Good, Cheap...But Mainly Fast

Say what you will about the old interweb, some folks have figured out ways to iron out the kinks in some of the overhead items, and what once took hours and even days now can take literally only minutes.

I think I set some kind of record this afternoon for going from initial inquiry (around 1:30 p.m.) to live website (around 5:45 p.m.), and this includes registering a domain name, acquiring a hosting account, and creating a placeholder home page*.

This is what happens when you have a motivated client and good working ties to service providers. (Oh, and it doesn't hurt if you can hand-code CSS in your sleep. ;-)

I can remember the Bad Old Days (way back in '04) when it sometimes took 48 hours for the DNS transfer to complete. Nowadays, it happens in as little as five minutes.

*If you're still seeing a "coming soon" page from GoDaddy, it means your ISP hasn't refreshed its DNS server. Shame on them. All the cool kids can see the site.

Core Values

I'm a little late in pointing it out, although I suspect many of you have read it already, but Gwynne does an excellent job over at The Shallow End of articulating her "core values."

This is not a purely academic or literary exercise, either. We each need to be able to explain what we believe and why we believe it. Exercising the discipline to determine these things in advance makes it much easier to bring some clarity to situations that might otherwise seem ambiguous. One can avoid a lot of stress in life by working these things out.

I'm not going to provide my own version of Gwynne's list (although it would look remarkably -- or, perhaps, not so remarkably -- like hers), but rather suggest that if you haven't given thought to these things in an organized manner and are somewhat stymied by how to begin, a good starting place would be a seemingly simple verse in the Old Testament book of Micah (chapter 6, verse 8, to be exact):

I love this verse (I've used it plenty of times on this blog), because it cuts through all the junk we try add to either make God acceptable to us or vice versa. But once you wrap your head around the simplicity of God's expectations, you've got a foundation that you can build a sturdy set of moral values upon, a foundation that won't shift alarmingly even during the turbulent times we now live in.

Hometown History

What is it about old aerial photos of familiar scenes that makes them able to provoke strong memories? Is it the difference in perspective -- the ability to see both the "forest" and the "trees"?

Whatever the reasons, I suspect that we all share an interest in hitherto unseen images from our pasts, and so I was delighted this morning when an email from my mom appeared with two old photos attached. They were taken by an unknown photographer in 1939 and 1942 and they show two of the school buildings in Fort Stockton that I attended (many years after the photos were taken, by the way!).

At the time the photos were taken, the schools were relatively new. The bigger of the two (#1 in the photo below) was the high school and the smaller (#2) was the junior high. During my attendance (in the 60s), both buildings housed junior high classes (6th, 7th and 8th grades); a new high school had been built by that time, a mile or so beyond the upper left corner of the photo. You can click the photo for a larger version.

A football field, track, and grandstands were built later in the open area behind buildings 2 and 3. That was where I experienced my first high school football game, and where I later grew to loathe running laps. (And now I do it for "fun.")

I'm not sure about the original purpose of building #3 in the photo, but it was serving as the junior high band hall when I arrived.

One of the memories that comes floating back to me is of spinning wooden tops during lunch period on the bare dirt between the band hall and the big building. We learned the arcane techniques of sharpening the metal spikes on which the tops rotated, and how to throw down the tops in such a way as to inflict damage on competitors. The ultimate thrill in these small-town equivalents of steel cage death matches was the rare occasion when metal met wood at the precise angle and point to completely split the victim into two pieces. Of such stuff was the original junior high urban legend built.

I can't say that I ever accomplished that feat, although I inflicted my share of chips and dings. I would be less than honest if I didn't admit that I also had my share of self-inflicted wounds, wherein my own top would turn traitor and bounce back into my shin or forehead. (And today's kids think they've got it rough with PSP-induced CTS!)

The second photo is a ground-level view of part of the high school building, with the junior high in the background. This photo is notable because of the snow on the ground. Snowfall isn't exactly a rarity in west Texas, but it's infrequent enough that it's considered prime photography material.

Most people my age and older can remember where they were in November, 1963, when John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I was on the second floor, building #2.

Making the F-List

One might be tempted to feel sorry for Christina Binkley for having a name that's just too close to comfort to that of the model who once was married to what's-his-name, but don't: she gets to test-drive cars like the new Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano, which you won't be able to buy from an American dealership until next year, and then only if you can pony up (get it -- pony -- heh.) the $249,034 it takes to get into the starter model. Ms. Binkley wrote about her experience with the 599 in her Drive Buy column in last week's Wall Street Journal.

The 366 cubic inch V-12 engine generates 620 horsepower (or 620 cavelli, according to Ferrari's website...which, by the way, runs considerably slower than any of its vehicles. Or so I would assume, having driven only the former.), and moves from 0 to 60 mph in a spritely-but-not-coma-inducing 3.7 seconds (coma induction being the pretty much exclusive domain of the Saleen S7, which covers that distance in 2.8 seconds).

The F-List is mentioned as proof that simply being obscenely wealthy is not enough to buy one of these cars. The Ferrari dealership in Beverly Hills has a waiting list for the most desirable models that takes years to conquer...although there are shortcuts which are as closely guarded as Google's page rank algorithms. One way to move up is to buy Ferraris regularly, whether you need them or not. Another way is to be famous, in the Hollywood sense of the word, although that really just gets you into a different form of competition:

I'm guessing Mr. Cage got dinged for making The Weather Man, but that's just conjecture.

Anyway, the 599 is a pleasant-enough looking car, especially with the clichéd Ferrari red paint job (or is it "Lamborghini red"? I always forget.) Still, when I look at the front profile of the car, I can't help but think a bit about Jack Nicholson in The Shining. And to make matters worse, that funky logo placement in the front grill calls to mind nothing so much as a picture of a crazy guy with a piece of broccoli stuck between his teeth. Really...am I wrong?

For $250,000, I hope the car comes with a lifetime supply of dental floss.

Accidental Vacation

Gee, where does the time go? Seems like it was only, well, Thursday that I was posting something, however lame. And now we're in a new week, with a whole new way of measuring time and...um...I forget where I was going with this.

