Not a Monday, But It Feels Like One

Ugh... Gotta love a day that starts with a laptop's video drivers deciding to crap out.

Each morning when I get up - particularly work mornings - I make a beeline for my computer to see what email has come in while I slept.

This morning was no exception. This morning, when I clicked over into Thunderbird, I noticed that I was getting "cannot connect to mail server" errors as I read each of the locally cached message copies.

As this oddity oozed its way through my sleep-fuzzed brain, I noticed, "hmm... the networking tooltray icon doesn't look right". So, I started troubleshooting. Eventually, it became evident that there was something wrong with the NIC driver, so, I rebooted in hopes of it sorting itself out.

Unfortunately, after the reboot, my computer was being very herky-jerky. Eventually, it started popping errors complaining about the NVIDIA display service crashing and being restarted. Fuck. So, I go Googling around (between lockups and display restarts) to see what might be going on. Eventually, it became apparent that a recent Windows automatic update had pissed off already flakey NVIDIA display software. I went to my laptop vendor's website and downloaded the driver (while contending with the freezes and restarts of the display). After about an hour of all this, I was able to get my computer working as it had been the night before.

Suboptimal way to start the day.

Yo, "Homeboy"

Today, we drove out to Chantilly to attend a dog rescue organization's adoption event at the Greenbriar PetCo. We were visiting an event held by the same group that we'd adopted Lana from back in early 2003.

As I was driving down US-50, just after the exit from I-66, I noticed an odd sight. Is was one I had to point out to my wife, Donna. There's just something incongruous about a hipster doing the gangsta-lean while driving a Volvo. It's even more incongruous when the leaner is a suburban hipster wearing an "ironic" knit winter cap - a tyrolian-style one, no less.

Advertising WTFs

One of the joys of telecommuting is that you can have your TV on to act as background noise. The downside, is that, sometimes, that background noise intrudes on your conscious thoughts. This seems to be particularly so when something stupid is aired.

Today, the intrusion came from a commercial by the makers of Chia Pets. They were flogging chia-heads of the famous presidents (all the ones on Rushmore plus Obama). They were saying how big an honor such a display would be for those who were rendered in chia and how patriotic such a display would be. All I could think was, "yeah, I'm sure that George Washington did what he did so he could be 'honored' in chia;" and "oh well, at least this isn't an Obama vibrator" thing.

I want to know what kind of shit the marketing guys were smoking when they thought to write down that such abominations would be seen by anyone as honorific.

/facepalm

Gotta Repay the Sandman

I'm thinking last night's stayup for the blood-moon may mean an early bedtime, tonight. It was a nifty view, and all, and it was cool that it we were able to see an astronomical confluence not seen since Gallileo's time. But, there was the price of sleep to be paid. I borrowed, last night. I'm probably going to have to repay that debt, tonight.

Charting

If they did a word chart for things said while driving, my #1 would likely be "Seriously??" Well, it would be if you disqualified all the various words that wouldn't be allowed on broadcast TV and expressions that defy classification as language.

On the plus side, driving in the DC Metro area gives me plenty of things to write about and vent my spleen over.

A First

I've been "butt-dialed" many times. Today was the first time I got cat-dialed ...by my own cat.

I use a Google Voice number as the primary number I hand out to people. I've got it configured to dial me at my desk, my cell and my house (dependent on time of day and day of week). I also have it configured to act as the voicemail system for my various "real" phone numbers.

Frequently, when I get home from work, I pull my cell phone out and set it on the couch next to me (only other place it goes is on the charger across the room). I find that it keeps it nice and handy should I need it.

Unfortunately, when he can't lay on me, Grumbles's favorite place to lay is right next to me. Tonight, "next to me" also happened to be where my phone was sitting. Apparently, while shifting around to become more comfortable while laying on the phone, he managed to unlock my phone, select my GV number and dial it. I suppose this is the downside of software-based keyboards on a cell phone.

He also happened to do this during the time window where my GV number only rings my cell phone (in use) and my work's desk phone (I'd left it 45 minutes previous) and not my home phoneline. And, because he was laying on the phone, it muffled any of the sounds of the transaction. My notice of this activity was when I received an email from GV indicating "could not transcribe this session." I looked at the message and saw that it came from my cell phone. I listened to the recording of the message, and it was (basically) silent.

My "WTF" thoughts were quickly followed up by the, "dammit, I know what," line of thought. I noticed where Grumbles was laying and remembered that I'd previously laid my phone there. I dislodged the cat and found my (now very warm) phone under him.

Oh well, at least he hadn't managed to make an overseas call.

Some People Need an Anal Application of a 40-Grit Clue-Stick

What is it about gasoline stations that make people lose their common sense or common courtesy? Well, I know what the real problem is, it's my premise: most people simply don't have any idea of common sense or common courtesy. Most people have the manners and consideration consistent with having been raised by wolves (though, wolves probably have better socialization).

Yesterday, the local Amerigo had a broken pump. This left the double-sided pump on the main island and the double-sided pump on the auxiliary island. Of course, the remaining pump on the main island was in use. Now, I was trying to gas up my wife's Saturn VUE. I generally avoid going to the auxiliary pump because it's not in a great place to try to squeeze a vehicle into. It's even worse with an SUV. Unfortunately, I didn't have many options. Complicating matters was the fact that some dumb bitch with a (surprise, surprise: Maryland-plated) Toyota Echo decided she needed to PARK her car in front of the back pump. This meant I had to maneuver around the gasoline station. Now, when I'd started for the back pump, the only vehicles were the two using the remaining working pumps on the main island, the bitch who parked at the near-side of the back pump, and me. However, right as I was getting my nose to the back pump, some fucker blasted into the station from the wrong way and jammed into the pump in front of me.

To say the least, I was a little pissed. Unfortunately, getting arrested for beating the pulp out of someone would likely cost my my job, my job sector and all of the other things that depend on jobs in that sector. So, I tamped back the rage and extricated myself from the back pump area. Fortunately, in the time it took to extricate myself, one of the main pump slots had come free. So, I backed into the slot, and set about pumping gas.

Now, understand, while I've quelled my rage enough to not go beat the snot out of the fucker in the red Caddy (guess what: it was Maryland plated, too), I glared at him the entire time I was at my pump. The weasely little fuck would occasionally glance over with a guilty look on his face, then quickly look away when he saw that I was still glaring in his direction. I was really hoping he'd say something or even just look at me funny so that I had the excuse to curse him out. For better or worse, he seemed most interested in hurriedly pumping his gas and getting the hell away from there - he squealed his wheels getting out of the station. I finish filling the tank of Donna's car, and begin to leave the station. I notice that the bitch that had parked in front of the one pump is strolling her fat ass back out to her car. As she's disarming her car alarm, I flip her the bird. The look on her face was priceless: it looked like she wanted to say something, but then decided not to. Maybe she realized what she'd done. Either that, or I was (still) looking like I was waiting for an excuse to murder someone.

Today, on the way back from getting the coolant-level checked in my car, I decided to stop in at a gas station near my mechanic's garage. I pull into the station and find myself behind a minivan. He's waiting for one of the pumps to come free. Some cooze in a big, white Chrysler station wagon pulls into the lot from the wrong direction. But, it looks like she's wanting to get into a parking spot, so, the minivan backs up to let her cross in front to get to the parking spot. Instead, this whore decides she's going to cut in line and take the pump slot that I was waiting for.

It turns out the minivan, while blocking the pump I could have used, was actually  waiting in line for the pump on the other side of the island. He'd blocked my slot so that there'd be room for the person in the slot he wanted to be able to pull past him. Ok, whatever. I get that.

What I don't get is the cooze in the Chrysler sees the line, but decides to cut in. Worse, she cut in to go to a pump that required her to back into the pump. Even more fun, as she's starting to back into the pump, the guy at the other end of her side of the island pulls out. So, she backs up to the newly vacated slot. But, since she's driving a full-sized station wagon and is backing in - but only just far enough to get her gas cap exactly next to the pump handle - she's now facing the wrong way, making TWO pump slots unavailable. Did I mention she was driving a Maryland-plated car? Did I mention that this was further into northern VA than the previously mentioned station by my house?

Fortunately, a pump at one of the other islands was just coming free up. In fact, both slots were opening up. So, I start to pull over to that island. Just as I'm getting to my slot, some dickhead in an extended-cab RAM 1500 pulls into the station from the "exit only" outlet to the street. So, he's facing the wrong direction and in a LONG vehicle and is about to pull the same "block two pumps" thing the idiot in the Chrysler had just done (though, at least it was a pull-forward rather than a backing maneuver). I start to lose my shit. His (presumably) wife notices my reaction and makes him reconsider his maneuver. He reverses as far as he can and still reach his tank from the pump at the far end of the side of the island we're at. But, again, he's driving a fucking extended-cab RAM 1500, so he's still well into my slot. So, even after pulling to within 3" of his bumper, I'm still having to stretch the hose to reach my tank (with the gas handle at 90° from the normal resting orientation).

