Yankees. By all rights an Oakland-Seattle tilt should have a lot of the same contentiousness and fandemonium of Yankees-Red Sox or Giants-Dodgers. For whatever reason, it just doesn't. Mariner fans are too nice to get into fights and, at least on an April weeknight, A's fans are too apathetic.

Still, Seattle is a team I go out of my way to see just as I go out of my way to avoid the Yankees. It's a team that I enjoy seeing and also enjoy rooting against. Especially from seats so close to the visitor's bullpen.

"Hey Jo-El, I hear Lou's mad at you! You won't like Lou when he's angry!"
Hi. My audience is so big it makes my head spin. Where did you all come from? Probably the Yahoo! Profile. Make yourself at home, I guess. And don't take it personally.

The Baseball Weekly I bought in the Chicago airport described this week's Seattle Mariners as a "weatherproof" team in that they'd be on a road trip to California. The other weatherproof team I remember was Montreal, with a weeklong homestand. Mariners came to Oakland tonight. Sure enough... rain delays. Game finally called in the seventh inning.

Tuesday, April 16, 2002

"That's what they get for prancing around Harvard in a beaver costume."
“They were pretty standard Harvard wankers,” Fazio said. “We thought they were kidding at first.”
not sure whether to laugh or cry
"If God wanted me to have kids, he'd have made me so I would."
The joys of early-onset Onion
Click NOW and see this picture but with the caption still
"Above: Schlerek cracks wise before fellow Christ Presbyterian Church parishioners."
Remember when Ricky Williams said he had social anxiety disorder?
I'm still not sure whether to buy it. He may or may not have it; at least one psychiatrist thinks he does. I may or may not have it; psychiatry has no opinion on this, partly because I haven't seen fit to seek one out. All I know is I'd never ever wear a football helmet during an interview. That's just common sense.
No new Onion yet
This impedes my ability to spend a large block of time not working. That and my complete inability to play horse. If you suck, make sure you go after someone who's trying to show off rather than someone who's content with making the easy shots. Darned French-Canadians.

There's a spontaneous full-staff meeting in half an hour. My first thought was sudden layoffs. I'm morbid that way. But birthday cards are circulating and I sense the presence of cake.

I may or may not end up getting double-stamped for a cheesesteak some time today. I blew the 12:00 hour opportunity by blogging(!). A's game coming up tonight. Cheesesteak? Round Table pizza? Decisions.

Speaking of The Onion, it's disturbing how often Savage Love makes me feel sad. I guess last week's column makes everyone feel sad. Not sure whether that's an improvement.

Meanwhile, the soundtrack to Six Feet Under is really good. The RealOne player and service are well worth whatever it is I'm paying for them. Baseball is only the beginning.
Contract the Marlins now
"Ballpark bingo" (last paragraph)?!
Can I sue them too?
Not sure if Rio has a valid case here but my case would be that the episode sucked so bad. I want that half hour of my life back.
This time it's not his fault
It's uncanny how often the weakest member of a team ends up with the toughest assignment of a project. Then again, if the hardest nut to crack is also sufficiently unrelated to the core development that you could ultimately do without it...

Resolved: I have faith in my team and will actually act like it. This starts with no longer actually slamming them in public (or quasi-public). Having bitched to various NAQT powers-that-be about their need to delegate more, I'll actually practice what I preach.

That and I'm still laid back. :-)
Aren't you supposed to be working?
The current new development strikes me as a one-developer project, very straightforward.

Instead we'll be doing it as a team, partly as an excuse to achieve "knowledge transfer." Woo. At this morning's meeting I looked over my teammates and couldn't decide which one was Lucky and which one was Ned.

A select few readers would identify the backhandedness of that reference. A different select few would understand why I feel like being a little insulting.
Cool thing about being a baseball fan
Stories like this.
Man, I Feel Like A...
Why is this song suddenly all over the middle-of-the-road radio airwaves? I remember seeing the video a good 2-3 years ago. Was it on some recent soundtrack or something?

Fine song, I have no quarrel with playing it a lot, just seems like the delta of its airtime is huge. Did some radio/record cabal just add it to some Ueberplaylist or something?

Radio: Land of sheep.

Also, when I hear that song on the radio (as in the car this morning), my second thought (after the highly alluring cross-dress motif of the video) is of a strip joint. Hey Mo, got any more fivers?

Monday, April 15, 2002

For the past two weeks, Greg Sorenson has been too busy controlling the universe to update his weblog. Or maybe he was waiting for props from here, to complete a cycle of blog-reference.

Actually he was probably too busy writing questions, but I never let the need to write questions stop me.
Country Music: One of the few genres in which married people actually 'do it'
Exhibit A: Andy Griggs, Tonight I Wanna Be Your Man.

Just try to picture Mick Jagger singing that to Bianca. You can't, because he wouldn't. Country music: Validation for the social conservative within even the most libertarian poseur.
I saw it with my Dad
Now that Rob Neyer's written a whole column about it, I'll step up the hype a bit on the game-ending double play in Saturday's Cubs-Pirates game. It was better than any defensive play of the 2001 season and likely to be better than any other defensive play of the 2002 season. It was even better than anything I ever saw Vizquel and Alomar do together.

For me personally the best part wasn't just that I saw it as it happened but rather that I saw it with my dad. We were talking about work, which seems to be what adult males with full-time jobs discuss when they're moving just beyond smalltalk. The game was still on, ninth inning, Mom doing some spot housework somewhere.