Last week was strange. My wife was home all week, recovering from her [quite successful] eye surgery ("recovery" is somewhat misleading; "avoiding most social interaction due to inability to wear makeup" is more correct). Truth is, while she was able and ready to travel, we couldn't get last-minute plans in place, and we both had periodic and unavoidable work-related responsibilities to attend to, so we decided to just hang around the house for the week.

That wreaked havoc on my orderly-if-boring schedule. We slept late (arising anywhere from 6:30 to 8:00 a.m., which is pushing the limit for our ability to stay in bed), which shoved back everything else from dog walks (Abbye was not amused) to workouts and meals. I also felt that it wasn't very sociable of me to go into the other room and blog while she was in the house, and when she was out doing some shopping, I was trying to stay caught up on my work.

It was a productive week in non-blog related ways, however. For one thing, I achieved my annual goal of 2,000 "workout miles," which is a combination of running and cycling. In a normal year, I usually hit this milestone in October (see how predictable my life is?), but the ratio of running to cycling miles varies. This year, the two grand is 21% running; last year it was 24%. *yawn*

I also made some progress on my Red Shred City Bike project. I installed a new chain, rear dérailleur, and swapped out the smaller Biopace chain rings for bigger round ones. I continue to blaze new trails of incompetency when it comes to dérailleur adjustment, so the bike's shifting is no bueno por nada. I also ran a couple of errands on the bike, and the superior feeling I got from doing such an environmentally laudable and physically healthy thing as that was only slightly offset by my near miss at t-boning a plumbing truck in the Home Depot parking lot. At least I know that the Shred's brakes are in good working order.

Saturday night, we attended the gala President's Ball, put on by the local Ballroom Dance Society. It's one of the few dances during the year where we get an actual sit-down meal at the Petroleum Club and dance to the music of a real orchestra (in this case, the Finch Orchestra from Abilene -- and it was excellent, playing everything from Glenn Miller to a tango that sounded more like Los Lonely Boys than True Lies). The downside of this affair is that every member who wasn't at the Tech-Texas game in Lubbock was at the dance, and the bigger bandstand and wider table spacing to accommodate the servers ate up the dance real estate. This was not a dance for the claustrophobic or the timid; only the strong survive such occasions. And we're to the point where we're going to get our foxtrot grapevines in, regardless of how many octogenarian couples get trampled in the process.

[OK. That's not true. In reality, those little old folks were kicking our rears at every turn. And sometimes, even between turns.]

Then, Sunday morning, we confronted the double challenge of the switch away from DST and a new schedule for our church services (along with the introduction of a new worship service, more about which may be forthcoming). We managed to muddle our way through those changes, and now we're back to a regular schedule around our house. Every thing's under control, stress levels are predictable and manageable and you'll be hearing from me on a more regular basis.

And that sound you hear in the distance is God laughing... ;-)

It could be worse...

...I could be using Blogspot.

I was feeling guilty (sort of) about not posting anything today, then I saw the string of Internal Server Error 500s on all my pals' Blogspot joints, and then I didn't feel so bad. It's not schadenfreude, exactly, but it did give me a topic for a post.

I apologize to those who came here looking for something meaningful, even as I snicker at your naivety.

[It occurs to me that in three sentences, I've managed to offend (1) all other bloggers, and (2) all of my readers, leaving only me unscathed. And thus, I don't feel so good...again. The circle of life is an awesome thing, isn't it?]

Is this an example of "testing the bottom"?

I guess I have a lot to learn about the stock market, but based on the following screen shot of a portfolio taken a few minutes ago on the Wall Street Journal's website, it appears that Cox Communications will actually pay you $1.00 for each share you're willing to take.

On the face of it, that sounds like a pretty good deal, but knowing my luck in the market, I'd probably end up having to pay someone $2.00/share to unload it.

Halloween Tips for Bone Crackers

Deb Thompson over at Write Lightning has provided a number of links that illustrate how Halloween is a different affair for today's children compared to when I was a kid (back when the Rocky Mountains were just lumpy bits).

But it's not just the kids who have special considerations nowadays. Even professionals have to consider the implications of how they choose to observe Halloween, and thus we have things like tips for costumes for chiropractors. The commonsense common theme is that these folks should avoid attaching pointy objects to their fingers.

[Someone with more time and creativity than me might be able to come up with similar costuming tips for other professions. Hint, hint.]

The Brazen Bike Hack: Putting the Saw into Hack

First, many thanks to Beth for the inspiration for a name for the new project. As she pointed out, the name works on a number of levels, with "hack" being the thing to rule them all. And that's an appropriate place to start...

If you've never completely disassembled a bicycle just for the fun of it, you should. It's great therapy, particularly if you don't have to worry about putting it back together. My victim in this case is the steel frame of an old touring bike, shown a right. Feel free to click on the image for a bigger and uncropped view.

I confess that I have never torn down a bike to its bare frame. I've never had a reason to do that, and though I've done many different types of repairs, I've never removed a bottom bracket (the mechanism that allows the pedals to move in circles, for those who are new to terminology) or a headset (the mechanism that allows the handlebar to turn, while keeping things stiff enough to maintain control). And, in fact, I don't have the tools to do these tasks properly. Fortunately, that was not a concern, as this frame was destined to never again see duty as a vehicle.

Thus, in less than an hour I had the bike stripped to its essential frameness, as shown at right. The perceptive viewer will note that the bottom bracket is still installed, because I hadn't yet figured out how to remove it, but shortly after this photo was taken, I employed a claw hammer and a center punch and made short work of it.

As much fun as this process was, it was just the prelim to the main attraction: the real-life hacking was about to begin. I mounted the bare frame on my trusty and oft-misused repair stand, grabbed a hack saw and got after it. I immediately encountered an interesting phenomenon. After you've sawed through a bike frame, if you're not very careful, your saw blade will drop past the tube you just sliced, the two cut ends of the tube will snap back together, and you'll be standing there with a hack saw trapped within the triangle of a bicycle frame. If you have the normal human quota of hands, it's not an easy task to free the saw. Silly as I felt after doing this not once, but twice, I nevertheless felt obligated to acknowledge that it was simply the bicycle's way of exacting a small bit of revenge for what I was doing to it. And what I did to it is shown at right.