Did I mention that RAM-guy is Maryland-plated, too? I'm catching a real trend, here. It seems like people with Maryland plates have a similar approach to gas stations that they do choosing lanes to drive or pass in on the highways (which is to say, choosing the wrong ones).

At any rate, I figure, "pump my gas, get my receipt and get out" (yeah, I'm one of those people that keeps a log of my fuel purchases and mileage). Unfortunately, even though I'm putting slightly less than half a tank in, I end up not being able to just pump-and-go. Turns out, this station is one of those ones where, if you want the damned receipt, you have to go into the mini-mart and ask for it to be printed out. Fortunately, by the time I get my receipt and get back to my car, the ass-bag in the RAM 1500 has finished up and is backing out so he can exit the right way from the station's exit. So, at least I'm able to pull out in the proper direction and exit through the marked exit.

As I'm driving home, some tool in a blue Chevy goes blazing by me. Admittedly, "blazing by" is a relative term. We were in a 35MPH, mixed-residential/retail zone. I was going 42MPH. Apparently, he needed to get somewhere at 60MPH-plus. As he's blasting by, a sheet of snow/ice separates from the roof of his car and comes flying back at me like the Phatom-zone thing from the Superman movies. Fortunately, it shatters on the ground a few feet in front of my car, rather than actually hitting my car, directly. But, still... What the fuck is it about people in the DC area and not cleaning the goddamned snow off their vehicles before heading out on the road. And, by the way, the last snow to fall in the area was a week prior. Did this toolbag somehow now have the time (over that week) to either clean off his car or at least park it some place where the sun would melt it off??

Oh, yeah: he was driving a Maryland-plated car, too.

Rare Events

Crystal-clear sky: can I stay up to see the big event (and will I be able to wake up, tomorrow, if I do)?

Immersive Experience

Went and saw Tron: Legacy, tonight? Paid the $17/person to have a date night with my wife (her idea!) and see it in "IMAX 3D". Now, bear in mind, this is the faux-IMAX that seems to be the norm for Northern Virginia "IMAX" presentations. So, it wasn't the type of IMAX experience you get at a museum's IMAX presentation. No, this is the smaller, IMAX-branded "IMAX experience". Granted 3D movies tend to look better in faux-IMAX than in regular digital 3D - mostly because the images are brighter. But, the screen size/design lacks the immersiveness of "real" IMAX. It seems the theatre near my house tries to restore some of the immersiveness by absolutely blasting the sound (so, you feel the movie as much as see it). Thus, tonight's Tron in IMAX 3D was very LOUD!

Situational Preferences

It strikes me that if you believe in ghosts you probably have a different idea of a perfect death than someone who believes in no afterlife. Now follow me on this...

To me, one of the best ways to die would be one where you have no awareness of having died. One presumes that in such a scenario, there's no pain or fear for the brain to feel in it's last seconds or minutes of life. There's no possibility of your last thought being, "oh, shit: I'm dying".

Now, if you buy the stories of those who profess to believe in ghosts, one of the ways that people end up as ghosts is if they die in such a way that they don't realized they've died. Their spirits stick around because they don't know any better. If ghosts are real and such is a way for ending up a ghost, it would seem that you'd want to know "oh, I'm dying" or "oh, I've died".

I Don't Miss the Reminders

Downside of online Xmas shopping: you don't have sufficient trauma to remember "oh, I already did my shopping"

Mom-Tech

Schnikies: Mom went and got herself a spiffy, new Android phone from Sprint. Hopefully, I don't get roped in on tech support. But, hopefully, she finds it money well spent.

Hmm... Can it be long before my mom starts to either FaceBook or Twitter? Can blogging be far behind?

Dark Day, Indeed

Never thought I'd actually be happy to see that the Cowpats won. Fuck you, Shanahan.

That's Entertainment?

I know I've never seen any of the various "Airport" (or other movies featuring air-disasters) on any flights during all my years of flying. And, on commuter rail (metroliners, regionals or Acela-type), I've never noticed a video option available (though, on an Acela trip back from NYC, I watched Midnight Meat Train on my laptop). Do they ever show "Poseidon Adventure" or "Titanic" on cruise ships' in-room movies?

The Letter-Writing Campaign

It took us a while to find our first dog, Lana. First, we tried with the local SPCA shelters, but, they'd not had any pups that didn't cause migraines for Donna. Then, we tried some breed-specific rescue organizations. Unfortunately, at least back in 2002/2003 timeframe, those organizations seemed a little over-protective: they were more focussed on finding a perfect home than one that was merely "suitable".

I'll never claim that we have a perfect home. Any pets we get will be well loved and taken care of to the extent that current finances allow (we've been fortunate enough to not have to skimp, thus far). We don't have an expansive yard or a huge house, but what we've got is enough for most pups to be comfortable. And, in the end, we have more than enough love to give.

At any rate, with the recent loss of Lana, we've been on the lookout for new dogs. The number of available dogs that are both cat and dog friendly seems to not be large - particularly factoring in Puckett and the types of dogs we've been looking at (bullies and bully-mixes). While we want to go the rescue route, we've been hoping for dogs in the 9-24mo range, so we can maximize our time with any we bring home (the size of dogs we're looking at tend to only live to the 10-12 year old range),

Thus far, we've visited two organizations and called a few others. We've also been scouring PetFinder.Com. We've got two more to visit, today. Between visits, I've been writing to rescue organizations and hoping someone can help us. There's a big empty spot in our house, right now.

Snake-eyes

Two different rescue organizations and found no daigz what are compatible with Puckett. Turns out that Puckett's a bit more alpha-ish than I'd originally thought.

We found several pups that we liked, but... Much as not every person gets my sense of humor, not every dog gets the way Puckett likes to play.

This could take a while. :(

No Such Domain?

I'm kind of surprised there's no "FapBook" out there. Given the popularity of "Fap" for porn and the number of sites that seem to want to put "Book" in their titles, it seemed natural that there'd be a FabBook.Com out there. Alas, no such critter.

Not The Droid I'm Looking For

Why does Verizon think I'd want a phone that looks like R2D2??

New Beginnings

If the weather and everything else cooperates, tomorrow, we'll be looking to move on to our post-Lana lives. She's left a big hole and we need someone to help us fill it. I'm really looking forward to doing daig-tryouts, tomorrow.

Dear Redskins

I used to think you didn't deserve the last 11yrs ...until today. Your treatment of McNabb, this year, has been nothing short of disgraceful. You've scapegoated a consummate professional the failings of an inflexible and under-talented coaching staff. And, because he's a professional, he's going to (at least publicly) take it like a professional.

Never thought I'd say these words, but I hope the fucking Cowboys run roughshod, this weekend.

Fuck Snyder. Fuck the Shannahans - who almost make Snyder look like a reasonable man. Fuck the `Skins. And, for you "fans" that continue to enrich these fuckers: fuck you, too.

Some Cats Need Skinned

Why do cats HAVE to lay right up against the heat registers?? They block them, leaving the entire house colder. Fuckers.

Brains?

Would the best way to survive a zombie apocalypse be to bleach oneself blonde?

Other than Nickleback, Themselves...

Is there anything more hateful than a Nickleback cover band?

What Are You Doing, DC Voters?

Every time I see Vincent Gray on the news, I think "my God, they've elected Mr Herbert as mayor". And, yes, I know I've posted in this vein, before, but still...

That's *One* Way to Warm the House

Cold weather/house means Donna's in a baking mood. Tonight: apple pie!

Surprising Reminders

That was surprisingly depressing. Took compost out only to notice how different the snow-tracks look with just one dog.

More Security Theatre

Guess the new Metro bag checks programs is going to be how they justify the next round of fare increases. And, hey: it will create new jobs! 

The security movements of the last few years: do they really accomplish anything or are they just the modern version of the WPA?

Do They Ever Get It Right

Ok, last night, weren't they saying just a dusting of snow and that it wouldn't start till later in the afternoon? Today, the snow started in the morning and ended up dropping more than an inch of snow and dreck. Yeah, 1" isn't much more than a dusting (except in an area like DC where people lose their fucking minds even if it's just flurries), but, it's still yet another instance of the forecasters being wrong.

Fmeh. How can a class of "professionals" be so frequently wrong and either have jobs or be taken even marginally seriously. I swear, the old lady at the nearby "fortune teller" shack is more accurate and more frequently right.

Tough Love

Curries and hot peppers are excellent ways to fight sinus congestion (and numb a sore throat).

Be Careful of Your TV Choices

Being too knowledgeable isn't a good thing when watching shows like "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire". Some of the answers are simply annoying. Many are inaccurate. Some are just down-right wrong.  It's clear that, instead of looking for correct/accurate answers, they're looking for the answers most likely to be given by the class of contestants their show draws.

