Happy Thanksgiving Day

Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!

Happy Thanksgiving Day

Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!

The Internets Say I'm Doomed

This may be it.

I was going to write about something interesting today (my feet), but that no longer seems very important. In fact, nothing does. If I've learned anything in life, it's that it's all relative and it's not comfortable to walk around in any other man's mocassins, even for a short distance.

You see, I'm doomed.

Earlier today I was minding my own business, typing away and munching on some M&Ms, when I looked out the window. I do that, often, as a source of inspiration or to rest my eyes, but what I saw out there made me slam my eyes shut and search all around me for a broch with which to gouge them out.

There, far off to the East (but definitely heading my way) was one of those Chemtrail things.
!@(DCP2141.jpg:L120 popimg: "East")
I'm sure you can imagine the fear I experienced.

After trying to calm myself with yet more M&Ms, a ham sandwich, and a quick look around the Internet to see if any more women were talked into taking their clothes off, I looked again. You can only get a shadow of my horror as I noticed the trail ran right over my house and far off to the West.
!@(DCP2145.JPG:L120 popimg: "West")
A crow even settled in the top of the cypress tree, and that's never a welcome sight.

I've spent the ensuing hour, carefully taking an inventory of myself. If these chemical attacks cause a tingling in the extremities, I've got that. If it's naseau, I think I have that, too, and ringing in my ears, fuzzy vision, and overall ennui. I think the chemicals may produce confusion since I've got that in spades and, come to think of it, I think both my gall bladder and spleen may be a bit sensitive.

I'd lie down, but I'm worried about bed sores, ulcers they're sometimes called, which reminds me that my stomach may be digesting itself, a trick its learned from the flesh-eating virus that I'm certain is burrowing its way through my lungs even as I type.

It's been swell, y'all, but I'm sure you'll understand if you don't see any further updates.

The Internets Say I'm Doomed

This may be it.

I was going to write about something interesting today (my feet), but that no longer seems very important. In fact, nothing does. If I've learned anything in life, it's that it's all relative and it's not comfortable to walk around in any other man's mocassins, even for a short distance.

You see, I'm doomed.

Earlier today I was minding my own business, typing away and munching on some M&Ms, when I looked out the window. I do that, often, as a source of inspiration or to rest my eyes, but what I saw out there made me slam my eyes shut and search all around me for a broch with which to gouge them out.

There, far off to the East (but definitely heading my way) was one of those Chemtrail things.
!@(DCP2141.jpg:L120 popimg: "East")
I'm sure you can imagine the fear I experienced.

After trying to calm myself with yet more M&Ms, a ham sandwich, and a quick look around the Internet to see if any more women were talked into taking their clothes off, I looked again. You can only get a shadow of my horror as I noticed the trail ran right over my house and far off to the West.
!@(DCP2145.JPG:L120 popimg: "West")
A crow even settled in the top of the cypress tree, and that's never a welcome sight.

I've spent the ensuing hour, carefully taking an inventory of myself. If these chemical attacks cause a tingling in the extremities, I've got that. If it's naseau, I think I have that, too, and ringing in my ears, fuzzy vision, and overall ennui. I think the chemicals may produce confusion since I've got that in spades and, come to think of it, I think both my gall bladder and spleen may be a bit sensitive.

I'd lie down, but I'm worried about bed sores, ulcers they're sometimes called, which reminds me that my stomach may be digesting itself, a trick its learned from the flesh-eating virus that I'm certain is burrowing its way through my lungs even as I type.

It's been swell, y'all, but I'm sure you'll understand if you don't see any further updates.

Reconstituted Faith

Sometimes I surprise myself, though not with unexpected gifts or anything that thoughtful or touching.

One of my more successful ways of fixing things is to leave them alone and see if they repair themselves. To my constant amazement, they often do, but not as often or consistently as I'd like.

About a week ago I swore it was all over for my main desktop computer. After surviving the intermittant ISP issues, I thought it was all better only to hear a nasty and heart-stopping clicking sound issuing from the hard drive. I've heard that before, more times than I care to recall, and it's always been followed by complete and total failure of the drive.