The result of this process was the creation of several short lengths of bicycle tubing which will ultimately become guinea pigs in my experiments designed to help me master (or at least not injure myself in the process attempting) the black art of brazing.

Up next: Brazing Persona

By the way, anybody need any twenty year old bike parts? ;-)

Firefox 2.0

I just downloaded and installed Firefox 2.0 and I like it. This is how all software should be designed.

The first Good Thing it did immediately after installation was to check my suite of installed extensions to see if they were still compatible with the new version. Most of them weren't; the installer gave me the option of immediately checking to see if updated versions were available and if so, downloading and installing them. I was pleased to see that all the most important extensions had already been updated to work with 2.0, including the indispensable Web Developer.

The most immediately recognizable improvements in Firefox are the improved tab controls (including a close button for each individual tab) and an automatic real-time spellchecker (which doesn't like the way I spelled "spellchecker," so I added the word to the dictionary and it no longer nags me). Watch for a rash of posts as bloggers continue to point out "interesting" omissions or quirks in Firefox's spellcheck capabilities. That's just the way we are.

I understand that Firefox now includes a "phish detector" (gee...I figured "phish" would now be in the spellchecker's dictionary [told you]) to warn you when you jump to a potentially fraudulent website, but I haven't yet seen that feature in action. Let me know if the Gazette sets off any alarms on your version, although I doubt that Firefox is set up to detect bloggers with delusions of competence.

I also noted that websites that crashed my old version of Firefox (I was still running 1.0.7) work just fine with 2.0.

Overall, it appears that the good folks at Mozilla have built an incrementally improved version of what was already the best browser on the market.

Technorati tag: Firefox 2

Book Reviews [Getting Caught Up]

With everything that's been going on -- most of which now escapes me, but I'm sure it was all quite profound -- I've neglected to write anything about the four books I completed during the past few weeks. (Also, since each of these books was either a gift or on my own dime, instead of being review volumes for the Hatchette Book Group, I felt less pressure to write about them...which was actually kind of nice.)

For your consideration, here are some mini-reviews of those books:

• Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything: I sometimes think that if I was able to rewind the clock, I'd become an economist. The essence of economics as an academic discipline is nothing less than attempting to understand human motivation, and even though its most common manifestation centers on financial parameters, co-authors Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner show that it has application to almost every aspect of human endeavor. This is a well-written, clever book that explores such burning issues as why your realtor will likely get more for her own house than she will for yours, and why most crack dealers still live with their moms.


• King Dork: What do you get when you combine the dark humor of Heathers with the coming-of-age geekiness of Sixteen Candles? I have no idea, but it could resemble pop-punker-turned-writer Frank Portman's ode to angsty teenaged rock-n-roll band fantasies. This novel is a first-person account of a high school freshman attempting to make sense of a world that he's well-equipped to handle, as long as he doesn't actually have to, you know, talk to anyone else. If you ever doodled made-up band names on your algebra book cover, you'll find something to laugh about in King Dork. It may be worth reading if only to find out who Dr. Frank considers to be the greatest rock bands of all time. Note: This is a book about teens, but not for teens, due to language and sexual content. Trivia bit: This is one of the few novels that has its own original theme song.


• The Long Tail: Why the Future of Business Is Selling Less of More: Wired Magazine editor Chris Anderson wrote a book about power curves and made a jillion dollars. His basic premise is that the web allows savvy businesses to provide unlimited inventory at essentially zero carrying cost, thereby eliminating the need to rely on "hits" to provide profits. It's not rocket science, and in five years (or, perhaps, already) the general perception of the premise will be akin to our modern view of the "breakthrough" of identifying the law of gravity, but it's still worthwhile to contemplate how the internet has changed some business paradigms.


• American Gods: [I'm including this for the benefit of my friend and fellow book-lover, mis_nomer.] America is a tough place to be a god, and it's a darn shame, considering just how many of them are lurking about. Neil Gaiman's 2001 sci-fi novel brings together a myriad of deities whose loyal worshippers brought them to America and then, for sundry reasons, abandoned them. What's a god to do when no one takes him (or her...or it) seriously? This is a dark book, understated and intelligent, not a classic but still worth the investment of a few days of reading time.

As long as I'm in the review mode, I might as well tell you that I'm a few chapters into another book, but it's a bit different than those I've mentioned above. DOM Scripting: Web Design with JavaScript and the Document Object Model by Jeremy Keith will revolutionize the way I build websites. Or at least it would if I could figure out what the heck it's about. Just kidding (sort of); it's basically a Javascript tutorial designed to ensure that scripts are compatible with all civilized browsers, and that they degrade gracefully for accessibility purposes. It's quite interesting, in a geeky sort of way.

And if all this isn't eclectic enough, the next "official" review book will be a history of the Grand Ole Opry. Stay tuned!

The Madonna Connection

Let's try this again, shall we?

Tomorrow, October 24, is the release date for Madonna's new children's book, The English Roses, Too Good to be True.

"So what?" you may ask. There are a couple of reasons this is significant, from my perspective. First, the book's illustrator lives in west Texas. Second, she's a new client.

Media inquiries should be made directly to the artist.

Judging a Book by its Cover

I'm a sucker for one-trick-pony software: little applications that do one thing, and do it well. I've got a program that does nothing but jiggle the cursor at predetermined intervals to keep my computer from going to sleep if I'm not using it. I have another that lets me rename files in batch mode. And, of course, there's the application that allows you to create comic strips [creativity not included].

Thus I'm intrigued by Insofta's Cover Commander, a program that allows you to create "virtual covers" for books, CDs, product boxes and other packaging, etc. Some publishers are choosing to use it to create images of their book covers instead of photographing the real thing, because the results are better.