Ugh. Makes me want to smack a bitch.

Mystery Solved?

Is the reason DC residents keep Barry in office because he makes everyone feel smart every time he's in the news?

Dear Whole Foods

Gumdrops should *NEVER* taste like marshmallows. Ugh. Very disconcerting.

LegitSsofotwareDeallOfTheCentturyyAavaiiIalbaIeAtAVerfiied_anddCertfifiedOniIne_store

So, I get an email (SPAM, obviously) with the above subject line. I see something like that and all I can think is "yeah, lemme open that right the hell up." Seriously: does anyone actually respond to such mailings??

Pat Collins: What Annoying Hack

NBC 4's Pat Collins has to be one of the most annoying "personalities" on local TV. I mean, watching his news reports feels like the guy who voiced the old Winnie-the-Pooh went to the William Shatner acting school. And, yes, it's exactly as annoying as you'd think such a combination would be.

Pat Collins needs to get out of the news business. What a freaking hack.

w00t! Gonna go look at daigz on Saturday!

A couple days after we put Lana down, we decide, "yeah, it would be a good idea to try to look for something to fill the hole that Lana left". So, we went on PetFinder and started looking. Obviously, with the Caribbean vacation we were just about to embark on, we had to put the actual plans for visits on hold. But, now back from our trip, I could start contacting rescue organizations. We're gonna go out to Friends of Homeless Animals (the organization we got Puckett from) this weekend to see if there's any dogs we might be able to bring home. We're bringing Puckett along so he can give us an initial "OK" (or veto). Then, we gotta get a home visit to see how compatible any new pups are with the cats.

Still, hopefully have a new guy/girl before the end of January.

GV Audio Transcripts

Let me start by saying, "I love Google Voice." If they ever turn it into a commercial product, I'd have no problem paying for it (especially if they added some other features). I mean, the ability to set up screenable call-groups and availability windows and forwarding options is just freaking awesome. The voice-to-text transcription service for voicemails is a nifty idea, too (I say "idea" because, in its current form, it's just "not quite there").

I love GV transcriptions of voicemails - for entertainment more than functional utility. Even the best of translations usually need work. And, when you get a message from someone with an accent, speech impediment or just "mush-mouth", the transcriptions should just say "you're on your own with this one!"

Don't get me wrong, the service makes a game attempt at translations. And, well...

Yesterday, I got a call from someone who I had a hard time understanding. Unfortunately, she was trying to give me directions to a destination, but I didn't have anything to write with, so, she offered to call back and leave a voicemail. It was just as funny a transcript as I was expecting. About the only way it could have been funnier is if GV woulda just done the same thing as in the Minnie the Moocher subtitles in the original Blues Brothers movie.

NOT THAT BUTTON

I really think there should be mandatory training on correct use of the "Reply" and "Reply-all" buttons before giving people email access. Just because a message was sent to a group doesn't mean you need to reply to the entire group. We really don't need to see it, and, what's more we don't want to see it.

Gah.

I hate people.

The whole "Reply All" thing  was why, when I was last administering a corporate mail system, I put ACLs on distribution lists.

And, as you probably guessed, I hate chain letters and the like, too.

Wrinkles in Plans

It occurred to me that, if we get a new dog, soon, I'll need someone to go with me to weekend home Flyers games. Hopefully, it won't be a full-season thing. Hopefully, the new daig will adjust quickly enough that we can feel comfortable making weekend day-trips. But, still.

Dunno what's gonna happen with Christmas, if we can get a dog sorted before then, either. I don't think it will be an issue, given that we won't even be starting to see dogs until the 18th and most rescues want to do home-visits before placing a dog. Given that Christmas is inside a week, I don't see it getting knocked out before then. But, we may be pleasantly surprised. If we are, then, may need to change Christmas travel plans.

Runny nose + mustache = bad combo

When growing a beard, mustache, etc., you just don't really think about "what happens when I get a cold". I gotta think that similar is the case for people getting nose-rings.

Incorrect Impressions

Hmm... I think AmEx might be assuming too much from all the recent spending. I really don't need a credit increase.

Yes, I get that I spent a crap-ton this month. There was the $2000 in veterinary bills (veterinary ER visit, followed up, a few days later, by euthanasia and cremation costs). There was the nearly $2000 in supplemental fees paid to the cruise line (alcohol and shore excursions, etc.). And, of course, there was the $1300 for Donna's new sparkly (the place had had it priced at $5900, but, let it go for $1300 ...yet, I still felt skinned). Plus, my normal monthly expenditures (we do all our utilities, etc., grocery bills and the like through the card). And, of course, it's the Christmas shopping season.

So, it was a big month. But, at this point, they should have enough of a shopping history on me to know that it was rather an atypical month. Upping my credit limit by 50% isn't going to make me spend more. In fact, other than the utilities, groceries, etc., I don't have any expenses planned requiring its use for the next several months (ideally, not till Christmas 2011).

Whatevs: not like they charge me a carrying fee or anything.

Wonder if Roto-Rooter does sinuses?

Seriously.

I really hate colds. At least I waited to catch this one until the end of my Caribbean cruise rather than the beginning. Even better, it waited to really nail me until after my flight got back. I've been on airplanes with really bad sinuses and it's miserably painful: the low air-pressure, at altitude, makes your ears feel like they're going to burst. Or, even more fun, if your head seals up at altitude, landing and being on the ground is excruciating.

Ugh.

Dear Rescue Organisations:

Look: I know that you mean well; I know that you want every dog you place to be placed in a "forever home"; I know that you want each of your charges to have a perfect home.

Unfortunately, I think that what some of you forget is that, at the end of the day, you want to place a dog in a home. The home doesn't have to be perfect. It especially doesn't have to be so perfect that it, somehow, magically makes up for all of the abuses and injustices that caused those dogs to be in your charge. There is such a thing as "good enough". And, while "good enough" does encompass perfect, magical, etc., less than those are also valid. Basically, so long as the place your charges are placed into are loving homes that do their best for those dogs (even if their best isn't perfect), you've discharged your duties

I went through this nonsense before we got Lana. Our house wasn't good enough for a breed-specific rescue (even though our house was far better then the house that the would-be pet was being fostered in).. Yet, somehow, our pets have managed to be well-cared for and very much loved. I don't like adoption forms that make me feel like I'm being judged simply for wanting a pet. Congratulations: a dog that would have been happy here now has to wait longer to find a forever home.

Call-tree and On-Hold Lies

If my call is so important, why is it so hard to get through the call-tree and why am I on hold for so freaking long?

Big Ten Shits the Bed

Yegads. Go away for a vacation and come back to find the Big Ten shit the bed on the new logos and division names. WTF is this atrocity:

I mean, if the designers' goal was to create a united sentiment in a conference where all the members hate each other and agree on nothing, well, then, "bravo". They succeeded in creating something so sucktastic that everyone who's a fan of a Big Ten school can, at least, agree on how awful the logo is. And, if they can't agree on that, they can agree on how mind-bendingly stupid the new division names are.

Lastly, I don't get the whole Paterno trophy for the conference championship. I get that JoePa's an institution and the winningest living coach in BCS football. So, yeah, definitely worthy of having a trophy named after him ...except that he's: A) still alive; and B) still coaching. It feels like a not so subtle move by the league to get JoePa to step down. I'm a PSU alum and would be duly-bound to adore him (even if I didn't already like him for what he was, stands for and does), but the thought of JoePa winning a Stagg-Paterno trophy is rather weird.

Greh.

Fuck you, winter. Fuck you straight in your frigid ass.

So, we spent the week, cruising the tropics. Going from where it was in the upper 30s/lower 40s to someplace where it was in the 70s all day seemed awesome. Unfortunately, we came back home and the 30s/40s had been replaced by days peaking in the lower/mid 20s. Argh.

Makes You Hungry

When the pool's next to the kitchen and your balcony overlooks the pool, your balcony smells of bacon in the morning.

Odd Labeling

Something odd about bi-lingual product labelings being in English and French ...in Puerto Rico. I mean, I get that Aveda (the maker of the hotel toiletries) has standard labeling of its products. It just seemed "odd".

I'm Pretty Sure US Air's Theme Song Should Be "Let's Get Retarded"

Ok, so, the trip down to Puerto Rico wasn't horrible. One of the legs of the trip down we were upgraded to first class (granted, it was the 20 minute flight to Philly, but, at least there was free alcohol). The PHL-to-SJU leg was what you'd expect from coach-class.

A couple days before our return, we got email notifications that we'd been upgraded on both the longer SJU-to-CLT leg and the shorter CLT-to-DCA leg. Coolness: free alcohol and extra space (we'll ignore the free hospital-quality food). Twenty-four hours before flight-time, got the notification to do web check-in.

