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This is extremely interesting...


Hanging out at Jeff Goldstein's blog I came across a link to this piece. It serves as a reminder that the people who are covering the war are trying to do it the same way we are trying to fight the war, on the cheap. It is impossible to believe anything that comes out of the mainstream press from Iraq simply because you cannot be sure where the information comes from. Most news organizations in Iraq and elsewhere in the Middle East are in the habit of using local stringers and anonymous sources, without any background checks. Subsequently you get misleading headlines like "15 Dead in Iraqi Mayhem" without any explaination as to how many of the dead were militia, al-queda or what?

I don't have a lot of time to mess around today, but if you're adventurous you can go to the White House web site, where they have every word that Bush has ever uttered in public about the new Iraq War policy. Try to find where he calls it a "surge".

Trust No One

Ethics Question


OK, this is a toughie....

What do you do if your kid did something completely hysterical (and very cute and innocent and all that kid jazz, but still hilarious), but publishing it on the intartubes could not only upset him, but could also possibly turn him into a parent-hating EMO kid or possibly a homosexual. Not a good, football playing homo either, but a cape-wearing, thong-sporting, rollerblading in parades-type homo.

Like my brother.

So let me know. Should I turn my kid into a face-cream-using, pink tie-wearing, Madonna-listening, rump jockey? Or should I keep quiet adn have at least one kid who might bail me out when I drive the Buick through the plate-glass storefront, wasted on a Geritol and Oxycontin cocktail eating peanuts and listening to "the Garden Hour" on AM radio.

Comments are open.



You all know what that means, right?

I've got five days...


I just found out this morning I've got five days to write a fifteen page RFP. Half of those days I will be on the road and the other half I am scheduled on conference calls. I guess I'm working weekends. THAT'LL make maddmom happy.

It's freezing in my basement this morning. I have a call in fifteen minutes and I can't get warm so I've been drinking absurd amounts of coffee. Halfway through this call I'll probably crap my pants. I guess it's an acceptable risk. Feed your children and crap your pants or walk away from the meeting and lose the sale.

Just call me Stinky.

I'm perturbed over the RFP thing. I really wasn't expecting it and it looks as if the requirements were written by our competition. Happens a lot, and it's never good. It's a tactic their sales team has come up with to counter the fact that the product that I sell is much better than theirs and our sales team is really cocky about it. So when we go head-to-head the competition will spread FUD (Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt if you have only been on the intertubes a week) about the capabilities of our product and give the prospect a list of questions that they should ask us. Usually we've already answered the questions, or we'll have a conference call and I'll answer them on-line. In special cases I'll travel to the customer site and cut off the head of the customer's favorite racehorse and put it in their bed while they sleep, but sometimes the competition has done a really good job and has convinced the prospect to send out a list of requirements to all of the prospective vendors. Of course, the prospect doesn't have time to put something like a full-fledged RFP together, not the size companies that I sell to anyway, so the competition will, out of the goodness of their heart, supply a boilerplate that the prospect can use.

You would think we have a counter to this by now. We don't. This tactic is amazingly successful when the competition salesguy has a good relationship, either a freind or a "trusted advisor' with the decision maker at the prospect. I'll spend hours answering all of these questions, since the requirements state that no marketing boilerplate be used and all answers must be germane to the prospect's particular environment. And I've no idea what their environment looks like since I've only ever talked to these guys once on the phone. So it will end up being a lot of work for nothing. Irritating, but you can always hope, so you do it.

I think this is the first time I've ever blogged about work. Wow.

I won't make a habit of it.



I don't like being the one to complain I hate the fucking Cincinnati airport. It took 75 minutes for my bag to move 500 feet from my plane to baggage claim. This is not an unusual occurrance at CVG, and I used to avoid it by not checking my bag, but since I didn't want to have my toiletries examined by several hundred people some of whome might not believe my reason for carrying the 12 ounce bottle of KY warming massage liquid (feet, it's good for your feet...), I checked my bag on the way home from South Carolina last night. I was wroooong to do so.

Usually, when my bags are lost at CVG, I go right to the Delta bag service room, give them my claim check and they deliver my bag to my house. This time I waited because the flight number was still up on the board and there were still people from my flight standing around, looking like refugees from the Bagwan Shri Rajneesh cult compound and trying, in vain, to find an area in baggage claim at CVG where you can get more than three bars on your cell phone.

