Saturday, July 13, 2002

Ninety Minutes From Now This Will Be A Happening Place
Half an hour from now the people who always come exactly on time will show up. Oh wait, those are the people who are hosting this one.

Everything is astonishingly clean, except inside people's bedrooms. Vegetable trays sit on the kitchen table: I take mild issue with the broccoli to carrot ratio but that's just because carrots are easier to crunch. Who grabs single pieces of broccoli?

I have strategically placed CD's by the roommate's machine in the living room and also by my own boombox in the back yard. Right now that one is playing the arguably the best "pre-party outdoor background music" CD ever released: It's "cool" and "rocks" and has an edge but can be laid back. Ladies and gentlemen, a little Dookie for your listening pleasure.

Or my listening pleasure. Or the listening pleasure of the venerable Asian woman who lives next door. Or the guy who complained (good-naturedly) to Chris that a branch from our tree had fallen into his yard. Chris promised to tell our landlady about it, which no doubt means she'll come over. I hope she brings The Guy Who Looks Like Sean Connery (who might be her business partner, might be the "man of the house," it's unclear) and not the contractor guy who yells at us in broken English and then yells at her in unbroken Chinese, all to the effect that everything is our fault rather than his.

You've never felt like a 20-something bad-boy until you've had (listened to, really) an issue with the neighbors while Green Day plays in the background.
Am I Crazy? Take Two
This one might be bogus in that I think by now I know which answers are more likely to raise red flags. Not sure why "Histrionic" changed the way it did though.


-- Click Here To Take The Test --

If you're from BUCB and are old-school (before Cooch's time, e.g.), check the comments under the "Snow" entry (Thursday, below). This is pretty cool. Yahoo! seems to choke a little on message headers though. It'll all be straightened out before you know it.
The "One-Behind Bug" is back?
Eh. Or not. Blogger sux lately.
Cooch Busted
Jon Couture's co-worker found his weblog. It's unclear at this point whether any current co-worker has found mine. I'm somewhat discreet about making updates but heaven knows the "edit your blog" window is usually one of the 20 or so I have open.
Why aren't my entries publishing?
Hello hello helllo...

Friday, July 12, 2002

It is not a "popup", it is a Javascript Alert.

Javascript: Worst. Language. Ever.
Remember when Scott Adams was original?
Today's Dilbert lifted directly from a Saturday Night Live skit featuring Tom Ridge.

Thursday, July 11, 2002


COL 0 0 0 0 2 0 0 0 0 - 2 6 0
SF 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 0 1 - 3 11 0

WP- Worrell (6-0)
LP- Jimenez (2-6)

Box Score | Recap | Game Log

To think I spent much of the first half of this game contemplating how the Giants could solve their first base situation by trading for a Frank Thomas type.

First moment of abject disappointment: Leading off for the Giants, the left fielder, #8... and so the problem isn't even that it's Tom Goodwin so much as that you know Barry Bonds, Mr. All-Star, Mr. ESPY, won't be in the lineup at all. Then again, neither was fellow All-Star Benito Santiago. Yorvit, anyone?

So two of the first three SF hitters got hits. With Dusty Baker's new and improved lineup (flipping Bonds with Kent), that would normally bring up Barry. Instead, Mr. J.T. Snow, subject of at least two signs I saw in the bleachers, not to mention much shouting and whooping and moisture from the ladies in the crowd, grounded into a double play to end the inning.

Many zeroes later, Russ Ortiz (a poor man's Freddy Garcia -- not even the stat line so much as the mug) ran into two runs' worth of a jam.

In the seventh inning, Snow's base hit keyed the SF rally to tie things. Two innings later he was involved in baseball's most exciting play. If you said "a triple," you're only partially correct. No, baseball's most exciting play is when one of the slowest men in the game legs out a triple. To do this requires finding a gap, in particular finding a gap that leads all the way to a sign that says 421.

Next batter, Reg-GIE! Sanders, smoked one up the middle that bounced off the second baseman, Snow scoring easily.