Then, a few times, the computer locked up, and I was sure that it had, at most, a half an hour of life left in it. I panicked. The old me, the one I'm used to, would have thought nothing of buying a new drive, moving everything over, and missing at most a couple hours. The old me, also, had money to burn and never thought twice about such things.

I'm sure the drive is still liable to fail at any time, but it's stopped clicking. Also, I was able to prevent it from locking up by the simple expedient of reseating the batteries in the mouse. Okay, I'm dumb. Never claimed otherwise.

This particular computer, by the way, is interesting mostly because it was the second new computer I've bought in my life. All the others have been incremental upgrades and I've got shoeboxes full of drives I've outgrown or otherwise outlasted, no fewer than seven cases (after throwing an equal number away last year), and entire shelving units filled with spare parts that are now woefully obsolete.

This entry has produced no clicking, but I'm scared to try e-mail.

Reconstituted Faith

Sometimes I surprise myself, though not with unexpected gifts or anything that thoughtful or touching.

One of my more successful ways of fixing things is to leave them alone and see if they repair themselves. To my constant amazement, they often do, but not as often or consistently as I'd like.

About a week ago I swore it was all over for my main desktop computer. After surviving the intermittant ISP issues, I thought it was all better only to hear a nasty and heart-stopping clicking sound issuing from the hard drive. I've heard that before, more times than I care to recall, and it's always been followed by complete and total failure of the drive.

Then, a few times, the computer locked up, and I was sure that it had, at most, a half an hour of life left in it. I panicked. The old me, the one I'm used to, would have thought nothing of buying a new drive, moving everything over, and missing at most a couple hours. The old me, also, had money to burn and never thought twice about such things.

I'm sure the drive is still liable to fail at any time, but it's stopped clicking. Also, I was able to prevent it from locking up by the simple expedient of reseating the batteries in the mouse. Okay, I'm dumb. Never claimed otherwise.

This particular computer, by the way, is interesting mostly because it was the second new computer I've bought in my life. All the others have been incremental upgrades and I've got shoeboxes full of drives I've outgrown or otherwise outlasted, no fewer than seven cases (after throwing an equal number away last year), and entire shelving units filled with spare parts that are now woefully obsolete.

This entry has produced no clicking, but I'm scared to try e-mail.

Tidying Up

I've seen a number of memes floating around lately, some having to do with lofty lists of goals and others with quizzes, such as what type of onion dip are you. As it turns out, you won't find any of those here, not today, but I'm thinking of making a list of things I'm avoiding.

Blogging might be somewhere on there.

One thing I've avoided doing anything about is cleaning my desk. Oh, sure, I've thought about it and even admitted it needs to be done so I have a place to write, but that's nothing like actually doing it. The thing is, my desk is an excellent place to pile clean laundry, although it does wrinkle when left there for over a hour.

Since I was bound and determined to type at my desk this weekend I gritted my remaining teeth and sorted the laundry Saturday morning. Ah, the joys of fall underwear, which is indistinguishable from my summer fare. Once, when I was spent some time in Portland, I bought some flannel boxers up there, but like many things they've not withstood the onslaught of time.

Still, even removing the laundry left me with an extremely cluttered desk. It would take hours to sift through the paperwork and neatly arrange it in other piles to be filed later, so I made a rather unsteady tower, instead, and reclaimed enough surface area for my laptop, lamp, and coffee cup.

The sad thing is, after looking at the desk for over a month, it took me less than a minute to make it functional.

With that onerous task complete, I settled in to write, only to realize that my story had no better chance of success there than anywhere else I've been writing it.

Tidying Up

I've seen a number of memes floating around lately, some having to do with lofty lists of goals and others with quizzes, such as what type of onion dip are you. As it turns out, you won't find any of those here, not today, but I'm thinking of making a list of things I'm avoiding.

Blogging might be somewhere on there.

One thing I've avoided doing anything about is cleaning my desk. Oh, sure, I've thought about it and even admitted it needs to be done so I have a place to write, but that's nothing like actually doing it. The thing is, my desk is an excellent place to pile clean laundry, although it does wrinkle when left there for over a hour.