Now I said usually up above because this is the seventh time that Delta Airlines has lost my bag at CVG, twice my bag was sent to Louisville, and the other five times it was put on a different plane due to weight. One of those times I had gate-checked the bag and Comair had removed it and put it on a plane that connected through Shanghai or something. Let me repeat, they removed a gate checked bag.

I know what you're thinking and that's exactly what I said.

Anyway, I am finding it very difficult to get worked up enough to blog lately,but it's not because there's nothing to blog about. For example, I'm pissed off about the Duke rape case, especially because I have four sons, and I find it utterly incomprehensible that the freakin' basketball coach hasn't come out and said something publically about the "Group of 88" liberal arts professors who tried and convicted the accused athletes without waiting to see if there was any merit to the charge. He should, because it is obvious that his charges, the basketball team, who are forced to take "core" "humanities" classes are reviled by these professors because they are athletes. Maybe the hate is balanced out a bit because most of the team is African-American? Still, he needs to say something, because I can tell you right now, my sons will never go to a school where one out of tem professors openly hates the students they are there to teach.

And then
there's this little gem, posted by Dan Collins at Jeff Goldstein's blog. Hilarious.

But I've been remarkably distracted and really just not in the mood. I have somewhere around fifty draft posts that I wanted to finish up, but argh. Nah. Most of it is High-School level creative writing exercises like the one below, maybe I'll just get fed up and hit the publish button on all of them. What's a little embarassment when you get 3 hits a day (OK, 5).

I did dig out an old TSOL album the other day, so I've got that going for me. Woot!



First airport experience of the new year is the exact opposite of the
last of last year. I'm not sure if it's the weather or what, but this
place is a zoo.

One thing that really gets to me is the problem some people have with
the security restrictions. It's pretty simple, I believe it's been
communicated pretty forcefully over the past couple of years. I do not
understand how, or why, people who look as if they are relatively well
educated and well informed, and by that I mean well-dressed and
coiffed, can get into an airport security line and not know 1: that
they have to take off their shoe and probably their watch and belt and
2: think that they can argue with the security staff.

I've posted on people who dress innapropriately for the security line
before, but I'm beginning to notice a pattern.

It seems to be the professional people who are doing this. More and
more people who look like they should know better are holding up the
line. I have a theory on this.

It's the economy.

More people are travelling for business than used to. People who
otherwise would fly nothing larger than a desk have suddenly found
meetings in far-off locals that they must attend in person.

And the company is not balking.

I'd normally chalk the increase of idiots in the line to people trying
to get south for the winter, but you just can't explain the sold out
flight to Minneapolis. Not this week anyway.

These are worker bees and they are obviously joining the herds of
auditors, sales guys, computer guys, pre-sales and consultants who
fill the flying tin cans you hear over your baby monitors and am

Welcome. Now learn how to dress.

What a weekend.

Bears, Colts and Villanova all win. The Colts game was phenominal.

Anyway, you won't hear from me for the rest of the day, probably not until Wednesday, as I will be working.

So enjoy the highlight films and the suffering of the "fans" of the New England Patriots, I'm riding the bandwagon of my adopted team to Florida.

If you miss me you can read my archives, I heat they're pretty good. If you like 6 foot 190 pound bloggers with no idea how to put a sentance together.

(Yes, that's a play on the phone commercial with Peyton Manning, you see, he's my new hero! Not really, but I would really like to hear the Philly fans explain how the overrated quarterback with the big numbers really isn't any good because he can't win the big game. Really, just one more time before one of the quarterbacks in this years Superbowl gets cramps and chokes in the final scoring drive. It was heat exhaustion? Are you sure it wasn't a sports hernia? Or a bad back? Or a busted knee? Or maybe he just ate too much soup? I dunno, you'll have to tell me after the game.)




I went to the bank today and noticed that gas is below 2 bucks a gallon today. I know it won't stay like that, because in some sort of idiotic "teaching moment" the morons in congress have used up at leat two of their hundred hours to reduce tax breaks for oil companies and try and recoup fees imposed on deep-water drilling (read off shore exploration) that were rolled back when we had more sense when we thought we needed more oil.

You see, the bad oil companies need to be forced to pay more tax, because they are bad, oil is expensive and gas is expensive and it's the oil companies fault, so we should raise taxes on the oil companies. Brilliant. That'll bring down the price of gas.