Nine days ago was Olmedo's walkoff. Tonight, another game-ending hit and middle of the field celebration. Eight days from now, Oakland hosts Texas. Fun times.
Thank God I'm ELCA
Those wacky Missouri Synod folk...

By the way, unusually good Best of the Web Today today. Or maybe it's just that I keep forgetting that "Best of the Web" exists.
Chicken versus Egg
So it turns out that two of the businessmen whose companies I most despise are also among my most loathed baseball team owners.

FROM Baseball_Owner
WHERE name like '%angelo%'
More on why not...
I'm glad our terrorist adversaries are such freakin' pervs!
I bet this really raises the hackles of the Islamic purity freaks.
Officemates keep feeding me things
Most recently a juicy slab of watermelon. I feel like a baseball radio broadcaster, as though I'm now going to spend the next half-inning plugging Nuts on Clark.
Neonepiphany and Jane Galt
As time permits, some new hyperlinks are forthcoming...

I've never met Jane Galt. I have met (at least on-line) Michael, at least if you're who I think you are. Thanks for the blog comments!
Community, Austerity, and the U.S. Military
(This still vaguely relates to the Lileks piece but I've forgotten how I got from there to here.)

Nine months ago I was dead certain that I'd be a soldier by now. (Well, ideally an officer.)

The reasons I'm not boil down to two concepts: I don't need the U.S. military, and more importantly it doesn't need me. Most directly, that just means that I got Vectiv contracting work at almost exactly the time that the U.S. suddenly started just annihilating the Taliban, but there's slightly more to it than that.

Hearken back to my interview with the Navy guy about their officers' program. I came into it very serious, maybe a little dour. I was going to be there to fight a war. Rid the world of terrorism and then go back to life as we know it (or, as we knew it pre-September). That's not how the Navy culture saw things, though.

This guy lived, breathed, and loved his military association. Not in the usual Patton sense but rather the idea that you join the Navy "to see the world" (I referred to this old cliche, and joked about how it had been subverted, the reference that the world is 70% water -- probably came off way too eggheaded there :-)), and more importantly that when you have lots of downtime on the water, you have fun with the guys. Most importantly, when you get shore leave, you go into whatever city or country and you party. And pick up women.

Long story short, the U.S. doesn't have branches of the military so much as it has competing frats. This sounds derisive but it really isn't. I absolutely love the fact that our country and its interests are defended by such happy-go-lucky people... cocky, swaggering, high-living dudes who work hard, play hard, enjoy the good things in life and do what they can to get rid of the bad. These people kick so much ass, especially relative to what the rest of the world can muster, that I can forgive a little insularity, a little inertia, a little self-containedness.

But not too much of it. I really think that we still don't handle guerrilla warfare as well as we could. There's a lot of adaptability that the military needs, maybe some innovation that's currently being stifled. (A massive governmental unit stifling innovation? Never!) Back then, I thought this is exactly what all of us displaced dot-commers, too-smart-for-our-own-good sort of people could contribute to the armed forces.

Those thoughts came back to me this morning, but only briefly. Just try to imagine an armed force run by Mark Cuban. As soon as you stop laughing, thank your lucky stars for the people who defend us and marvel at the fact that they don't really seem to need our "help."
One thing I strongly agree with Lileks about
is the utter wrongheadedness of the people who claim that dissent is being suppressed. The real problem is that these radicals, who used to be so avant garde, now find that their ideas are totally uncool, and just can't deal with being so roundly disapproved of.
Yet another thought-provoking Bleat
Only, for once, I disagree with James Lileks on a point, disagree with him enough to feel vaguely on-edge.

See, I don't share his yearning for a "unified community" at all. Society works precisely because we leave each other well enough alone, live and let live, pursue our different interests and everything is okay.

I may have mentioned before that an old, dear friend of mine thought of me once as the ideal roommate, to the point that he actively pursued any arrangement where we'd room together. (I used this to great advantage, delegating the apartment hunt to him and trusting his judgment sight-unseen on my Somerville place.) I thought it was strange that I'd be anybody's ideal roommate, mainly since my working and living spaces end up extremely messy. Beyond that, I'm never home and when I am I tend to keep to myself. Of my current roommates, two in particular like to watch the same TV shows, and sit in the livign room together watching them, or else sit in the living room together having long deep conversations on topics way too philosophical for me.