The only downside is that it's a Windows-only program which means that I'll not be using it until (1) I get a new Intel Mac or (2) I actually have a book, CD, DVD, or other product package that needs showcasing, whichever comes last. In other words, it's not likely to ever become relevant for my purposes, unless I choose to write and publish an exposé of the Midland blogging scene. But if you're an author or product designer, Cover Commander might be of use.

My New Old Bike

Meet my new bike:

It's a 1989 Cannondale RM900, aka the Red Shred (the font used for the name looks very much like Mistral, by the way), an aluminum framed, non-suspension mountain bike sporting a mystifying white handlebar. This bike hasn't been ridden in five or six years, and wasn't ridden with any zest for several years before that. I've just rescued it from impending death by dry rot in our storage unit.

My plan is to turn it into a "city bike," a utilitarian vehicle to be used for running short errands or going places that aren't recumbent friendly. With 26"x2" slicks front and back, bar-ends, platform pedals, and a rear rack, it's a relatively comfortable way to travel.

N.B. - This should in no way imply that I'm contemplating a switch from recumbancy. In fact, after a few miles on the "new" bike, I was reminded of why I became 'bent in first place. While there's a lot to be said for the maneuverability of the conventional bicycle, the comfort issues are still paramount.

It's definitely showing its age, however. This won't mean anything to most of you, but it still has its original Bio-Pace chainrings. These are slightly ovalized front "gears" that theoretically transfer power better than conventional round chainrings, while being easier on your knees; Shimano spec'd them for mountain and touring bikes for a few years, but they never caught on. The bike is heavy, especially for an aluminum-framed model, but it's also bulletproof. There's just about nothing this side of insanity that will break it.

It needs a few things: the chain has a couple of dodgy links, and everything needs a shot of grease. I plan to change out the Shimano Deore rear derailleur for a Deore XT (why? because I have an XT that needs a home), and I'm looking at a pair of those Shimano pedals that have the nice platform on one side and the SPD-compatible clip-in mechanism on the other. I also want to get a "grocery bag pannier" like this Jand for light shopping trips.

Now, if I can just figure out how to mount a surround-sound speaker system for an iPod nano...

Yep, I'm one in a hundred million...

From Jon (the Totally Unique Jon) over at Random Commands, comes this little nomenclatural exercise:

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 3 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

This is a fascinating tool, good for endless hours of useful research. For example, I now know that there is no one in the United States named "Bob Tomato." If there are any expectant mothers reading this, they might want to keep that in mind.

Standing Up For IE 7

The new version of Microsoft's Internet Explorer is now available for downloading and the consensus seems to be that it's a big step forward, at least compared to its Microsoft ancestors.

Many of the new features in IE 7 are simply "catch-ups" to what its competitors -- primarily Firefox and Safari -- have had for a while, things that many of us now take for granted, like tabbed browsing, competent security, and good adherence to website coding standards. The latter, in particular, is welcome news for us web design folks as it means that we can start treating IE like any other civilized browser and -- eventually -- stop kludging code to make it play well with our sites. (The reality is, of course, that it will be years before IE 7 displaces its predecessors. The irony is, of course, that those kludges that made sites work with IE 6 and previous versions may now break with IE 7. I'm just glad that I never coded exclusively for IE.)

However, some folks are claiming disappointment over Microsoft's apparent lack of imagination in browser design, feeling that it should have done more. The Wall Street Journal's technology editor, Walter Mossberg, says this in yesterday's edition: The new Internet Explorer is a solid upgrade, but it's disappointing that after five years, the best Microsoft could do was to mostly catch up to smaller competitors.

Hang onto your seats, because I'm about to do something unusual: defend Microsoft. I wish Walter had provided some examples of features that would have wowed him (he did note that the next upgrade of Firefox would feature spell-checking and state recovery -- allowing you to pick up where you left off after a crash [biting my tongue]). Even so, I think it's much ado over nothing. Bells and whistles are OK, I suppose, but a browser that's secure, renders sites like they were designed, and has a few features that make surfing the Web a more efficient process is really all that most people want. If IE 7 has achieved those goals, I'm more than happy for Microsoft and Windows users who want or have to stay with the browser.

Seeing Clearly

I'm sitting in the waiting room, watching a steady stream of folks come in and plop down more than three grand each (one fellow counted out his payment $100 bills) for the same procedure MLB is undergoing as I write this. The CEO of a local bank just came out of the operating area, walking arm-in-arm with one of the attending nurses. He seemed to be happy with the outcome, so far.

I've just finished updating a series of webpages (offline; the waiting area has no wireless connection…how utterly 90s, surprising for a practice that's otherwise on the cutting edge of technology), listening to the breathy electronica of Imogene Heap and Goldfrapp via iTunes (that RAKR commercial was irresistible…not for the phone, but for the music), and I’m now contemplating what it might feel like to not have to wear eyeglasses or contacts for the first time in decades.

My wife's been juggling two pairs of glasses and two sets of contact lenses for years, trying to find the right combination to compensate for the seemingly inevitable deterioration of sight that comes with aging. Unlike me, she's effectively blind without corrective lenses, but custom LASIK may just succeed in rolling back the clock, at least in this one very important area. We'll know very soon.

Update: Thirty minutes have passed, and MLB just walked out, accompanied by a nurse, headed for the recovery area. She was smiling.

One hour, and forty years of deteriorating vision are banished. I've always subscribed to the philosophy that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. We live in magical times.

The NEW Project: Part 1 - Steeling Myself

Cosmic forces have been set in motion and there's no turning back. I've officially kicked off The New Project (dang...I need a cool name for it. Any suggestions?) by (1) spending money and (b) doing some initial "research" (12 minutes on Google).

First, the research part. I operate under the theory that if you really want to know what time it is, you need to understand how a clock works. Well, not really, but I do realize that when it comes to melting metal -- especially expensive metal -- a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. So I'm researching steel.

I began by confirming with the bike's builder -- the eminent recumbent pioneer, Dick Ryan (yes, I have his email address) -- that my tandem's frame is a common alloy known as True Temper 4130 steel (often referred to as cromoly or CroMo, as it's a mixture of chromium and molybdenum alloyed with your basic iron). CroMo has a melting point of around 2600°F. That's an important number to remember, more so for me than for you, of course.