The best part of the story is that they've said that the money raised will be used to fund research on alternative fuels.

Just who the hell do you think does the most research on alternate fuels?

I'll give you a hint:

Most oil companies refer to themselves as energy companies.

So, if you're following at home, they raised taxes on a big company that will pass the cost of those taxes on to you and me, and we'll have to take it, because there are really no alternative fuels yet. But the taxes collected, from you and me, will go to the companies doing the research on alternative fuels...the big company that is paying the tax in the first place.

Don't forget that when they do find the alternate fuel, and it better be quick since it's going to cost the oil companies more to drill in US waters, the cost of developing that fuel will be handed down to us as well, either by taxes used to offset the subsidy the new fuel will require until it becomes profitable (think of the new infrastructure required) or by the energy companies themselves seeking to offset the cost of developing the new fuel and working through all of the regulation that will result.

Truly, "the gavel has been placed in the hands of America's Children tm"

Would it be so bad to maybe hand it to an adult for once?

Here's another example of these idiot children having a temper tantrum.

Anyone else noticing ol' Atlas looking a little uncomfortable?

Went to Madison High last night


To see the Harlem Globetrotters. Seriously, I'll post pictures Friday.

Two things:

1) They were awesome. Fantastic show, especially since I wasn't watching them from the nosebleed section of the Spectrum.

2) I had forgotten how important High School Basketball is in Indiana. The gym is HUGE. I couldn't figure out how to get to the lower level to sit with maddmom and kids, but luckily one of the Globetrotters pulled a helicopter out of his afro and it lowered me gently to my seat.

Seriously, loads of fun, but a good zone defense would really do some damage to their record.

Saturday in August


Maia looked at him like he had just eaten something off of the bathroom floor. She’d been doing that a lot lately, he thought., and he didn’t think he deserved that.

“So what did you do with it?” she asked, peering over her sunglasses.

“I put it in the fridge. What should I have done with it?”

“You should have left it there.”

“They gave it to me.”

“They didn’t mean it.”

“Bullshit, they practically forced me to take it.”

“You didn’t need to take the whole thing, you could have taken a piece and left the rest.”

“What are they going to do with it?”

“Eat it?”

“A whole cake?”

“Yes a whole cake!” she forgot to add the “dumbass”. But he saw her lips move. Time to escalate. “You know they’re both diabetic, and she wouldn’t eat a piece of cake if you paid her.” He felt pretty confident that he was winning at this point, Maia had removed her sunglasses and taken a couple of steps into the kitchen. If she puts down the handbag, he thought, I win.

“What,” she began, pulling a chair out from the far end of the table, “about grandkids? They have tons of grandkids. What are they going to give the grandkids when they come over?”

Damn. He’d have to go right to the big guns. “If they have so many grandkids, why the hell am I mowing their lawn?” This wasn’t good. He knew it. He couldn’t move. Backed your ass into a corner Tom, he thought. You’re done here, figure out an exit, quick, before she starts talking….”You don’t have to mow their lawn, you know. You don’t want to do it, just stop. I’m sure they can find someone else to do it. Besides there’s a lot of stuff you could be doing around here. . .” Oh God. “Have you looked at the washing machine yet? What about the driveway?”

“The DRIVEWAY?!”, Oh shit. He fell for it! “ What’s the matter with the DRIVEWAY?”

“You said there was something wrong with the driveway. I just would assume you would want to get it fixed. Or do you want to wait for it to get so bad we’ll need to pay someone to fix it.”

“Well I have a cake I could give them.” Defeat.

“Funny. I’m glad you think we have all this money to fix things with. I’m sure we’ll just have it lying around…Oh look, here’s some. What’s an IRA? What’s a 401k? Doesn’t matter, the driveway’s broken, we HAVE TO FIX THE DRIVEWAY! Maybe you could take some of your precious time and fix the driveway instead of sitting around eating cake you swindled off of some poor old people who probably can’t afford the eggs it took to bake it. Maybe? Maybe before it’s in such bad shape that we have to hire someone to do the work? Maybe? Maybe you can look at the washer that I told you a month ago was making noise? …”

“What noise?” Duck and cover, handbag’s still on the shoulder. Will she bite?

“Oh my God. I told you. . .”