(Our other roommate will join them in the TV or conversation a fair amount; every now and then I will, but rarely at best.)

What sounds odd at first but maybe makes sense: This may be exactly what makes me more desirable (to some) as a roommate than other potential roommates would be.

In any case, that's not even the biggest reason why I worried about this "sense of community." Rather, I find that most people who want a sense of community also want some sort of community sacrifice, not even as a means to some end but as an end in itself, as though gratuitous austerity makes us better people.

I find these belt-tightening fetishists distasteful, especially since so many of them are labeled as conservatives. Then again I listened to a baseball game on the radio today (actually via the web) and kept hearing the same ad for some minivan that has TV screens for the back seats. I was shocked and repulsed at the thought of kids getting accustomed to watching their precious "purple dinosaur" shows (actual phrase from the ad! -- "purple dinosaur") everywhere they go. The thing is, it's yet another way of spoiling them rotten. The more lavishly your needs are met, the more helpless you'll be when you suddenly find out that the world doesn't exist to cater to your whim. Maybe that's part of what Lileks was getting at.
Here's a phrase you probably never want to see in a news story about your favorite athlete:
"according to 911 tapes"

Way back when, all the way back to when the one was in high school and the other at Georgetown, Joon had a very well-maintained Allen Iverson fansite.

Wednesday, July 10, 2002

Blog Frequency
James Lileks and Jon Couture and Craig Barker have something amusing in common in with Tim Hentzel*.

They all blog exactly once a day (or, once a weekday?), no more and no less. The weblog world divides pretty neatly into people who post exactly once a day (like a ritual!), people who post unpredictably but discernably less than once a day (Mike Develin, David Nieporent, and lately even Virginia Postrel, putting her in the minority among webloggers), and people who post unpredictably but noticeably more than once a day (Instapundit, many other "celebrity" bloggers, and... well... me).

The people who post exactly once a day, tend to make a long but fairly cohesive work out of it. More of a column than a note. I admire these people for having something I lack. Every time I see a new person published on Baseball Prospectus, I wonder (with more than mild jealosy) why it isn't me. Then I remember that I've never bothered to submit anything to BP and haven't even submitted to Strike Three in months.

My knee-jerk excuse is lack of time, yet check out this here blog. The better explanation seems to be that I've long since lost the attention span to focus on, and perfect, anything of actual essay length.

*- Despite the link to him, I should just admit that I don't always read the DVT log. It's an unfortunate paradox: The strongest person I know (that's more metaphorical than anything; I'm sure a lot of people could benchpress more or satisfy whatever benchmark, which doesn't change the fact that I associate "strength" with him -- strength of character maybe) started his weblog as a result of the statistically improbable illness that weakened him.
To: Dick Wolf
From: Me
Re: "ripped from the headlines"

Try to be a little less blatant about it. I found tonight's episode a little unbecoming, a little pandering, a little cheap. Nonetheless I was hooked by it.

Also, nice use of the "crime fraud exception" to attorney-client privilege. Got the law right here, even though my roommate's immediate reaction was "that's weak."
Does Alice still have alternative cred?
It's unclear. Their "essentials" (nightly request-based top 5 countdown) featured three pretty weak tracks in the 3-5 slots tonight. At the top was the new Elvis remix. At #2, a song I suddenly started hearing a lot just in the last couple days, "Good Day" by Luce (the song is so new, nobody's done well on Google with a lyrics page for it).

This morning both Alice and KFOG were running about seven minutes behind on their programming. In theory I can hear "the daily game" right before 10:00, and then at 10 flip over just in time to catch the start of 10@10. (Also while I'm changing lanes into the carpool lane that's just that minute become legal -- the carpool lane part would project me to a pretty consistent 10:05 work arrival.) Today the daily game ran to maybe even 10:07, yet when I flipped over to 10@10 the canned Don Pardo voiceover was just getting around to giving the year.