It was at this point that it all went sorta sideways. I hit the "Check-in" button and then the "select seats" option. Everything was cool on the SJU-to-CLT leg - other than that our seats weren't together (no biggie, we figured we'd just ask people to trade so we could be together). However, the CLT-to-DCA leg was fuxored. Though both of us had been upgraded and our coach seats de-assigned, there was only one seat selectable for us in First Class. It also wouldn't even let me re-select a coach seat for either of us. Fuck.

So, I clicked on the "contact us" link. I called the number, navigated the call-tree and then was placed on hold for a CSR. Eventually, the CSR came on the line and quickly informed me, "oh, that's an international itinerary: you'll need to talk to the international ticketing desk. I'll transfer you, but here's the number in case you get disconnected..."

I'd never really considered Puerto Rico to be "international" given their legal relationship to the US. However, in retrospect, Puerto Rico does have it's on TLD (pulling up Google redirects you to google.com.pr) and has Spanish as its primary language. So...

At any rate, the CSR transfers me ...to the "international" call-tree (i.e., not a "warm hand-off"). Grr... I navigate the new call-tree and eventually get a new CSR. She finds that the CLT-to-DCA situation requires supervisor override (apparently, there were seats available in first class, but reserved and the supervisor was the only one that could force-allocate me a seat). She puts me on hold while they sort things out. Eventually, she comes back on the line and tells me I've got both my seats but that they're not next to each other. I figure "cool/whatever: we'll sort it out later". She also tells me I'm checked in and all I need to do is go back to the web site and click on the "print boarding passes" button. We say our goodbyes and I go back to my laptop to print out my tix.

The retardation that is US Airway's online reservations system isn't done with me, yet, however. While the website shows that I've now got two seats on each leg of the trip, it only lets me print the tickets for the seats that were allocated prior to my chat with the international reservations CSR. This is problematic, as I really didn't feel like having to ass-around in Charlotte due to not having a printed pass. So, I call US Airways, again. This time, I call their web tech support number, as this seems to be more a web-portal issue than a true ticketing issue. I navigate the call-tree and then wait on hold for a CSR. Eventually the CSR comes on the line. I identify myself and explain my issue. She asks me to hold while she tries to resolve it. Unfortunately, she has about as much success as I had and tells me to just have one of the gate agents print me all four passes when I check my bags. Great. This doesn't exactly give me the warm-fuzzies, but, "what can you do". On the marginal plus side, at least the CSR had the same problems I did. So, it wasn't a PEBKAC error on my part.

The next day, we get to the airport. We get a porter to lug our bags (they don't do the rental carts and Donna always packs heavy). We go through the APHIS/FDA screening, then go to the agent desk. Fortunately, being on a First Class itinerary, there were no lines to wait in. Donna discovers our desk agent is a kindred spirit: her ID-lanyard is printed with skulls and crossbones all over. The agent starts checking in our bags - tagging them and getting our bag-receipts all stapled up. However, she also appears to have issues getting all the tix to print. A supervisor is called over and eventually everything is all sorted out. As a bonus, our SJU-to-CLT leg is re-ticketed so that our seats are next to each other.

Strange Bedfellows

You can tell the cats think the house is cold when they curl up next to the dog on the dog-pillow.

The critical word here is "cats" (i.e., the plural of "cat"). Grumbles never had problems chilling out with either of the dogs. Bella, on the other hand, always hated the dogs. But, when she gets cold enough, she tries to lay down with them (typically Puckett because Lana would always growl at her - prolly had something to do with not liking  the fact that Bella frequently ambushed her).

Moving On

When you've a new hole in your life from a recently-departed pet, perusing PetFinder.Com is an great way to push some of the darkness back.

Some people wonder how I can start looking "so soon", but, for me, the best way to move forward is to start moving forward.

Besides, to me, it says something about the recently departed that they've left enough of a hole that you feel compelled to fill it. I miss Lana. A lot. I miss her dancing. I miss her singing. I miss her grumbling. I miss her company. I miss that extra warmth and life. I know I can't replace her, but I can do something to help fill the hole her departure has left.

All Things End

Today, we saw to the ending of our dog, Lana. Lana was a rescue. She was conveyed into our care by A Forever-Home Rescue Foundation in the spring of 2003 at one of their frequent adoption events at the Chantilly Petco.

 

The Lana Bear

 

I'm not sure what led her to us, but the marks in her coat and her reactions to certain people and actions always told us it wasn't an easy path..

 

After we'd gotten married in January, we felt the need to start our "family". We tried finding a dog from a number of places. First, we tried the local Animal Welfare League shelter. Alas, none of the critters we found there really "spoke" to us. Of the ones that did, they weren't compatible with the animal allergies that Donna had.

 

Along the way, we'd discovered that we liked bully-breeds. They're awesome dogs with a really undeserved bad reputation. First, we tried the local boxer and bulldog rescues. We even got so far as bringing home one lovely candidate, but she just didn't like our cats. So, we had to send her back.

 

During this process, we discovered that some of the breed-specific rescue organizations set unrealistic expectations for those seeking to adopt the dogs in their charge. I get that these are people who are genuinely concerned about the dogs in their charge, but it left kind of a bad taste in our mouth. We were essentially told that our small (1400sq.ft.) duplex and fenced in yard weren't a suitable environment for the types of dogs we were hoping to adopt. Ironically, this came from people that were fostering dogs in smaller houses with even smaller (or no!) yards.

 

Lesson learned, we moved on in our searches.

 

Being an IT guy, Google had frequently proven to be a great tool for finding the things I wanted and needed. Indeed, in this pursuit, Google was our friend. Google led us to PetFinder.Com. PetFinder, in turn, led us to the A Forever-Home Rescue Foundation.

 

On their web site, we found this lovely, sweet-looking American Bulldog/Boxer mix. So, we contacted them to find out more. They'd indicated they were going to be having an adoption event at the PetCo in Chantilly, VA. In our conversations with them, it sounded like Lana might be an ideal match and that our environment might be well suited to her. At the time, we were still looking to have human children and already had a pair of cats. Lana was being fostered in a house with toddlers and infants and did well with them. Further, she'd shown no indications of problems getting along with cats. We marked the date on our calendar and drove out to Chantilly to meet Lana.

 

She was just as sweet as we thought she would be. She greeted us by offering first one paw to shake, then the other. She seemed to genuinely enjoy the attention she was getting from us, so we arranged to have her brought to our house to meet our cats.

 

The staffer from Forever-Home brought her out a few nights later. She was adequately pleased with the potential accommodations and Lana seemed to not be bothered by the cats (indeed, it was the cats - well, just one cat - who were harder to please). So, we did up the paperwork and she was ours.

 

The first years were hard. She showed some of the signs of the abuse she'd received before coming to us. She was getting over a bad heartworm infestation, and was somewhat slowed by that damage and the medications being used to treat it (the heartworms left her with a lifelong heart-murmur). So, she was always going to be a low energy dog. She was also extremely foot-shy, afraid of explosions (didn't find this out till the week of fourth of July) and afraid of black men. She'd also, at some point prior to coming to us, given birth to at least one litter of puppies. We surmised that, because of her looks and some of her "twitches" (things she was scared of), she'd probably been used as a breeder dog for a dog-fighting operation.

 

While she enjoyed shaking hands and doing what we came to refer to as "the boxer walk", she was otherwise not terribly interactive. She didn't care for chew toys - probably because her teeth were utterly busted (presumably part of her prior abuse). She had no tail to speak of. She was very much not a barking dog. However, she was quite vocal: she liked to trill and "rowl" and "roo" and grumble (which led to several of her nicknames: Lana bear; Moo-cow; Rooly-roo; Rowly-dog; etc.). It was all a part of her underlying sweetness and contributed to the simple joy of her presence.

 

Much as some parents of only-children discover that the first baby required siblings, Lana showed us that we needed another dog. That's when we got Puckett.

 

Puckett was exactly what she needed to be brought the rest of the way out of her shell. The dog we previously though had no tail, we discovered did have a tail. ...Well, she had a bump under the skin where a tail should have sprouted out. What we discovered is that, when she was really happy, she'd wiggle hat bump back and forth. She'd also sorta just wiggle all over. She also came to sing and dance when she was rally happy. And, always, there was her boxer-walk.

 

Fortunately, we had nearly 8 years to enjoy her. But, like all good things, that time had to end. Today was that day.

 

After getting back from Thanksgiving, she'd been exhibiting unexplained pain - she'd always been amazingly pain-tolerant, that, to hear her yelp was very concerning. We'd also noticed that the lymphnodes in her neck were visibly swollen and felt angry to the touch. So, it was with dread that we took her to the vet. The vet asked us to leave her there so they could run some tests. The initial cytology looked suspect and her pain turned out to be coming from her back. Xrays indicated she had an advanced case of spondylosis. The initial lymph aspiration smears looked troubling, but it would be a couple days till they had definitive lab results. So, the sent her home with muscle relaxers, mild-narcotics and anti-biotics.