“I didn’t hear anything. I’ve done laundry…what noise?” Slowly…carefully. She’s got her hip cocked, eyes are wide, she’s looking uncertain. Things are looking up, Tom!

“It squeaks,” BAM! Handbag on the chair! Victory!, “During the spin cycle. I’ve got a load in there now, come listen, it’s really loud, something is wrong, really wrong.”

“Sure, just give me a second.”

“Hurry up, I’ll be in the laundry room.” She walked past him to the basement stairs in the hall.

The cake was chocolate. And delicious.

Botched Execution?

He's dead isn't he? Wasn't that the goal? How is that botched? Seems to me to be spectacularly successful.

And somebody do me a favor and explain to me why all milestones are grim, all executions are botched and all Muslims seething?

Eye of the King Charles Cavalier Spaniel


Maybe it's just me but I saw the trailer for the "Rocky Balboa" movie again yesterday and man, it gave me chills. I am eventually going to see this movie (probably next year on TBS)and I'm going to love it. Even if it's terrible.

I think it was the "Eye of the Tiger" song in the trailer that did it. No other piece of bad '80s music, with maybe the exception of "Purple Rain" can match the emotional power of that song.

And it is a bad song. I had to listen to the whole thing just to be sure.

It starts with the digga-digga-digga ripped off of Stevie Nicks and a huge power chord that promises much not delivered. Then the drums kick in and are noticably bad, flat bass, and a piano chord fill up the white space just before the vocal starts, somewhere down a tunnel. There's an incredible anount of silence in this song, like it could be compressed to about half its length. I remain convince that the singer thought he was doing a commercial for Exxon when he was laying his track, because there is absolutely no emotion in his voice whatsoever. These guys have no soul.

Maybe it's a white guy thing? Or maybe just an '80s thing. Halfway through the song, at its peak and for no apparent reason, the guitar cuts off as the singer, who hasn't changed his tone or pace at all continues into the third verse unabated. Was this a bridge? The piano chord that plays every time the singer starts a new line changes, barely, but the bass and the really bad drumming stay exactly the same, like they're looped.

Of course they probably were, since any self-respecting rock band at the time was so coked up they wouldn't have been able to keep playing at that intermidable pace for more than a minute and a half.

All that being said, there is no way you can listen to that song and not want to lift something heavy or punch someone out. It's a motivator.

At least it was this morning, before I sat in on a webinar for five hours. Now I want to go to sleep. And that sucks, because I finally reclaimed my office from the piles of crap that have been living here since we started the remodel. So my execise contraption is now uncovered and back in business. I started a four-day split last week, and I was feeling pretty good by Friday. But the thought of doing squats today kinda leaves me cold. Maybe it's the rain, or the thirty-degree drop in temperature.

It sure ain't the backround music!



No! Sleep! Til! >> Well... just no sleep.


The Beast had a friend over yesterday and was really worked up last night. So of course he woke up in the middle of the night with a "bad dream" and his mother decided to let him "sleep" with us. He may sleep, at some point during nights like this, but I don't. It's impossible. It's not like you see on commercials and on sappy TV shows. When this little kid climbs into out bed in his feety pajamas all tired out and worried, maybe holding his stuffed dog, it looks all warm and fuzzy. Then you spend the next four hours realizing what it's like to sleep with a live salmon in your bed.

I've been trained by maddmom to sleep on my face, to reduce the snore factor, at two in the morning I was rabbit punched like a mofo about six times. Evidently I was in the way.

I pushed him over closer to his mother and went back to sleep, for about an hour.

At three AM, I felt something rough and COLD hit me in the back. It was the rubber feet on his pajamas. His feet may have been warm, but those rough slipper things were freezing and for some reason he was practicing tai kwon do on my kidneys. Not a great way to wake up. Again, I straightened him out on the bed, went to the can, pissed a quart of blood and tried to go back to sleep.

About half an hour later I awoke from a horrible dream where I had taken the place of Chekov in the "Wrath of Khan". I jumped about ten feet in the air, straight up. When I came down the Beast informed me that I had a lot of hair in my ears. If no one has ever used a wet willie to wake you up, you have no idea what terror is. I'm pretty sure this is how they get terrorists to talk at Gitmo. Freaked Me Out.

At this point, I gave him a warning. If he didn't go to sleep and quit flopping around, he was going back to his room. He didn't say anything, but curled up into a ball and pretended to go back to sleep.