Appropriately enough, somebody won tickets to The Vagina Monologues for knowing (probably hearing on the show earlier that day) which actress had been featured, bikini-clad, on a poster that used to hang on No-Name's door when he was growing up. (Heather Locklear.)

Don't Forget to set your second half Baseball Challenge team
Hey cool! Mr. Harper-Nixon notched exactly 4,000 points in the first half, good for third in the league I'm in.

(I was fourth of 10.)

I'm going to try something a little different and a little more hands-on this half...
The Barry Bonds supplement of choice. But, damn, wasn't it also Brady Anderson's?

Crap. Well, given Brady's career path, I guess we can pencil in 2003 as Bonds's 18-homer season.
The Chickenshit Continues
What total @&*!&* morons run these teams?!?

With a sufficiently pliant local government, I could turn a profit running an MLB franchise in my sleep. Hell, Oakland gets NO government perks -- in fact the local guv reamed them with the Al Davis stadium renovation special -- and absolutely pathetic attendance (when the game features neither the Yankees nor the Red Sox nor $1 tickets nor a fireworks display), and they make money hand over foot.

And no, Bud, the Arizona Diamondbacks (yes, it's them, the team so poor that they had to bury a bunch of first base prospects by signing a washed-up Mark Grace) won't surprise me one whit when they're the ones who go tits-up. Maybe other people will be surprised.

Ladies and gentlemen, your Defending Champions.

I love the A's, for being the A's. Their owner is a first-class tightwad, but unlike Carl Pohlad (who satisfies his tightwadness by not giving a damn whether the Twins are competitive), the A's brass realizes they must win to survive.

I love the Giants for not only employing Barry Bonds but also spending their own damned money on a ballpark. If the San Francisco Giants had an Amazon tip jar, I'd drop in a twenty every morning on general principle.

I thank my lucky stars to be a baseball fan living in the particular city I live in. Otherwise I'd have given up on this bullshit league a long time ago.
Am I Crazy?


-- Click Here To Take The Test --

Reason #987 why I'm secretly a chick
I don't channel surf, at least not much. Maybe I'm a guy after all, since this is a point of distinction that both the anti-channel surf and pro-channel surf women seem to miss: There is one primary program you're watching. Any surfing you do happens during commercials and only during commercials.

Oh, and that dude from TBS thinks you're stealing when you do that. :-)
Thought-Provoking Bleat Today
If you're reading this days after the fact, archived copy here.

And you won't read it anytime soon, since according to Blogger, "Server went boom."

Tuesday, July 09, 2002

Now you can be a bungmunch and a necrophiliac
Ted Williams screwed again, this time posthumously.

Look, I totally understand that when there are no pitchers left something has to give. That still doesn't change that the way this was handled was asinine. Chickenshit, really, to run the gamut of amateurism cliches. Oh wait, how could I forget "bush league"?

Did it really never occur to anyone that this could happen? God forbid you have an actual contigency plan set up, even a media-friendly one. Do something that actually gives the home viewers the impression that you know what you're doing and aren't pulling it all out of your ass. Instead, and I can't emphasize this enough, baseball let its broadcast partner down. If I were anyone working for Fox, I'd be steamed. I'd vow never to broadcast this league again, at least until they get a radical change of leadership.

If nothing else is clear by now, whatever other gloom exists, just about every single thing that's wrong with Major League Baseball you can trace to the simple problem that the people in charge don't know their asses from holes in the ground. Bud doesn't. Sandy Alderson doesn't. You can go down the line. I'm sick of it.

I love many of baseball's individual players and most of the teams. But MLB as an entity can go f*ck itself.
Whatever you do, don't ever call me obsessive. This guy takes the cake (six-part series on Succubi). I don't even know where to begin.

I do have to ask: He mentions that his ex went out on a date with a guy who she knew liked him, yet the word "date" is so malleable -- what exactly was it that led him to think of this as a date rather than just two friends hanging out?
Headlines that say it all
Selig paints gloomy picture.