What you have to understand here: After me, my mom is the biggest baseball fan in the family. Then Sarah, with Dad a distant fourth. He likes sports, mainly football, but really doesn't follow them. Not worth spending the time. So me seeing some incredible baseball moment with my mom would be much less notable than seeing it with my dad.

Cubs down a run entering the ninth but strung together three hits. So, a run in, a run down, runners first and third, one out. Alex Gonzalez hits a ball up the middle. Dad says, "that's a hit!" I start to say "maybe not" as Jack Wilson dives into the camera view. We were both duly impressed.

I'm older than a son usually is when this happens but sharing something like that with my father turns out to have meant astonishingly much to me. That and it was a really really spectacular play. Keep watching ESPN at random intervals until you find some program where they show it. I'd be willing to bet they'll inundate the airwaves with it for awhile.
Are the Florida Marlins baseball's most disgraceful team or what?
I didn't jump on this band wagon when Marlin-dissing was trendy in 1998, because apart from the disastrous PR and all the wrong motives on Huizenga's part (not to mention the LIES: he claimed to be losing $30 million, but most of it was in one-sided deals where two of his own corporations dealt with each other and he jury-rigged the balance sheets), they actually made some really good long-run moves. Florida getting good this year or next has a lot to do with those moves, stockpiling prospects and so on.

But now... they're owned by the same guy who used and abused the Expos and tossed them curbside. They basically robbed that same Montreal franchise of all its good and even all its staff, because MLB was too stupid to negotiate a better deal.

Adding insult to injury is Jeff Torborg. There's not enough room here to explain why Torborg is bad for baseball (for one thing, back when he worked for Fox, he was arguably the worst color commentator on network TV) but the part about his son (second item) explains all you need to know.

It's bush-league, I tell you. And those of you who root for the Marlins (or whose brothers do), sucks to be you I suppose.

Sign that I've wisened (or just gotten more cynical): For fantasy baseball purposes I have Marlins all over the place. Cliff Floyd on a couple of teams, Preston Wilson on one, the injury-plagued Charles Johnson killing me on about three of them. Not about to release any of them, but now that Florida has surpassed the Yankees on my shit-list, I should probably rethink my unofficial Yankee ban.

Sunday, April 14, 2002

Life's little pleasures and mild disappointments
I don't post enough about food. Or rather, there's a set of topics (baseball and music, though not food) on which I overpost. In a weird way I'm a food geek, but kind of a trashy food geek. And boy does my physique show this.

Mom gave me carrots and strawberries, both in their own plastic bags, to munch on the plane, on the theory that long flight + Southwest = underfeeding. (I disagree: Southwest actually doesn't skimp on the food the way you'd think they would. It's just they don't give you a microwaved dinner tray or a "bistro" bag. BFD.)

Still, regardless of what was in my bag, an airport has (much like a mall food court) possible hidden treasures that I just can't pass up.
In Chicago, I got a slice of pepperoni pizza from a place that had Chicago in its name. This was a disappointment, though the jalapeno cheese pretzel was a big hit. (Mmm... cheese spread... I guess I understand why people put crap on their bagels now, though I still choose not to.)

In Oakland I dutifully waited in line for my Round Table, because one thing about Oakland A's games is that I'm now a Round Table zealot. Especially pepperoni. So of course that's the pie they ran out of when it was my time to be helped. The supreme was reasonably good, yet not quite the same.

None of which compares to the crime against humanity that my parents committed this morning: They microwaved some day-old Krispy Kremes. For the love of all that's pure and right, you don't nuke a culinary treasure like that! Okay granted, day old Krispy Kreme's don't nearly match their hot-and-fresh stage, nuking or no. Still, I took a bite out of it and the difference between what I tasted and the fresh heavenliness of a newborn Krispy Kreme was such a vast gulf that I wanted to pout and cry.

Then again donuts are bad for you. Fruit is a reasonable alternative. Mom cut up a bunch of melon slices and bananas and strawberries and pineapples and this (with a little cottage cheese) made for a beautiful Sunday's light brunch.

Some smalltalk and some baseball later (Orioles bitch-smacked White Sox, though Carlos Lee homered just in time for me to get my yearly quota of the Hawk Harrelson "You can put it on the board, yyES!" call), Sarah took me back to the airport. Fun times. Remind me to do the weekend visit thing again, possibly in July.
I was a smartass in kindergarten
One time they were teaching us about numbers. Or to be pedantic, they were teaching us about non-negative integers. They showed us not only that 2 + 2 = 4 but also that 1 + 3 = 4 and 0 + 4 = 4. The cases for 3 and 2 were simpler, with the case of 1 being the easiest. 0 + 1 = 1. That is all we knew and all we needed to know. (Not even the trivial case of 0 + 0 = 0, unless I'm just forgetting it.)

So of course I raised my hand. Couldn't you also do one half plus one half equals one? Or one fourth plus three fourths? They said something about explaining it later, and moved on. I guess so as not to confuse too many other kids. I was a little disappointed at the time.

All these childhood math memories are in my head now, and it's all the TMI blog's fault.
Goodbye to all that red stuff
Apologies for the unclosed <font> tag from Friday's anguished postings.

You know your syndicated '80s nostalgia program isn't up to snuff when it plays the English language version of 99 Luftballoons. There can be but one version of this song; translating it is a butchery.

Also you know it isn't up to snuff when the trivia questions are absurdly easy, such as a "name the TV show from sound clip" that was patently obviously Roseanne.

Back in San Francisco. Not yet asleep, which contradicts my long-held plans for tonight.