I know he pretended, because right around four he was scratching at the hair on my chin. "Daddy", he says, "you have a beard." Not really true, I have several islands of unconnected whiskers on my face, more like large skin-colored moles, I'm sure that means I'm deficient in some way, but at four in the morning all I could say was, "Quit it and GO TO SLEEP!".

By four thirty he was singing something, and breathing on me. There is rerally nothing worse than the feeling that someone is taking all of your oxygen away from you as you sleep. I know at this point I should have taken him back to his room and put him to bed, but by now I was so tired all I wanted to do was to roll over and try my best to ignore him and hope his mother reached the annoyance threshold first.

She didn't.

At five o'clock he was sitting ON MY PILLOW and I was curled up un a five-inch square of mattress with no blankets. So I finally kicked him out of our bed, told him to go back to his room, not to turn on the light or wake up Skippy, who sleeps in there with him.

So at this point maddmom flops over, looks at me and says, "you should walk him back and tuck him in."

I know what I was thinking, but either I didn't say it, or maddmom fell back to sleep pretty fast because she's still speaking to me. I was still trying to get back to sleep when my alarm went off, I hit snooze and in the quiet, I could hear Skippy and the Beast downstairs in the kitchen, probably playing with knives, setting fires, climbing in the fridge or whatever else it is the two and five-year-old kids do when they are left alone in the kitchen. I don't really know, because what seemed like ten seconds later the alarm went off again and woke me up. This time I could definitely smell something cooking, the shower was running and it was damn close to seven o'clock. So I got up. the Prince was in the shower, Number Two was sitting on the kitchen counter making waffles in the toaster, the Beast was in his pajamas eating cereal and Skippy was running around with his pajamas unzipped and his diaper hanging on by one tab telling everyone he was wet. And he was, oh boy was he.

By 7:27 I was dropping the older three off at school, Skippy was in clean clothes eating breakfast and maddmom was out of bed and complaining that I never let her sleep in.

Sixteen cups of coffee later I wrote this guide to being a good parent. Eighteen more years...eighteen more years...


Call and Response

A good friend of mine sent me this:

Tell me why.

So I did.

Sometimes these furriners just need a learnin'.

OK, right. You're right...


Look, I didn't say that "Perfect Strangers" by Deep Purple was any good, I said it made me nostalgic. And I can't stop listening to it. So let me be free to bang my head to over-produced 80's dinosaur rock. Thanks.

It is really bad, but The Prince would dig it. He was rockin to Ozzy when I drove them to school this morning. I think it's hilarious that he's listening to the same music I did when I was in 6th grade. Well, thank God it's not Rap... or Greenday, what a bunch of douchebags.

Robert Anton Wilson died today. I don't know what to say about that, I guess it was coming. Although 1/11? Way to go.

I remember once being in a car that was going way too fast, probably being driven by someone who shouldn't have been driving it, on a highway with no overhead lights and if I remember correctly someone had forgotten to turn the headlights on. Believe it or not this attracted the attention of the State police, who started following the car, I guess to see how many people we would kill before we did ourselves in.

The driver of the car and I had a short discussion, well peppered with very short words, and between the two of us we came to the conclusion that if you followed the Principia Discordia, in our situation, there was no way we were going to be busted by any unenlightened pig. In fact, we had a force field around us.

Sure enough, the two State Troopers behind us flashed their lights, and as they did, not only did the headlights turn on, but the car in the lane next to us exploded.

This is not a joke. This really happened.

Obviously Eris was protecting us. So confident were we of Eris's protection that we didn't exit the highway untill we reached our destination. Then, having our fill of white Castle, we returned along the same road, in the same car. Only this time the headlights were on, but the car was in second gear... on the expressway...at speed... for twelve miles.

Many other things may or may not have happened that night, names will not be mentioned as I don't know the statute of limitations on some of the laws that may or may not have been broken, but that night, thanks to Robert Anton Wilson, I did not die, nor go to jail, nor fall in love with a Phillipina stripper sporting a nasty hairlip. I realized that night that if you acted like you knew what you were doing; you did, in fact, know what you were doing.

This lesson has stuck with me to this day.

Again this is not a joke. This really happened.

Hail Eris.

I think there's going to be a heck of a fight comin' on

Good luck guys.