I didn't even have to follow the link, because it seems to me this guy's raison d'etre is to "paint a gloomy picture." I mean, heaven forbid he actually promote the game of baseball.

In my Instant Messenger window, a polite but outspoken debate rages, on a topic that many people think is impossible to debate rationally. (Heaven knows I've been in enough discussions that broke down.)

In person, I find out that a friend of a friend works for... (paraphrasing) she works in healthcare where she councils and is supportive to pregnant women. So at some point in the near future, this friend-of-a-friend will be the moral support for... I think you see where this is going.

So in one case I stay as diplomatic as possible but dance around the issue. In the other case... come to think of it we're both still awfully diplomatic, but decidedly not dancing around the issue.

(N.B. Please don't let this post's comments widget turn into an argument on that topic. I have a political weblog -- which in fact led to the IM debate -- where such a thread would be more appropriate. Thanks!)
You go, girl!
Every now and then, everyone needs a You go, girl! Regardless of gender. Even and especially Gary Huckabay, who's righter than ever here.
For the music lover in me
Spent the early morning finishing a column; put Gnat down for a nap after the usual fun and games. She likes to go upstairs and dance to a CD of Toddler Favorites. They’re the songs parents come to hate with a burning intensity, because you’ve heard them again and again, but this disc was made by people who understand the parental desire to throttle Raffi and kick the body into a cold damp grave. For example: they arranged “The Wheels on the Bus” as country swing. I am second to no man in my loathing of that interminable tune, but now I look forward to it. A little pedal steel, some honkytown piano - if Charley Daniels played this at Crackerfest 02 in front of an audience that had been marinated in Shiner for seven hours, people would burn down the shed in glee. Even sober, it's pretty good, and if for "The Wheels on the Bus" that is saying a great deal. Some of the tunes can be accompanied on Gnat’s Fisher-Price 8-note piano / xylophone, so I can improv while she twirls and bops. Life gets no better.

--James Lileks, in today's Bleat

Well-done music makes me very happy.
So that's why I gave up on Poison
For no apparent reason I brought Flesh and Blood (on cassette) to the car with me for the drive to the course. Suddenly it brought by memories:

I first started to suspect Poison wasn't quite all that when Unskinny Bop got radio airplay. Their next single was Something to Believe In and that totally ended it. Or so I claimed. I'm actually a big fan of both Ride the Wind and Life Goes On.

Nonetheless, you catch my drift. You also see why I didn't buy Poison's next album. Then came Greatest Hits: 1986-1996. And yet, a new album is supposedly forthcoming. I know I'll feel obligated to buy it (because really, if I don't, will anyone buy it?) and I also know that unless I really lower my expectations, I'll be disappointed.
On the lower end of the maintenance scale
A colleague AIM'd me to find out how the golf game went. I guess the headphones prevented an in-person chat. Nothing quite like having an IM and seeing the other person in the corner of your eye, ten feet away.
Speaking of (whatever it is I'm speaking of)
The course is just uphill from this one science museum that itself is way way uphill from the Berkeley campus. I once went to that museum and was underwhelmed. Actually tried to go up that hill on foot (anyone from Berkeley who reads this will suddenly comprehend great pain), ran out of energy about halfway and waited for a shuttle bus.

It gets better: I was with someone on that uphill trek fiasco, a very very high maintenance person actually. She was visiting Berkeley as a potential grad student.
Links of Sausage
Yes, I woke up in time and successfully rented lefty clubs. Mysteriously I was neither charged for the clubs nor asked to leave ID.

There were seven of us, not eight, perhaps suggesting that the lady of the group had found better things to do. In the first foursome were my boss and the three people closest to my age, including the guy (the Guy, in fact) who organized this and the other alleged novice.

In our group there would have been three, including me, but then a gentleman joined us to complete the foursome. And then another one joined us.

I shot a 13. That is, after 13 strokes I was pretty close to the 10th green. Word to the old fart on the lawnmower: I can "take my time," or I can "move it along." I can't do both; they're contradictory. Don't look at me like that unless you want to get your ass off the tractor, refund my greens fees and send me on my merry way.