Since I was bound and determined to type at my desk this weekend I gritted my remaining teeth and sorted the laundry Saturday morning. Ah, the joys of fall underwear, which is indistinguishable from my summer fare. Once, when I was spent some time in Portland, I bought some flannel boxers up there, but like many things they've not withstood the onslaught of time.

Still, even removing the laundry left me with an extremely cluttered desk. It would take hours to sift through the paperwork and neatly arrange it in other piles to be filed later, so I made a rather unsteady tower, instead, and reclaimed enough surface area for my laptop, lamp, and coffee cup.

The sad thing is, after looking at the desk for over a month, it took me less than a minute to make it functional.

With that onerous task complete, I settled in to write, only to realize that my story had no better chance of success there than anywhere else I've been writing it.

Tardy Report

It's been long enough since Hallowe'en that I can safely report on it.

To begin with, here's what I had ready for the kids who had the courage to wade through the front yard. If they were the right height the weeds would brush their waists.
!@(DCP02136.JPG popimg: "Before")
I would have mowed the lawn, but I was hoping to make my house appear scary in spite of the lack of decorations. You know, natural stuff. Cobwebs, mouse trails, peeling paint on the trim.

The evening started slowly and by seven o'clock I'd seen a good number of Spidermen, witches, princesses, and pirates. For those interested, pirates are just kicking ninja's asses, but I did see a couple of them.

What I saw more of than anything else were parents. Honestly, there were more adults standing on the sidewalk than kids coming to the door, though a few grown-ups did choose to trail the trick-or-treaters nearly all the way inside. I did my best, smiling and appearing pleasant, but I'm not sure anyone was fooled.

Later on, around eight or so, teenagers began appearing pushing the limits and showing up in T-shirts and short skirts. One went to the extreme of penciling in a soul patch, but it may have been a smudge or leftover chocolate. No one this year rivaled my all-time favorite kid who showed up a couple years ago wearing, naturally, a T-shirt. That intrepid halloweener couldn't even be bothered with a bag and just ate the candy after I handed it to him and walked off to go the next house.

As usual I met my neighbors who seemed please to see me actually doing anything.
!@(DCP02139.JPG popimg: "After")
Around quarter to nine the cute kids stopped coming by and I shut the door, released the dogs (whom I'd shut off in a distant room), and called it a night.

By my unofficial tally, over seven thousand kids visited.

Tardy Report

It's been long enough since Hallowe'en that I can safely report on it.

To begin with, here's what I had ready for the kids who had the courage to wade through the front yard. If they were the right height the weeds would brush their waists.
!@(DCP02136.JPG popimg: "Before")
I would have mowed the lawn, but I was hoping to make my house appear scary in spite of the lack of decorations. You know, natural stuff. Cobwebs, mouse trails, peeling paint on the trim.

The evening started slowly and by seven o'clock I'd seen a good number of Spidermen, witches, princesses, and pirates. For those interested, pirates are just kicking ninja's asses, but I did see a couple of them.

What I saw more of than anything else were parents. Honestly, there were more adults standing on the sidewalk than kids coming to the door, though a few grown-ups did choose to trail the trick-or-treaters nearly all the way inside. I did my best, smiling and appearing pleasant, but I'm not sure anyone was fooled.

Later on, around eight or so, teenagers began appearing pushing the limits and showing up in T-shirts and short skirts. One went to the extreme of penciling in a soul patch, but it may have been a smudge or leftover chocolate. No one this year rivaled my all-time favorite kid who showed up a couple years ago wearing, naturally, a T-shirt. That intrepid halloweener couldn't even be bothered with a bag and just ate the candy after I handed it to him and walked off to go the next house.

As usual I met my neighbors who seemed please to see me actually doing anything.
!@(DCP02139.JPG popimg: "After")
Around quarter to nine the cute kids stopped coming by and I shut the door, released the dogs (whom I'd shut off in a distant room), and called it a night.

By my unofficial tally, over seven thousand kids visited.