I did have something to write about today. It was very funny, I laughed about it for hours when it happened and I even spent a good deal of time composing a post in my head about it.

Then work happened. I have NO idea what it was I was going to write about today. Skippy couldn't help me, when I asked him what he did yesterday he said, "waked up" and I'm not even sure it was him I was laughing at. Doesn't matter I guess.

I can say that one of the coolest things I get to do is to be the fly on the wall at other companies staff meetings. I worked as an IT drone for twelve years, in very big companies and very small companies and even middle size companies. I was a contractor and on staff. I've done desktop support, server support, projects and engineering. And all I can say is, you know why IT jobs suck? Because IT management sucks.


There are three main types of IT managers. Each has some smaller subgroups, but the main types are:

1) The Ball Breaker: I got an MBA and a computer and I can break balls. Bring your pager on vacation with you.

2)The Lucky Man Been there forever, started fixing copiers. Got into IT when he was the guy the CEO's Admin Assistant asked to plug in her brand new IBM PC and Dot Matrix printer. Now he runs the shop because he knows who has all the porn in their user directory. Plays Quake, hates meetings. Never in the office. Don't expect your review finished before March.

3) The Geek Reads the manuals, remembers the manuals. Dings you on your review if you aren't certified. #1 hates him because he talks too much and #2 tolerates him because he'll open ports on the firewall for you if you're cool with him. Obsessed with metrics.

A rule of thumb is #1 does projects, may run the Help Desk, #2 does application and desktops, and #3 does development, DBA's and transport.

You can have combinations of these three, of course. You might have a #1 who's also a #3, or a #2 who's a #3, but you'll never have a #1 who's a #2. Doesn't happen. Reason is because #2 makes decisions, or probably just can't be bothered to question the decisions of the people who work for him while #1 can't make up his mind because he doesn't trust anyone who works under him, he's a micromanager. #3 just goes along with whatever vendor was in there last, I LOVE #3's. I hate #1's and if a #2 has a #1 working for him, all bets are off, 'cause this guy will lock on to something and never let go.

Incidentally, I'm sure that's how Linux on the desktop got out into the Enterprise. A #1 with a bit of #3 in him working for a #2 got pissed at Microsoft and BAM! Everyone's writing their resume in Open Office.

I was just in a meeting with an organization that has all three of these types running a project that is being enforced by Federal regulation. This project has been going on for almost two years, in fact, it was one of the first things I worked on when I moved to the Dark Side. During the meeting the #3 manager even pulled out his notes from that first meeting. Now I realize that that doesn't sound too bad, but remember, most of the people who work for your company are there to make the company money, most of the managers are there to maximize revenue. IT managers are there to make sure no one spends any money. And if they have to spend money, they spend as little as possible. In fact, the best place to find future IT management talent is managing public school cafeterias. Therefore, the longer a project is in the planning stage, the better. No resources are being taken off of other projects, support is not affected, and let's face it, the longer you use legacy systems, the better they work. You've got a guy on staff who practically wrote the damn thing making 50k a year, why should you pay 200k just for support on the new stuff?

I'm running out of time here, so let me just end with a non-sequitor.

Perfect Strangers by Deep Purple is a great albumn. If by great you mean imparts a severe nostalgia for a couple of nights in 1984 when you were absolutely sure that dry toast was the greatest food ever invented. Aside from that and being extremely paranoid, you were having a great time.

Interested in Linux? Don't want to do the work?


Here are some VMware images already made up for you.

Seriously, this is a great idea if you are stuck with an XP laptop and want to try out another operating system or if you want to run a couple of servers on limited hardware.

Fire up the torrents!

This was on last night, but I had to turn it off. Looked like a close game, but a loss for 'Nova. Looks like I missed something there. They play Louisville on Feb 3 in Philly, I'm going to see if I can get work to schedule me in the Philly office on the 5th and I'll try and get tickets. Won't happen, but a guy can dream.

I'm looking for some mass storage, 250 to 500gig of disk. I'm sitting on five old Segate 12 gig drives, three are in my jukebox PC and two are in a drawer, the wife's computer has 80 gig and my work laptop has 50 gig. My ipod has 30 gig too. And I have no backup.

Correction, I have about a blue million CDRom and DVDs. None labeled. I also have an old 2gig DAT drive that was TOP OF THE FREAKIN LINE in 1997. Not going to do me a bit of good. At all.