I think I'm going to enjoy the research part of this project, as it's leading me to pearls of wisdom like this, from a primer on bicycle frame materials:

Muffys. Heh.

I also did some reading about the art and science of brazing, learning that unlike with welding, the metal to be joined is not melted. In fact, melting that metal is a Very Bad Thing, something to be avoided at all costs.

Instead of melting two pieces of metal together, brazing employs the capillary action of the metal pieces to fill the joint between them with a different melted metal. The filler metal actually penetrates the matrix of the base metal, resulting in a solid joint that is sometimes stronger than the original metal parts themselves.

Unless you do it wrong, then the whole thing collapses in a soggy, steaming heap and you're disgraced for life and very likely irreparably maimed in the process. But let's not dwell on the negatives, shall we?

OK, enough research. Time to spend some money. But not much; brazing rods are remarkably cheap, less than $2 each, and readily available at your hometown Home Depot. For The New Project, I chose nickel silver rods by BernzOmatic. (I was initially somewhat put off by the skull and crossbones on the package, along with the words "Caution: Poison," but I'm pretty sure that just means not to eat them. Or something.) I could have gone with the somewhat cheaper bronze rods, as either type will apparently do the trick. Again, according to Dick Ryan, when I asked which one he recommended:

Dick's a man of few words.

Now, if you went to the BernzOmatic website (and you should have), you no doubt noticed that these brazing rods have a working temperature of 1680°F. According to my calculations, that gives me almost a thousand degrees of leeway before I do the Very Bad Thing mentioned above. Anybody, even the most mewling n00b, can operate within a thousand degree tolerance, right? I mean, that's like boiling water 5 times, sort of. Still, given the fact that an oxy-acetylene torch burns at a temperature of around 5,600°, overheating the base metal is my biggest concern. That's why I need to practice first.

Anyway, it was a very productive day, project-wise. (I apologize to my clients who were expecting to get some work out of me.) Let's recap:

1. Gain basic knowledge. Check


2. Buy basic materials. Check


3. Ignore basic warning signs. Check


4. Develop cool project name. Pending

Stay tuned for the next exciting installment, as we take a hacksaw to a perfectly good bicycle frame.

Technorati tag: Tromping where angels fear to tread

Mormons Got Dance

We went to last night's presentation by the Brigham Young University Ballroom Dance Company* and let me tell you...I don't know if they can jump, but those white kids can flat-out dance!

Proceeds from the hour-and-a-quarter program at the Lee High School auditorium benefitted Safe Place and Harmony Home, both of which serve families trying to escape abusive situations. They are fitting recipients for LDS beneficence; whatever you might think of that organization's religious doctrine, its commitment to the preservation of traditional family values is admirably strong.

BYU's Ballroom Dance Company represents the cream of the crop in worldwide amateur circles. They have won just about every national and international dance competition you can name, and have done so for literally decades. It's all the more amazing when you consider that of the 35 performers -- all of them full-time students -- listed in last night's program, only four were dance majors.

I'm far from expert but I do have more than a passing interest in ballroom dance, and from my perspective, last night's performance was scarily flawless. Some of the moves were simply breathtaking in athleticism and grace. The choreography was imaginative, as were the costumes and music (although the latter tended at times to overpower the school's sound system). Case in point: the number entitled "Baliwood" was performed under UV lights (aka "black lights") with the dancers wearing head-to-toe costumes in eye-popping fluorescent colors. In one scene, two dancers wore black tops and two others wore black tights (I initially typed "bottoms" but that didn't seem to sit right. Ha!), giving the effect of torsos and legs moving about independently, seeking to re-unite.

The dance routines were offered non-stop, and covered the gamut of traditional ballroom: fotxtrot, waltz, tango, rumba, swing, cha cha, etc. Granted, none of their steps resembled what I and MLB are learning -- which would have been somewhat demoralizing to beginners like us, if it hadn't been so downright entertaining.

I feel compelled to finish with what I started in the first paragraph. While their precision was such that the term "Stepford Dancers" comes to mind, this allusion is reinforced by the sheer physical uniformity of the troupe. The guys were clean-cut, the girls were -- what's the female equivalent of "clean-cut"? Their audience generally reflected the west Texas demographic (almost equal parts anglo and latino), but the troupe was completely anglo, with one exception, a fellow hailing from Lima, Peru. I'm not offering this observation with any sort of judgment; it just struck me as interesting. I suspect the dance troupe's demo is an accurate microcosm of the university's student body as a whole.

One final observation. The performance proved that dancers don't have to be suggestive or crude to be sensuous. There was no crotch-grabbing ala Michael Jackson or "dirty dancing" ala just about every hip-hop "artist" in existence, but there was passion and fire, romance and exhilaration. And if you think ballroom is for sissies, you need to catch a future performance and you'll re-think your perspective.

*I wanted to link to the troupe's webpage, but to get there you have to go through BYU's Performing Arts Management website, which managed to freeze both Firefox and Safari. So, you're on your own.

Brazing Huffy

I really like that title; wish I had a post to go with it.

OK, I do...sort of. It relates to my next project, which is to learn to braze so that I can perform a minor repair on a *gulp* $4,000 bicycle frame.

[It occurs to me that "minor," when used in this context, has the same meaning as when employed to describe surgery. That is, minor surgery is what is done to someone else.]

Here's the deal. An over-zealous bike mechanic over-torqued one of the hex screws that holds the eccentric cam of the front bottom bracket in place, and popped the brazed-on fitting loose. It's not a disastrous condition, but it has the unfortunate effect of allowing the timing chain (that's the one that connects the front set of pedals to the rear set [um, you do realize that I'm talking about a tandem here, right?]) to gradually loosen, the effects of which are, at best, the occasional disconcerting jerk as the chain attempts to jump off the ring and, at worst, the potentially hazardous condition of coming to a complete and unexpected halt when the chain actually succeeds in doing that very thing.