 

We waited two days for the lab results. During that time, Lana mostly slept. She didn't really drink and was pooping infrequently. So, we weren't expecting the results to be good. And, when they called, Tuesday evening, they weren't Turns out the swollen lympnodes were because of a lyphosarcoma.

 

The vet offered the possibility of chemo to treat the cancer. However, Lana was 10 years old, apparently had chronic and deteriorating back pain and the history of heart problems. Given her size-range, she really only had an expected average lifespan of about two more years.

 

The vet couldn't promise us that the chemotherapy would either put her into remission or not make her sick in the process. Even if she could have, there was the matter of the bad and deteriorating back. She was noticeably weak around the hind quaters - somewhat tottery when standing and fragile when laying. It only made sense that we let her go.

 

We made an appointment to see her on her way at noon, today. We lavished her with attention all night and gave her one last big meal of all her favorite foods: gobs of peanutbutter, rice, cheese, chicken, tongue and topped it with a splash of bourbon (we'd have given her Guinness - her real favorite - but there was none in the house, so we gave her what she'd previously demonstrated was a runner-up favorite). We continued to lavish attention on her, throughout the morning. We took last pictures and waited for the death-clock to count down.

 

We arrived at the Alexandria Animal Hospital about 20 minutes ahead of her appointment. I'd left early in anticipation of being delayed by the construction plaguing the 1½-mile stretch between our house and the vet's office. I'd not wanted to be late for fear we'd have to reschedule. As heart-rending as waiting for the original appointment had been, it would have been soul-killing to have to reschedule. Somehow, there was no delay today. So, we waited out the appointment time by taking her on one last mini-walk through the grassy areas outside the vet's office.

 

Three minutes ahead of the appointed time, we went in. The staff was very caring and discreet, quickly escorting us back to the room where they do the procedure. We didn't have to sit and wait in a waiting room, trying not to cry in front of strangers. We were able to go to a private room where the vets and techs were able to walk us through things, giving us all the time we needed to get ready for the procedure.

 

Eventually, they took her to the back to put a catheter in and give her an anti-anxiety medicine. They then brought her back to the room for the administration of the euthanising chemicals. They also brought her a whole, big bowl of a meat-hash to enjoy before the administration of the chemicals. Meal done, they gave us a few minutes alone with her, then the vet came back in to finish the process. Donna held onto Lana and I held onto them both.

 

First, the anesthetic was injected into the catheter. She fairly quickly showed its effects moving from standing to sitting to laying. Once she was sure Lana was fully sedated, the vet then adminstered the killing cocktail. I watched the awareness and life drain from her eyes and listened as her breathing slowed to a stop. The vet offered us time alone with her.

 

During that window, there was the death-rattle, and then, I watched the last visible twitches of life cease.

 

The veterinary nurse then came in to take Lana's corpse for cleanup. While back there, they took a paw-cast. Cleaned up, they brought her back to us. Donna wrapped her in a blue sheet she'd soaked with rose and lavendar scent. I then carried her out to the SUV and we drove home.

 

Once home, I took her to the back porch so that Donna could say her goodbyes. Donna wrapped her in a second shroud and sewed up up with blue stitching. She then wrote all the various nicknames, we'd come to know her by over the years, on the shroud. Her rites done, Donna picked up Lana's shrouded corpse and carried her back through the house and back out to the car.

 

I then made the slow drive, Donna and Dog in the back seat, to Sunset Pet Services. They're a local pet funeral and cremation facility. We were taking her there for cremation as they offer individual cremation services.

 

We'll be picking up her ashes, tomorrow. Her ashes will be spread over our roses so that we can see a little bit of her each time the flowers begin to bloom in the spring.

 

Am I Too Skeptical

I am a StumbleUpon user. It's an unbelievably efficient time-suck. Any time you press that Stumble! button, you get taken to some random page that, four times out of five, appeals to you. Granted there's a crapton of junk. And, sometimes the things you get, you're not really sure "what interest did I click that I got this page??"

I think, somewhere, I must have clicked some mislabled "conspiracy theory" interest button. Frequently, I get Stumbles that are purportedly factual, but, if you question the content, there's little corroborating content available. And, no, I don't consider other unknown/fringe sources to be either reliable or corroborating.

Yesterday, I stumbled a Mashable article about DHS/ICE supposedly seizing a bunch of piracy-oriented web sites. The content of the article struck me as odd, because, the last I'd heard from sources like EFF (and similar sites), COICA had not been passed by the last Congress or Senate, nor had it made it to Obama's desk for signing. It was my understanding that COICA was being formulated because the federal government currently couldn't act as the various IP-holders' (RIAA, MPAA, etc.) proxy as they'd never been delegated the power.

The Mashable article did reference a NY Times article, but that was the closest to a "known" news site I could find. The rest were various left-field sites whose coverage consisted mostly of quoting the Mashable and NY Times articles (and with miles-long "comments" sections). I've yet to see anything from EFF - at their website, via their FaceBook group or even their Twitter feed - on the subject. I've not even seen anything posted, yet, by Declan McCullagh. Both sources tend to be pretty on top of and vocal about news stories in this vein.

Absent the other usual suspects' mention, I became suspicious. I mean, while the TSA and other organizations frequently trample on the 4th Amendment, they at least try to make it look like they aren't. And, when they do, EFF, ACLU and other organizations are generally pretty vocal and public with their opposition. Secondly, governmental seizures are usually the domain of the DoJ and FBI, not DHS and certainly not ICE. DHS is usually "terrorism" oriented and ICE is generally immigration oriented. Piracy-enabling websites wouldn't really seem to logically fall under either of those domains.So, I started digging.

First of all, the sites that were supposedly taken down by ICE are all redirected to seizedservers.com. This seems odd, to me. I mean, if these were truly the result of governmental actions, wouldn't they have redirected to seizedservers.GOV, instead. So, I poked about a bit more.

I did an IP lookup on the seizedservers.com web site. Using `nslookup`, I found that the IP associated with that site was "74.81.170.109". Next, I queried the ARIN to see who owned that IP address. The results indicated that the IP address was owned by a Carolina-based ISP.

Curiouser and curiouser: why would the IP be owned by a Charlotte-area ISP rather than some government agency. I mean, it's not like the Federal government's short on IP addresses they could delegate to DHS or ICE. After all, both Senate.Gov and House.Gov are run off of Federal IP ranges. And, yes, I get that many of the Federal government's public webhosting is done through external providers (I used to work for a site that hosted USPS's stuff). However, most of the sites I've done lookups against that are externally hosted, seem to be hosted by Akamai, these days. For example, both the White House and the main DHS web site seemed to be hosted by them. ICE, as a sub-department of DHS would, logically, have similar hosting arrangements. 

Lastly, seizedservers.com was only registered on November 24th of this year and just days prior to the supposed domain seizures. I've done a lot of work with governmental groups over the years. None of them go from "just registered" to actively working in less than a week (usually, you're talking months, quarters or even years).

I realize I could easily be wrong, but none of it seems to "add up". To me, it looks more like it's either a hoax to get the file-sharing community up in arms or that the sites got their domains stolen (by "hackers", not the US government). Can anyone provide definitive proof that this is "for real". It seems like a pretty big story for the mainstream news outlets and the various rights and privacy groups to be asleep at the wheel on.

High-Gravity Sunday

Last night, Donna and I slept downstairs to keep Lana company. It appears that the spondylosis the vet had discovered as the source of the prior day's yelping was causing her too much discomfort to allow her to be brought upstairs to bed. Given her screechiness, even if I could have gotten her upstairs, I was worried that the pain she was exhibiting would make it difficult, if not impossible, to get her out of her box and back down this morning. So, we let her park herself, as comfortably as she could, on her throw pillow and we bedded down near her to keep her company.

As we waited for the pain meds to help her drift off to sleep, we had some painful discussions. While I'd be most concerned about the swollen lymph glands, earlier in the evening, it seemed like the back problem was an even more pressing problem. Worse, it seemed like it was progressing. We decided we'd watch for changes, today, and make decisions based on that.

Unfortunately, it's still not looking any better. She still seems to be in a level of discomfort. She seems unsure on her feet. She doesn't seem to want to poop and she doesn't seem to want to drink (I even tried raising her water dish up so she'd not have to bow her head down to drink). Yet, at the same time, she seemed like she wanted to be herself. She was very interested in her breakfast. She tried to do her morning dancing. When we brought Puckett down, she seemed to want to share in his morning exuberance. 

I don't know whether the pain meds are helping and are likely to get her to meaningfully improve. The not drinking is worrying. I don't know that I saw her drink at all, yesterday - I know she hadn't after coming home. I believe that we're going to end up having to make the decision, today or tomorrow, to send her on her way. It's seeming like the potential lymphoma's just going to end up being an interesting but otherwise meaningless data point.