Every year around this time I get all freaked out because of taxes and post-Christmas freakout. (We can't afford this!) And every year at about this time I end up spending the money that I have left over from the Holidays on things that are actually budgeted for, like food and gas. This year I didn't, I still have a $100 dollar bill that my father-in-law gave me for my birthday. I've been resisting spending it on anything, because we might need it. I don't think we do though, I think it's extra, and I think it's mine. So I'm keeping it in my wallet, right next to the 22 year-old condom, junior-high student ID and the ticket stub from a Cramps show that's so old the ink has worn off. And look at that, there's a ticket stup from the Fixx, and U2, and... Danzig? WTF? And what the hell movie did I see at Woodhaven?

I think it's time to get a new wallet. And I think i'm going to spend my hunnert dollars on a disk drive to back all of my stuff up, work stuff included, so I don't have to worry.

Unless something happens to the backup drive. Which is more than likely.

Maybe I'll just spend it on gas.

Sporting News!


Yes Dear, the Cowboys did lose...and the Eagles won! How cool was that. Now they just have to figure out how they let a guy with 37 interceptions this year get away with a first down after a 1 and 30. Then they might be a contender. But TO dropped the ball and Romo dropped a snap, and life was good here at the Mcmansion.

This weekend I re-configured my office so maddmom could have her computer up in her new office and I could do everything I need to do without ever leaving my office. So now I have a better office and my network is in better shap... OK, who's the asshole on NPR's sports show who keeps laughing at Boise State? what a bunch of dicks. This guy probably went to Boston College. Why is it that all NPR commentators sound like such assholes whenever they talk about anything outside of the Mid-Atlantic and New England? News Flash dickheads, the mid-west is not outer-space, these towns and cities are not forgotten hamlets in eastern Europe. And your nasal whine makes you sound like a homosexual to everyone west of the Appalachians.

And at the risk of getting fired, don't you think that someone would come out and say McNabb is over-rated? Anyone? Anyone?

OK, enough football talk, I'll figure out something else to write about later.


"I love working from home!"

Dunno where I found this picture on the intarwebs, but it fits.

I hate that commercial. I do in fact work from home. I sit in the basement with a not-yet-potty-trained two year old and work in my office\workout room\storage bin. All is usually cool, I talk on the phone and answer emails, and Skippy piles little toys on my folding table\desk or steals my RSA token, drops a huge crap in his diaper, or hides my Blackberry. I spend some time changing TV channels when I can find the remote, but most of the day, the TV is tuned to "Nick Jr" or the Disney Channel, so I am probably the only 36 year-old man who knows all the words to the songs the "WonderPets" sing... "There's an aimal in trouble...Somewhere. oh look, a baby Stingray has his tail caught in a Crocodile Hunter... We should help him! This is SEWIOUS!" So like I said, all is usually cool... not orgasmic, like the commercial would have you believe, but let's face it, children's TV is no good for adults.

If you can name anyone in this picture, leave the basement immediately. Find an adult and talk about sports. It's for your own good.

It's not just kid's TV that can mess you up. F'rinstance, one of the things adults do after they have kids is baby-proof the house to varying degrees. With the Prince, maddmom and I padded everything and put locks on the cabinets with the drain cleaner inside. By the time we worked out way down to Skippy, baby-proofing meant getting sterilized and putting the doorknobs to the kid's rooms on backwards so they couldn't lock themselves in, or us out. And, of course, teaching the two year old how to properly use the nailgun the workmen left on the kitchen floor, so he won't hurt himself. And it's been working pretty well so far.

Except that my office is one of those rooms with the lock on the outside of the door, Skippy has walked off with my phone, my little screwdriver set has been ursurped by the workmen to put up towelbars in the bathroom, and the little bastard has locked me in.

So, if you are reading this, please call my wife and tell her that I am stuck in the basement and can't get out of the office, since she is on the phone and not listening to my repeated cries for help?



Would you look at that, wow.


As of Dec 27, I have been posting here for three years...in a row. How cool is that? For me, I mean. I guess I wasn't paying attention when I hit the mark, so here's my anniversary post.

I'll confess to not doing a lot of intertubing lately due to the holidays and the house, and basically not feeling like intertubing much less posting. I'm sure it's a phase, so here is a link so both of you have something to do while I get my act together.