Anyway, in a fit of completely unwarranted confidence, no doubt engendered by the pleasing-but-minor success of the last project, I've decided that this is something I can fix myself. I have the torch; I have the gasses; and, Wikipedia willing, I'll have the online references that will show me how to use them.

Now, lest you think I'm barreling into this without proper preparation, let me assure you that that will, indeed, prove to be the case, if history is any indication. But it won't be for lack of trying. Here's my plan. I've recovered an old bicycle frame from our storage unit, and I'm going to hacksaw it into pieces and then attempt to reconnect the pieces in a fashion that will result in my developing mad brazing skilz. That's right; a trusty old steed with great sentimental value will be sacrificed on the altar of DIYism.

Prepare to be awed.

I would be less than forthright if I didn't admit that this thing has already gotten off to a less than auspicious start, as I began by googling "braising a bicycle frame." While the inability to spell a thing doesn't necessarily doom one attempts to master that thing, it does perhaps predict a disturbing tendency toward failure. Fortunately, I had that little Jiminy Cricket Googler to pose the timeless question "Did you mean: grilling a bicycle frame?" thereby alerting me to my faux pas. At some point in the future, when I have more time, I intend to return and explore more fully the options of grilling my bicycle frame, provided I haven't already actually done that.

I also need to create a better category for this kind of post, dealing with mechanical repairs and projects undertaken with dubious competence. Suggestions welcomed.

Gorbachev's visit not universally praised

Former Russian President Mikhail Gorbachev visited Midland last night as a part of the John Ben Shepperd Public Leadership Institute Distinguished Lecture Series. I didn't attend the event (I have watched the video, here -- or at least the first 41 minutes, which is all that is provided), but about 5,000 other people did, and based on what I'm reading in the media, he's next in line for sainthood.

I guess I'm in the minority when I say that I'm less than impressed and pleased with some of his remarks. Hugo Chavez's recent rantings at the U.N. provided a lifetime's quota of lectures from socialist outsiders, and while Gorbachev isn't insane, he still doesn't have the credentials to waltz in here and tell us how to run our country, especially with respect to how we deal with our own security.

For example, according to this report, Gorbachev thinks we're mishandling Iraq, and "...recommended using the Soviet Union's approach to its withdrawal from Afghanistan." OK, correct me if I'm wrong here, but wasn't the Soviet Union's "approach to withdrawal" more like the scattered retreat that comes after you've been handed your rear end by your adversary?

He also tried to compare our efforts to secure our southern border against illegal immigration with the Berlin Wall. "Now the United States seems to be building almost the Wall of China between itself and this other nation with which it has been associated for many decades and has had cooperation and interaction with."

Someone should remind Mr. President that the Berlin Wall was designed to stop all intermingling of the citizens of a single nation that was arbitrarily torn asunder by an outside aggressor. Our country's efforts are designed to enforce the types of laws that are routinely enacted by civilized sovereign nations with respect to one another; legal immigration, trade, cultural and social interaction are not the targets.

I don't deny that there's value in hearing firsthand from a significant player from a signficant period of world history, but I hope listeners will exercise a little discernment about what they hear. Just because someone "important" is paid to visit the relative backwaters of west Texas (and no disrespect is intended; this is my home, and I'm proud of it) shouldn't grant them automatic standing to have every utterance swallowed without close inspection.

What I've Been Doing

The bereavement photography website that I mentioned a few months ago is now a reality; we went live yesterday.

Jennifer Taylor is a former Midlander, having recently relocated to Lubbock, and she's providing her services for free to residents of Lubbock, Midland, Odessa, and Amarillo. "I Say My Prayers" is an extension of her photography business -- and just one of the ways she's using her gifts and training in service to others.

For what it's worth, after seeing her plans for this ministry and her generosity with her time and resources, I felt compelled to donate my time in building and maintaining this website. It's a tiny contribution compared to hers, but it's what I can do.

If you know of families who are in the position of needing this service, please refer them to I Say My Prayers. I can assure you that they'll be in good hands with Jennifer.

Technorati tags: Bereavement Photography | Jennifer Taylor

The Gazette Hits Zero

Zero degrees longitude, that is, as one of the faithful travels all the way to Greenwich, England in order to pose in front of the Prime Meridian wearing a Fire Ant baseball jersey. The girl, not the Prime Meridian, that is. Wearing the jersey, that is.

Unfortunately, this photo was taken by one of those really tiny camera phones, then transmitted via the really tiny British bandwidth, and it's hard to discern that that's really the lovely and talented Molly Woods of Washington Improv Theater fame, and star of the troupe's latest 48 Hour Film Project entry, Unfrightening, about which we gushed back in May.

Fortunately, with the help of the folks over at CIS: Permian Basin, we were able to use some time-tested Photoshop techniques to enlarge the photo to offer indisputable proof of the Fire Ant attire sighting. Here's the only-very-slightly retouched image (don't stare at Molly's hands; she hates it when you stare at her hands):

If you have a photo of yourself or someone who closely (or even peripherally) resembles you wearing a Fire Ant something-or-other in an exotic locale, feel free to send it in and we'll throw it up. So to speak.

Update: We've finally procured a full-sized version of the original image and it's shown below. It's remarkable how closely the re-created version shown above matches the actual picture.

Hat tip to Molly's sister, Cindy, who knew exactly what she was getting sis into when she emailed the photo.

The TSA and Manly Footwear

Besides providing good people-watching opps, last Saturday's travel provided the rare chance to visit with some of the good folk who serve as baggage screeners.

Most of my prior encounters have been of the "let's get this over with as quickly as possible, shall we?" type. But when we returned to Love Field on Saturday afternoon to catch our flight back to Midland, we were greeted with an odd sight: a completely empty check-in maze. In fact, there were two screening stations in operation, one on each end of the security area, and the crews seemed to be competing for passenger attention.

My brother, his wife and I headed for the team who waved most enthusiastically and we went through the drill of removing shoes, jackets, cell phones, and other accoutrements in preparation for walking through the metal detector. We each cleared the detector without incident and waited for our shoes to clear the x-ray machine.