It's feeling more and more like we're soon to be coming to the end of our 8 years, together. Still, I wasn't even expecting her to get to be this old. She had heart problems when we got her. She had that health-scare last December that made me think we were going to be sending her on her way, then. So, maybe, this is just another scare, but, it really doesn't feel like it's just a scare. It just feels like she's aged a lot in the last couple months and it's finally caught up.

Gotta call the vet's office, later, to see if I can get some idea of how progressed her spondylosis is. Gotta talk and see if holding out, too much longer, makes sense.

Why November?

I should probably start by saying that I'm not, particularly, a believer in luck, astrology or other similar things. I don't have a lucky number. I don't base or justify my actions on the alignment of the stars. If I believe in anything, it would be the inherent balance found in "regression to the mean". Beyond that kind of statistical paterning, I don't really believe much in a "grand design", mostly just "random chance".

That said, sometimes, the Universe makes it hard not to think that it's picked good and bad times of year for you. I have yet to detect a consistently good time. However, it's seemed that November is the month that the Universe has most frequently decided to test me with the adversity of death.

It started in the mid 90s. My family, as it had done pretty much every year of my life, to that date, had come together for Thanksgiving at my maternal grandparents' house.

It was like any other Thanksgiving, up to that point. My grandmother had put together another wonderful, if somewhat bland, Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone had a nice, chatty meal together and overindulged in Turkey, stuffings, relishes, casseroles and the like. Afterwards, everyone retired to the living room - the men to watch football and the women to chit-chat. Inevitably, one or the other of us would nod off, struck down by the mass-infusion of tryptophan that suffused the turkey we'd all overindulged in.

As the afternoon rolled on towards evening, my grandfather went to get his usual pre-dinner coffee. He tottered off to the kitchen, poured himself a hot cup, then returned to his over-stuffed Lazy·Boy. He set the coffee down. A short while later, he started making a "snorking" noise. I'd initially assumed that he was nodding off, again, and just snoring. However, it was a bit different a sound than usual. It became quickly apparent that it wasn't the usual. He continued to snork, stiffened, then lolled forward out of his Lazy·Boy and onto the floor. My parents, both trained RNs, rushed to where he'd fallen and started to render CPR. My grandmother watched in horror. I watched in fascination.

My parents screamed to me, "call 911". For the life of me, I couldn't understand the urgency of the request: somewhere, deep down, I knew that he was dead before he'd hit the floor. But, I zombie-walked to the phone out into the kitchen and called EMS. It was a very calm, detached call. I related the requisite information to them so they could send an appropriate response.

Then, I drifted back into the living room. My parents were still rendering CPR, but it was very clearly doing nothing. I noted that my grandfather's abdomen had become oddly swollen. I put on my coat and went out the front door to await the EMS crews.

Eventually, the EMS crews arrived. It was still fairly sunny for as late in the afternoon it was. Still, it was a very crisp, windy, fall day. I directed the EMS crew into the house and towards my grandfather. My parents stepped back to let the paramedics take over duties. My mom went to comfort my grandmother while my father fell into "clinician" mode as he related the events to the paramedics.

As my parents had done before, they rendered CPR. Eventually, they stopped and pronounced my grandfather. They got a gurney from the ambulance and carted him away. Both parents attended to my grandmother. I just sort of stood around in kind of a "fascinating: I wonder what's next" kind of mental state.

Within the space of a few days, we'd seen to his wake and funeral, and then life started to move on. Not once did I shed a tear. In fact, I don't think that I have specifically shed a tear for him, to date. And, it's not that I didn't love him. He and I spent a lot of my youth together. We'd take trips to Baltimore and Philly each year to catch various sporting events. Invariably, his awful sense of direction would get us lost. Even with all the time we'd spent and as good as our relationship was, it just didn't prompt a crying response.

It wasn't until more deaths and other, similarly traumatic events occurred that I noticed lack of affect as a recurrent pattern for me.

Last November 19th, as I was being driven from work to the Metro station by my friend, Alex, I received a phone call from Donna. She was very frantically emotional. She kept asking me if I was sitting down or if I could find a place to sit down. Clearly, something was wrong. However, my affect was squelching. So, all I could really respond was, "please get on with the news." She informed me that my mom was on the other line and that she was calling to say that EMS was in the process of taking my father's body away. Apparently, while she was in the kitchen fixing suffer, he'd suffered a heart attack and had expired quietly as she'd bustled about in the kitchen. 

I can't say that I found the news particularly shocking. For the last several years, my father's appearance had pained me each time I saw my parents at holidays and other get-togethers. Each time I'd see him, my father looked visibly older. Just that August prior, when Donna was hospitalized, my parents had come down to visit: my dad looked awful. He looked so old and tired. So, I can't say that I was surprised or shocked by the call.

Pretty much, the rest of the evening was a blur. It was an awful, rainy day and DC traffic was horrible. Normally, the train ride from my office back to my house takes at least seventy minutes. The drive-time is usually only about half an hour. Wanting to get on with things and head back to PA to be with my mother, I decided, "fuck it, I'll take the cab". Unfortunately, I got the world's worst cabby: no idea of the local roads and no GPS. Worse, he didn't really speak English all that well, so, he misunderstood my directions. After an hour of thrashing through traffic, going all the wrong ways to get around it, I finally yelled at him to pull over and let me out. An hour of thrashing about in traffic and rain and we'd traveled less than two mile's line-of-sight distance. Fortunately, my friend, Mike, lived only a couple miles away. I got ahold of him and he drove me back to my house in Alexandria.

Donna and I hurriedly packed and headed up the road. Somewhere near Frederick, Maryland, the driver's-side rear tire flattened. We pulled into the next service-station and aired up. Also bought a can of fix-a-flat, and headed up the road. We stopped, at intervals, to verify that the tire was staying inflated. It appeared to be (mostly) holding air, and we made the rest of the trip incident-free.

Arrival started a whirlwind of order-sorting. In all of the deaths of friends and relatives, over the years, I'd never been one of the immediate "survivors". I never quite realized just how much bureaucracy was involved in a death. My mom was busy dealing with her grief. Donna saw to her. I buried myself in tackling the bureaucracy.

The next day, we went to the funeral home to meet with the funeral coordinator and to view the body. My father had been very explicit in his funerary wishes. He wanted only to be cremated and he wanted no funeral. With death, he couldn't understand the point of wasting money on a corpse. Thus, we honored his wishes. Having dug through paperwork, the night before, I was able to help my mom furnish the funeral director with the relevant military service and insurance information so that the funeral home could take care of details on their end.

Those details sorted, we went into the next room to view the body. And, really, that's all it was: just a body. There was very much not a spark of life in it. I noticed the odd palor and the mottling about his ears and extremities. It was fascinating.

When my mom was done saying her goodbyes, I asked to be left alone to say my own. It took a while, but, I was actually starting to feel the urge to cry. Unfortunately, it had taken me such a long while to reach that point, that Donna had become worried and come looking for me. The interruption broke me out of my reverie. The tears, that had just started to well, quickly withdrew. At that moment, all I had was rage for the interruption. Since that time, I've not really cried or felt much in the way of emotion, loss ...I just don't quite seem to be able to feel.

This year's Thanksgiving holiday week, the Universe seems to be again conspiring to try to make me feel. Lana had been acting sort of out of sorts. I'd noticed, yesterday, that the lymph nodes in her neck were palpably swollen. This morning, they were more swollen still. I told Donna, "we're going to need to call the vet for an appointment, Monday". I then went out in the yard to clear one of the garden beds of this past year's plants.

As I was finishing up the clearing efforts - taking the uprooted plant stocks out to the rubbish heap - I heard yelping coming from the house. I rushed inside to find out what the noise was. Puckett had apparently bumped Lana the wrong way, eliciting the first yelp. The subsequent yelps were Donna trying to locate the source of Lana's pain. It seemed Lana wasn't going to be able to wait for a Monday appointment.

We called the vet and related the symptoms. They told us to bring her down. Got there, did the checkin and passed Lana off to the triage-nurse. Eventually, the duty-veterinarian called us to back to one of the normal examining rooms. We chatted briefly about options. He suggested we admit her for a few hours so they could run some tests, take some labs and administer some analgesics. I agreed to this and we did the pre-pay before leaving. $1000 lighter in the pockets, I drove home with Donna and awaited the veterinarian's call.

I fell asleep on the couch while I waited. Eventually, around 8pm, the vet called. Initial cytology on the lymph nodes wasn't looking good, but definitive tests wouldn't be back till at least Tuesday. Xrays had shown nothing wrong in the abdomen - where she'd previously appeared to be feeling pain - but had shown that she'd developed spondylosis. That was apparently the cause of the pain. The vet prescribed meds and we went over what the likely coming decisions were going to be.