Friendlier advice after the 10th hole amounted to how to grip a club. With the correct grip, plus a ball set up on the ladies' tee, I managed to swing and miss a half-dozen times before packing it in. There were four of them anyway. They tried, with mixed success, to be friendly or accomodating or not-condescending, until finally they were absorbed enough in the game that I was irrelevant. I was much happier once I became irrelevant.

Before returning the clubs I took 40 more balls on the driving range. Armed with both the right grip and useful foot placement advice (plant your front foot, don't stride into your swing baseball-style), I hit some mediocre shots. By far the best ones were with my eyes closed(!) -- twice I did this. Both times it felt far better than anything else I'd shot, and when I opened my eyes again the ball was soaring.

And look who's here, in that wispy skirt. I have nothing useful whatsoever to say here, so might as well get some work done.

Monday, July 08, 2002

Allegedly I'll be on the links as of nine hours from now. Wish me luck waking up in time and then successfully renting lefty clubs.

This will be my second attempt at the sport. The first was a scramble, back in 1999. We actually used my tee shot once (because the rules required it). I also sank a 20-foot putt on one hole. They always let me putt first, even on the gimmes, just so they could say they used more of my shots than they would have otherwise.
Damning with faint praise
So it's not the MVP award that'll be named for Williams, just one of them (and a dinky one at that, IMHO -- I'm not a fan of the "All Star" game, being an exhibition and all). When I saw the headline I was all psyched for Ted to go down in nomenclature history along with Cy Young. Alas!

Could be worse: They tried to give Hank Aaron an honor but wussed out of making "his" namesake award anything worthwhile.
Then again this is why some people are delusional. I really didn't want to know about this and I'm going to pretend I never read it.
I don't know if it's a river, but this time it's actually in Egypt!
Deluded wife of the year. Then again, I suppose the friends and relatives of even the most monstrous people continue to insist that so-and-so couldn't possibly have been capable of foul deeds.

If you're in any way a friend of mine, don't ever do anything fantastically stupid or malicious, because I'm NOT covering for you.

"Yeah, it seemed as though there's no way he could have done this, but you're right about the evidence being clear. That no-good bastard!"
I just came in 5th of 6 in the ugliest horse contest you'll ever see.
This despite my having been the first person to sink a free throw when we shot for order.

First eliminated (starting from the fifth spot in the shooting order), our Unix sys-admin. I love watching his mechanics, because they're... mechanical. But he has great hair. Sys-admin hair.

Next eliminated was yours truly.

Then Rama (began in the #4 spot), who has a surprisingly touch on the really long shots but not dependable enough to consistently avoid letters.

The resulting three-way race went down to our QA manager, who's actually quite athletic but just not blessed with height, and a father-daughter team of pretty good skill.

Our winner, of course (despite starting out last in the pecking order -- all the better to eliminate me quickly), was the 13-year-old girl. Her dad joked that future horse games will be "employees only."

I guess I'll just have to become an employee then.

I asked her if she knew Java or SQL; alas, she didn't. (Hey, you never know. What do they teach in schools these days? I actually learned BASIC in elementary school and could have gone onto Pascal in middle school had I not always devoted my "elective" hour to Band.)
The Results Are In!
of the top 100 one-hit wonder countdown.

Observations in no particular order (I tried to minimize spoilers by referring to songs only by number):
Real is a big tease! I'd say about a third of the files were actually unavailable to be listened to, despite links claiming they were.

Songs was pretty sure I'd heard of but couldn't get an aural image of without listening again:
100, 95, 93, 79, 73, 60, 29

Songs that were totally foreign to me (note: some I couldn't play, maybe I'd suddenly recognize them if I could):
94, 90, 87, 84, 78, 75, 65, 54, 49, 43, 42, 38, 33, 27, 26, 25

Just about everything in the top 24 or so I'd heard of and didn't have a strong pro or anti feeling about.

Songs that made me think, "damn: great song!" 83, 82, 81 -- all right in a row like that -- and especially 37.