Mine came through first and I slipped them on, and waited while my sister-in-law's cleared and she put hers on. My brother's footwear seemed to be attracting a bit more attention from the x-ray operator, however. He looked up, saw us watching him, and remarked that my brother's boots were very nice.

He explained further. "We can tell a lot about how good your boots are by the number of nails in the soles. A lot of boots look like they're barely held together by just a few nails; they're probably made in China or something." We laughed. "Yours are really good boots...they have a lot of nails."

His boots were, in fact, quite striking, although not necessarily terribly expensive. The ladies on the screening detail admired the handiwork of the red leather uppers. "They're just Tony Lamas," he said modestly, as he pulled the almost knee-high cowboy boots on, "and they're not too easy to get on and off."

The x-ray screener went on, "I don't say anything to those folks with the cheap boots, but I couldn't help noticing the difference in yours."

We thanked them all and wished them a good day and proceeded down to the gate, where only then did I realize that I'd just been the subject of a classic dissing, given that my humble pair of $40 no-brand black ropers had gone through the screening while eliciting nary a comment.

It's bad enough that I have to make sure I'm wearing presentable socks when I fly. Now I have to worry about whether my boots are passing the quality standards of the TSA.

The Observant Traveling Blogger

My opportunities to travel by air are rare nowadays, but my trip to and from Dallas last Saturday was a reminder that there's nothing like an airport to provide blog fodder. I can't think of many places where the people-watching gets any better.

Flying from and to Midland is always interesting because of the certainty of encountering a few people you know, and the likelihood of meeting someone you don't. Saturday was no exception, as we visited with the following folks*:

• An oilman returning from his second home in New England


• The former head of Downtown Midland Inc. who is in the process of starting up her own educational resources business


• A mother and her adult daughter from Fort Stockton, heading for Dallas for a day of mall-crawling


• A Midlander who divides his time between family ranching interests in the Glass Mountains and a local prepaid legal services franchise. He was networking to beat the band, without much success. It was amazing to see how many people had somehow managed to forgot to bring any business cards with them.


• A physical therapist who tried to help me with some back pain some years ago

The configuration of Southwest's new 757s has extended the people watching possibilities beyond the terminal. The slightly staggered row alignment now makes it easier to observe the people across the aisle without their knowledge, unless they have the peripheral vision of a chameleon or Marty Feldman. (One must, of course, be able to deal with the likelihood that one is also the subject as well as the observer.)

I took an aisle seat and was rewarded during the return flight by the opportunity to watch a gentleman doing battle with his MP3 player. The fellow was obviously not in the primary "rip, mix, burn" demographic, appearing to be in his 70s, and he was not enjoying his digital music experience.

The cause of his vexation was a tiny Philips music player with a nice bright color screen. I watched him fiddling with the various buttons and scroll controls; every so often he would jerk the earbuds from his head, wrap the cord around the player, and hold it in his lap, apparently cogitating on his next move. He would wait a few minutes, then unwrap and replug and re-fidget. Occasionally, he would deal the player a hefty whack with the palm of his hand, as if to rouse it from a digital coma. (Personally, I admired this aspect of his troubleshooting technique.)

During his ceaseless inspection of the controls, he turned the screen toward me and I captured a mental snapshot of a portion of the content. The album that was queued up was by Jennifer Lopez. As the flight continued, I noticed that the display never changed...he was apparently in possession of a music player with a perpetual J-Lo setting.

I tried to intuit what he was thinking. "Pretty funny, those *(^*(& grandkids -- giving me a music player with nothing but Jennifer Lopez on it. Just wait 'til Christmas; we'll see who's laughing then."

As the flight progressed, he grew increasingly agitated, and I noticed that the screen never changed. I couldn't decide if his ire was over the fact that the player contained nothing but J-Lo, or that it was frozen and he couldn't listen to even that content. He finally wrapped the earbuds around the player and stuck it, screen still shining, in his shirt pocket, and went to sleep.

I now believe that he had managed to press the lock button that keeps most MP3 players from being inadvertently turned on or off. I hope he solved the problem by some means other than depositing it in the nearest trash receptacle upon exiting the plane. Although, if it really was perpetually stuck on J-Lo, that was probably the only reasonable solution.

*I could name all of these people -- except for the therapist, whose name I've apparently blocked from memory -- but I won't, in respect of their privacy. But it causes me to wonder if there should be some kind of requirement for bloggers to wear special ID tags when traveling so that those around them will understand their peril.

Living History

Gwynne has put up an absolute gem of a post about her husband's family's experiences during the war in Croatia. I won't presume to tell you that you have to read it, but you'll be missing something special if you don't.

"Interesting" Week

So, where were we?

Lots going on this week, but before getting to that, let me once more thank you for your kind, encouraging, and sympathetic comments, emails, e-cards, and prayers. My family was blessed by your caring spirit.

My uncle's funeral is tomorrow in Gainesville, and I'll be flying up and back to attend, along with my brother and his wife. My wife is staying here to keep The Niece company. Did I mention that she's spending four nights with us while her brother and mom are in College Station for a student conference? Not a big deal, but one more thing to keep the activity level for the week in the red zone.

I made a cryptic remark in the previous post that the tragic loss in our family might have had the unlikely result of helping my aunt avoid future health problems. That may or may not be the case, now that I know more facts, but let me explain.

My aunt was the first on the scene after her brother apparently fell and suffered a fatal blow to the head. She called 911 and accompanied him to the hospital. Obviously, she was badly shaken by the experience. Later, she began to suffer chest pain and was also admitted to the hospital. The preliminary diagnosis was that she was suffering the precursor to a heart attack. The next day, she went through a series of tests where her heart was found to be strong and healthy; the official call was that the pain was brought on by stress.

That sounds logical. We had at first thought that what she experienced was triggered by the stress, but which had roots in an underlying medical condition -- blocked arteries, perhaps -- that would not otherwise have been discovered without this unfortunate stimulus. I guess we were wrong about that.

On the other hand...

I do know that prayers went up literally across the country as soon as her situation was made known. I'm not prepared to concede without a doubt that her heart was healthy before those prayers were offered. The fact that the doctors could find no problems afterward could simply underscore the wonderful mysteries of the workings of the Great Physician.