Donna and I then drove down to pick up Lana. She was dopey from the pain meds, but otherwise in decent spirits. We went over the discharge papers with the desk staff and headed on our way home.

As I sit here typing this, I still don't know what's going to become of our dog. All I know is that another Thanksgiving time of year has come and brought sadness with it. I'm getting tired of it. I just wish I could feel something other than detached resignation.

So, for Thanksgiving, what am I thankful for? That this time of year is soon behind me. My hope is that this seeming pattern is soon behind us.

At least I can VPN in and work while Donna is off hunting black Friday deals...

So Very Cold

Ok. The bedroom wasn't actually that cold. When we stay at my mom's for the holidays, the bed's closer to the window when we're at home and Donna gets too cold if it's left open at night. So, invariably, she closes it and the room begins to get more and more stuffy. Still...

Even more reliable than Donna getting cold from sleeping under that window is Donna's propensity for stealing covers. She does it all year long - even in summer as our airconditioning struggles against the DC heat. Then I'm typically happy to be shut of any extra covers. But still... What is this unstoppable urge that women have to steal covers in the dead of the night???

Another Successful Turkey-day

Donna loves to cook. She loves to make big, complicated meals. When it's just her and I eating, it's usually hard to justify the kind of effort and cleanup that such proclivities entail. So, occasions like Thanksgiving gives her a real chance to shine.

It doesn't come without real effort and hard work, however. Thanksgiving meal preparations are a multi-day affair. Before we left DC, she'd had to do some last minute marketing (going to farmers markets to source fresh food stuffs). She also mixed the doughs for the pie crusts she would be rolling-out once in Carlisle. She made a fresh loaf of challah bread to be used in the turkey-day stuffing and in a breakfast bread-pudding. Lastly, she did her whirlwind packing of all the cooking supplies (knives, specialty pans, etc.) she would need for this year's spread.

That was Tuesday. Wednesday, she made the pies. This year: two pumpkin pies and one pecan pie:

Pies!

The pumpkin pies were made from freshly (home) processed pumpkin purée. The pecan pie (or, as my mom frequently refers to it, "peekin pie") was made from pecans she and I had freshly shucked and flavored with her homemade vanilla extract (vanilla beans steeped, for over a year, in Ezra-B 10 year old KSBW). Pies done, she cut up half the loaf of challah bread and made an awesome bread-pudding (also flavored with the homemade vanilla extract!):

Fresh Bread-pudding

I imagine that, when she gets around to it, she'll post the recipe(s) on her blog.

The turkey-day sweets out of the way, she began her preparations of the turkey. Now, there's just the three of us, so, we don't bother with a whole turkey. We just get a couple drumsticks and a small, half-breast from a local farmer. For three people, it still manages to turn out to be a lot of meat. At any rate, over the years, we've discovered that brining turkey's is the key to ensuring that they're extra moist and flavorful. Sourcing from a good, local farm also helps a lot.

Years previous, when she was preparing dinner for five (Mom, Dad, my grandmother and Donna and me), we usually did the (small) whole bird thing. This required putting an entire turkey into a brining bag and letting it sit, over night, in a cooler out in the garage. This year, with it just being two drumsticks and a half breast, it was only two, large resealable Ziplocks tossed in the fridge:

Salty bird ...in the bags, that is

This morning, she got up and resumed preparations. Mom was scheduled to work at the nursing home and wouldn't be back till after 15:00. So, it was to be a late Turkey-day meal. Having stayed up the night before with the prep-work (and then some pre-vacation sewing!), Donna slept in till after 10:00. Wasn't long after that (and a slice of fresh bread pudding) that she got into the actual cooking phase. On the menu:

• Brined turkey rubbed and stuffed with herbed-butter
• hashed brussel sprouts with onions, garlic and bacon
• fresh cranberry relish
• horseradish mashed potatoes
• herbed, baked stuffing
• fresh, scratch-made biscuit
• gravy

No, I don't have the recipes for any of it. Hopefully, she'll make a post on her blog detailing it all. All I can really do is document it all. In the end, this was what ended up on our table:

As per usual: an excellent spread

All in all, a great way to get back into a family holiday.

A Better Homecoming

Seems like the family's back in stride on the Thanksgiving thing. Last year was a bit haphazard, given that my dad had died just a week prior. Much of our thoughts were on processing the emotions of that event and taking care of the mountain of bureaucracy that death lays at the survivors' feet.

On Tuesday evening, Donna and I packed up supplies and our dogs into the family truckster and headed northwards. My mom still lives in the town I grew up in - Carlisle, PA. It's about 120mi northish of Alexandria.

In general, it takes us about three hours to get there on the major holidays: an hour (or so) to get past the northern interior suburbs of DC (i.e., past Bethesda/Rockville/Gaithersburg) and then another hour or so to cover the remaining distance. In other words, we spend about 50% of the total travel time covering just the first 30% of the trip's distance. I hate DC traffic.

We left around 19:30. We didn't go directly to my mom's house, but, instead, stopped at the Wegman's in Camp Hill to pick up some stuff Donna needed for the turkey-day meal. Afterwards, we dropped by Your Place to pick up some frozen strombolis to take back to DC (they're not especially great, they just taste like "home"). Since we'd arrived after 22:00 at the grocery store, all of the Wegman's prepared foods had already been packed up for the day. So, having only had breakfast, I opted to pick up an additional fresh/hot `boli to take to my mom's house to eat for dinner.

We left Camp Hill for the final leg of the trip to Carlisle. My mom lives north of Carlisle. Typically, when we go straight there, from DC, I take Route 34 all the way up from US-15. That wasn't really an option, given that we'd detoured to Camp Hill. The GPS told me I should take US-11 back to Carlisle. Wasn't in the mood to do that, so, I turned north on PA-114, instead. The GPS suggested I might want to take I-81. Again, wasn't in the mood to follow its instructions. Instead, I kept heading down PA-114 till we hit Wertzville Road.

Now, Wertzville Road is one of those twisty-turny back roads you find all over PA. It was great fun as a teenager in a car packed full of friends. As an adult in an SUV on a dark, windy night, it wasn't as much fun as I remembered. However, the memories of high-tailing it down that road made it a more enjoyable trip. Donna loved it because, being so off the beaten path, there was very little in the way of light pollution meaning that she could see the stars in a way you can't see in the suburbs of DC. The dogs? They mostly just sat in the back seat and farted.

We finally arrived at my mom's house around 11PM. We unloaded the truck and started settling in. I set down to eating my stromboli while Mom and Donna caught up and made plans for the week.

All in all, much better than the prior year's urgent drive to PA to be by my mom's side in the wake of my dad's death.

The Good Wife?

There's a lot of TV programming I don't understand the point of. "The Good Wife" is one of those programs I just don't understand. I mean, when I saw the original commercials, it seemed like it was supposed to be some serial that was loosely based on the phenomena of politicians' wives that stick around even after the politician's been acused (and, frequently, proven guilty of philandering). Which, to me, didn't seem like much of a premise. But, now, the commercials seem like it's just some "women's drama" that is just holding on to a title without really having anything to do with the title.

Perhaps it would make more sense if I bothered to watch the show. Then again, nothing I've seen in the commercials is providing a compelling case for taking time out of my schedule to do so.

Life in IT

For better or worse, I've had a moderately successful career in IT. After nearly 15 years of working in the field, I've accrued a certain level seniority relative to my peers. Unfortunately, this means I'm generally in the position of being "the expert" on any number of technologies, tasks, etc. By itself, that isn't the unfortunate part. No, what's unfortunate is that I am generally charged with making advanced technologies more accessible to less experienced people. Even that isn't inherently problematic.

What's problematic is, much as seems to be going on with society at large, IT is being dumbed-down. New IT technologies are still frequently quite complex. Thus, the clueful amongst us get tasked with figuring it out for the less clueful. Unfortunately, what one used to be able to assume as knowledge-baseline, ten years ago, for more junior staff doesn't hold true, today. Truly, it seems like we're expected to be turning over ever more complex technologies to people that are less and less prepared to manage them. Thus, the documents we're tasked with writing requires more and more dumbing down. In many cases, it seems like I'm expected to write things so that a poorly-trained chimp can do them.

Don't get me wrong. For the most part, I like what I do. I get to work with some cool stuff. It just feels like, more and more, those that I am tasked with helping aren't ready (or, worse, particularly interested) in those things I'm tasked with helping them with.

As the years pass, I find that I am forced to more  frequently despair of the lack of expertise present or expected in people who's job it is (or should be) to know what the fuck it is they're doing

Psychological Studies Played Out in Real Life

In the field of psychology, there is a social phenomena sometimes referred to as the "bystander effect". This is the phenomena where people's actions - particularly their likeliness to help another person in distress - is inversely proportional to the number of other people present. At its most basic, the more people there are around when something goes wrong, the less likely someone is to help. A certain paralysis develops in large-groups. Each person present first thinks "someone else will help", and, sometimes, when no one steps up to help, it becomes "there must be a reason no one is helping - so, I won't either."