Songs I was actually quite deeply familiar with but whose titles rang no bell at all:
68, 52, 48
(that's Spandau Ballet? All this time I thought it was Tears for Fears! I suck)

Just two songs that got a visceral negative reaction from me but they were right in a row (67, 66)

Groups whose one-hit-wonder status I strongly take issue with:
77 (also had "Circle of Friends")
83 (also had "Pop Goes The World")
41 (also had "Two Tribes" and "The Power of Love")

Last but not least, there's a story in my life that has to do with song #60 but it's really more than you need to know. The funny thing being that if you have no idea what I'm talking about, this will sound orders of magnitude more salacious than it actually is.

The short version is that somebody walked out of a restaurant in a huff. I'd actually never seen a person walk out of a restaurant like that before, or at least never been in the same party when it happened.
Mr. B'goggie!
(I'm not sure how it originated or even how it's spelled, that's just his nickname. Don't wear it out.*)

Hella cool stuff on Matt's weblog today, especially the one-hit wonders.

I'm going through and playing the clips of them all right now, 100 down to 1. I'll keep running tally of which ones I could hear in my head how they went, which ones I'd heard of but couldn't reproduce, and which ones were totally new to me.

*- This had something to do with the story of him and his wife closely resembling a Must See TV sit-com, even though the best comparison isn't even on the Must See network. Also, this is an asterisk, not a footnote. :-) Last but not least, I have tons of ideas in my head at any given moment but I wouldn't be caught dead writing them down.

Sort of along those lines but not really: I know a lot of trivia question writers who have a bunch of half-completed or misfit, broken-toy sort of questions. I seem to be the only heavy-rotation writer who doesn't do that. My thing is, if I can't get it to work acceptably right away, I figure it's probably not worth the effort relative to some other idea that flows really freely.
Heisenberg's Credit Union
Had a phone conversation today with a realtor because he called my cell and I returned his call. I think it's the guy who posted a condo listing to Craig's List.

He asked how my credit was. I think it's good but I don't know for sure because I've never checked it myself. He told me that the act of checking your credit rating actually lowers the rating a bit.

So I can never know both the velocity and the location of my credit rating.
Frodo Baggins charged with war crimes.

(WARNING: Contains spoilers for LOTR. But have you really never read the trilogy to the end?)
I'm a Bush/Pop guy trapped in the land of Gore/Soda
Check this out.

Full disclosure: By now, after years of being surrounded by New Englanders or Californians, I think I actually do say "soda" but I was brought up to believe that "pop" was the correct usage.

(Most certainly not "Coke," however, because then how do you distinguish Coca Cola from Pepsi Cola?)

Sunday, July 07, 2002

With his long blonde hair, Jeff Weaver looks like... help me, a pre-op transsexual. Not just any transsexual either. No, it's a particular person who he reminds me of, a woman who used to be a man. I actually knew her as both, although not very well -- took me forever to realize that she had previously been that particular "he".

Therefore my new name for Jeff Weaver is... well, actually, it's not supposed to be common knowledge that this particular woman used to be a man, so instead of using her name I'll pay homage to my favorite Blank White Card and decree that henceforth, Jeff Weaver's new name is Edna.
Did I ever mention my Fourth?
Like Mark's, mine involved the beach being far far cooler than inland. People actually go to Ocean Beach to shoot off their own (amateur) fireworks. Anything up through Roman candles seems to be fair game, though I actually witnessed a group get busted for something. Not sure if it was impermissibly dangerous arsenal or just too hard a liquor.

(If alcohol is banned on Ocean Beach, then it's probably one of the most violated laws in my part of town.)

Great things: The combination of ocean water and pyrotechnic fire. Double-edged things: It's fun to wear a heavy coat on the evening of July 4 and feel unique, then again if it's ice cold in the "summer" then something's not right.

I imagine this must be what it's like if there's some place in the Southern Hemisphere where American ex-pats gather to celebrate the Fourth in the dead of winter.

Closing quote, from Mark:
Despite the name, the sand at Singing Beach really doesn't sing that much. A succession of storms and attendant erosion have done something to make the sand less harmonious. It's kind of like what happened to Julie Andrews, but not really.