I got to witness this, first-hand, this past Saturday afternoon while attending the Penn State vs. Indiana University football game held at FedEx Field in Landover, MD. My wife and I were attending the game with a group of people. We were all seated up in row 9 in section 404 of the stadium (pretty much at the endzone line at the "home" end of the field). At one point, early in the first quarter, some guy came tottering, drunkenly, down the stairs to head to the section-exit. At some point, whether due to either simply tripping or losing his balance or due to having passed out due to extreme inebriation, the man fell.

Now, the stairs in this part of the stadium are fairly steep. So, when he fell, he tumbled quickly down about five seating-rows' worth of stairs. This made about ten, hard, rough concrete steps he fell down. Worse, at the bottom of his tumble, he pretty my landed on the right side of his face. As he lay there motionless, many onlookers sat about, looking aghast, but otherwise doing nothing. Even the people immediately adjacent to where he came to a stop did nothing but watch. I couldn't believe what I was seeing: no one was rushing off to find section attendants to render aid.

Realizing that no one was going for assistance, I bolted down the adjacent set of stairs and sought out assistance. I found a pair of PG County Police-auxiliaries standing out on the deck outside the section and directed them to the scene of the incident. I was the only person to seek them out. Even as we approached where the incident had occurred, they weren't sure what I was blathering about, as no one was paying particular attention to the situation. They did get to the man and helped him up as he came to.

Just boggles my mind that, during what seemed like an eternity, no one did anything. No one sought help. No one sought to render aid. No one really paid much in the way of attention beyond gawking. Whut. The. Fuck?

You Only Get *One* Pageview: Make It Count

So, yesterday, some blogger decided to use twitter to drive traffic to their site. Specifically, the link they posted was about the poor, beleaguered TSOs that are stuck having to implement the TSA's regressive policies.

Now, don't get me wrong, I understand that, yes, the TSOs "are human beings, too". And, yes, I get that many find things about their jobs that they don't like. Point of fact, most, if not all, people have parts of their jobs they hate. Many people utterly despise their jobs. Many people love their jobs. Most of us fall somewhere along that love-hate spectrum - frequently, all across it, depending on when you ask. So, yeah, "I get it."

That said, when I've hated jobs, I've typically sought and found other, less soul-crushing ways to earn my living. It's what you do if you want to stay sane. It's what you do if you don't want to poison the rest of your life. And, yes, many times, I've had to suck on the poison-pill while I wait for that next job to come along that alleviates my need to deal with the odiousness of whatever the job I seek to escape is.

All that aside, I don't pity the TSOs their positions. They're employed voluntarily. They can leave any time they want - after all, they're employeees, not slaves or conscripts. If they hate that they have to grope people, if they go home crying, every day, because of the verbal abuse meted out to them in response to what they say or do to passengers, then quit.

Chances are, the reason they're crying or just feeling bad is that they know that what they're doing is wrong. Providing the excuse of "just following orders". And, no, it's not unfair for passengers to say that the TSOs are acting like Nazis. At the Nürnberg Trials, some variant of "just following orders" was a fairly popular defense (Adolf Eichmann being one of the most famous for employing it). It didn't work then. It won't work now.

For those TSOs who were in the US Armed Forces prior to the TSA, your military code of conduct says that you should refuse to follow what you believe to not be a lawful or moral order. So, don't try to pull my heartstrings about having served in the military prior to being a TSO. Your military training makes it so you should know better.

For those TSOs of Jewish decent who take offense at the comparison? I've little pity for you, either. As Jews, you should be acutely aware of the history of how distasteful the "just following orders" defense is.

And, to the writer of that blog entry? I don't care whether you feel like you're being a mouthpiece or not. I don't care about the rest of the contents of your site. When you posted your link on Twitter, it was for a specific page on your site. There are billions of pages up on the internet. Only a few of those pages are of sufficient interest to make a reader want to read more by a given author. So, when you use Twitter, StumbleUpon, Digg, etc. to drive traffic to your site, know that 99.999% of the readers who get to your site through those means will only know you through what they see you write on that one page. So, when you add commentary to your article that seems apologistic or you quote links used by the same people that are the source of irritation, you will be seen in the light of those comments. Deal with it.

Do Poll-Quoters Even Understand the Polls They Quote?

Ok, so, I've now seen references to two different polls that claim to support the TSA's enhanced pat-downs. One is the one that the TSA cites in their blog and one was one cited in the LA Time's news blog. In both cases, the people claiming the polls support their view didn't seem to actually read how the polls were structured.

The poll cited by the TSA in their blogs was what statisticians would refer to as a "non-representative sample". The poll was a random sampling of the population-at-large. It was not a sampling of the traveling-population. In other words, the sample population could be be heavily skewed towards respondents not directly effected by the new policies. If the TSA wanted to be more convincing, they'd have polled actual travelers - particularly frequent-travelers. Then there might be something resembling validity in the results.

The poll cited in the LA Time's news blog uses the misleading claim of "travel professionals". It's used in a way to make the un-careful reader think they're referring to people that fly, on a frequent basis, as part of their job. However, if one bothers to read rather than just skimming (or even just taking a headline at face value), one discovers that the "travel professionals" polled were the people making travel arrangements. It wasn't a poll of people that use those travel arrangements. Much like the poll cited by the TSA, it's not a poll of those directly impacted by the TSA policies.

Unfortunately, there's far too many people out there who take things at face value. There's far too many skimmers. There's far too many "headlines-only" readers. Simply put, there's too many people that are simply lazy in how they choose to inform themselves. News organizations, corporations and anyone in the spin business knows this and take advantage of it.

You Call That "Security"?

Ok, so my "security-minded" bank requires you to change your web portal password at 45-day intervals. Further, they require a minimum password length and you can't re-use a password within ten change. Oh... and these rules are in place for a service that gets used once every 30 days (so, it's not like you get a chance to memorize your password by frequent use).

Even more fun is that: A) they don't have an online password reset tool once you get locked out; and, B) they only have CSRs available M-F during business hours.

Toss in the fact that passwords may not contain the types of characters I use to make my passwords "suitably complex":



...and this bank's authentication system is kind of a joke.

I guess I'm not a good human being or DC-area resident that I don't care about the Chandra Levy Trial...

Where Was My Mind

I have my occasional "absent-minded" moment. Some days, I have more moments than others. Today, I ad a real winner of a moment...

I just went into the kitchen and found the bottle of milk on top of the refrigerator and my pill-box sitting in the fridge on the milk-shelf. I may have been a touch "distracted" when I took my evening pills, earlier, tonight.

Oops.

Fortunately, the two items had only been transposed for less than 15 minutes. So, I don't have to immediately kill a luke-warm, half-gallon bottle of milk to keep from wasting $4 worth of milk.

Probably Never Happen

Many (most?) police departments have taken to recording interactions with the public. It helps provide proof that the law enforcement officer (LEO) was acting professionally when there's questions about inappropriate conduct or police brutality. In theory, it's a great idea. In practice, it still has its flaws (e.g., when there's accusations of wrongdoing and videos go "missing", are "damaged" or there were recording equipment "malfunctions"), but it's a start down the right path.

Right now, the TSA's in the middle of a growing backlash over their increasingly invasive "security" measures. These days, the TSA wants you to be irradiated while holding a "I'm being mugged" pose so that some government drone can look at, essentially, naked pictures of you. As an "alternative", they have been offering people the option of being given a pat-down.

When this started, the pat-down was fairly innocuous. However, too many people were choosing the option, thus defeating the point of billions of dollars in purchases of expensive, "sexy" machines. The TSA wasn't too fond of people opting out of their security theatre, so they decided to make the pat-down an option too unpleasant to consider. They directed their glorified Barney Fifes to conduct pat-downs that, outside of a government-sanctioned context, would be considered sexual assault.

Now, it seems to me that, given what they've put in place, they really should consider the LEO-esque video-taping of such interactions. That way, if a case ever went to criminal or civil proceedings, the TSA agents would be able to provide proof of no wrong-doing in the form of video tapes. I'm guessing, however, that this will never happen. The TSA knows, all too well, that if a case ever went to court, such video tapes would be damning rather than vindicating.

Sunday Dinners

Often times, Sundays are the days that Donna chooses to go all-out when making dinner. Tonight was one of those nights. She put together a nice osso bucco served with chanterelle risotto and a brussel sprout and allium hash. Served it with a nice, bright red wine.

Sunday Dinner

She'll probably write up what she did on her blog.

Avery's a Bum

I'd not shed a single tear were I to open the sports page and be greeted with news of Sean Avery's horrifying, agony-filled death. He's a piece of gutter-trash that the world would be a better place without. I mean, he makes Tie Domi seem like a class act.