Can I prove it? Nope. Can the doctors prove it didn't happen that way? Again, nope. Which side you come down on depends, I suppose, on how often you've seen things like this in the past, and how your faith shapes your view of the natural and supernatural world. One thing I do know for certain is that the God I serve is more than capable of this and much, much more.

Melancholy

Update (Tuesday afternoon): First, let me say how humbled and blessed I am by your kindness and words of comfort. My uncle died last night, as expected. What we didn't know was that he was an organ donor, and if plans unfold properly, a desperately ill 44-year old man is receiving new hope via a liver transplant as I type this. It's amazing at how much peace that knowledge brings. In addition, the last report on my aunt -- the deceased man's sister -- was also quite positive. Her brother's untimely death may have actually prolonged her life, an amazing turn of events I'll try to share later. Again, thank you so much for your thoughts and prayers and words of encouragement.

I don't feel much like posting anything, and may not for a while.

The fragility and uncertainty of life has been reimpressed on my family, as an uncle lies in a coma in Dallas, without hope of recovery, and an aunt was admitted to the hospital in Denton this morning with a possible heart attack and faces the prospect of surgery.

It's an ironic blessing that I had not seen either of these people in at least a couple of years, until we visited with both of them at our family reunion only ten days ago. Both seemed in good health.

At this time of life, each family reunion is adjourned with the silent thought that this might be the last time we're all able to be together. It's still a shock when that inevitability actually becomes reality.

Thankfully, the reports on my aunt are quite optimistic.

I appreciate your understanding if posting is sporadic, and perhaps non-existent over the next few days.

Contemplating Paychecks

Note: The following is an example of a Content Free® post offered under the guise of a legitimate and potentially erudite essay. Do not be fooled. And don't try this at home; this post was conceived and executed [you wish] by trained professionals on a closed course.

I've been a "freelance consultant" (another term for "self-unemployed") for about five years, and I'm still trying to adjust to the relative uncertainties of getting paid: not only "how much," but especially "if." As a corporate drone, there was no small degree of comfort in knowing that a regular paycheck would be arriving on a predictable and regular schedule, a fact that I suspect many take for granted.

Since MLB continues to toil in the corporate dronage system, and since her earnings via that toil put mine to shame, I still find myself confronting the vagaries of the pay calendar.

Take this month, for example. October, 2006, is the cruelest month for those on the traditional bi-monthly payment plan, where checks arrive on the 15th and the end of the month. Since the 15th lands on Sunday, many companies will issue paychecks on Friday, the 13th. The upside is that only two weeks have passed since the previous check. The downside, of course, is that it's 18 days until the next paycheck, and that 18 day period includes THREE weekends. (I don't know about you, but for us the weekends seem to be more costly than weekdays.)

Our previous employer had the most pleasing approach to pay periods I've ever encountered. We were on an "every two week" payday plan...meaning that we got paid every other Thursday. This equated to 26 paychecks per year, meaning that twice a year, we got three checks during the month. Of course, the total pay was the same, so that each check was slightly smaller, but this approach eliminated the aforementioned calendric vagaries. And for some reason, those 3-paycheck months always seemed a bit like another occurrence of Christmas.

It was a headache for the payroll department as it almost always meant that at the end of each year, we got paid for days we hadn't yet worked. But, that's why accountants made the big bucks. And every two weeks, at that.

Customer Service Done Right...and Wrong

I'm still waiting for someone to fix my garage door. After the spring broke on Wednesday I immediately called one of the two local companies who specialize in overhead doors and got on its schedule for later that afternoon. They didn't show, but I received a call that evening explaining that the installer had gone out of town for a job and was late in returning. The lady was quite apologetic and asked if they could come out on Thursday afternoon, say, around 2:00? I told her that 4:00 would work better for me, and she said something to the effect, "we'll do whatever you want, since we want to accommodate your schedule."

Well, apparently, "accommodating my schedule" and "actually doing the work" are mutually exclusive, because I received neither a service call nor an explanation for the second no-show. So, this morning I called the other company and set up an appointment for later this morning. We'll see how that works out. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to getting a call from the first company so that I can explain why they lost my business to their competitor. [I really don't expect to get that call, however.]

Contrast that with the strange phone call that came during dinner last night. As it came on my business line, I did jump up to listen to the message and once I confirmed it wasn't from a client I let the machine handle it. I listened to the whole message this morning and it began something like this: "Hello. I'm [so-and-so] with GoDaddy.com's customer appreciation group, and I'm just calling to thank you for your business. I also wanted to remind you that you have a domain name -- [so-and-so] -- that's not set up for automatice renewal and will expire on October 12. If you'd like to renew it, please feel free to call me at [such-and-such] or email me at [such-and-such] and I'll be happy to personally take care of this for you."

According to GoDaddy's About Us page, it currently has 15.7 million domain names in its registration database. I have 26 of them, amounting to -- well, let's just round it off to 0.0% of the total. And yet they're calling -- using a real person, not a recording -- about the upcoming expiration of one $9.95/year product. Now, if I was a stockholder, I might question whether this was truly a good use of company assets, but there's no denying that this is impressive attention to detail and customer service. Domain name registration is essentially a commodity, meaning (among other things) that sellers have very little ability to distinguish their product from that of their competitors. Customer service is one way to set your product apart from the others.

I'll be the first to admit that there are a number of reasons I don't like doing business with Go Daddy, starting with its slightly creepy founder and CEO. But the company is doing something right, and some of our local businesses could learn some lessons from it.

Update: The second company's repair guy showed up on time, and did the job quickly and expertly (well, as far as I know, anyway). He even gave me a tip for extending the life of my garage door opener. That's the kind of service that generates repeat customers.

La Vida Loca

Here's today's schedule for the jetsetting blogger:

• Take a private plane to another city, where we'll be met by a driver who will chauffeur us to a local country club for lunch, after which we'll fly back to Midland.

OK, that's one way of describing the day. Here's another:

• Accompany my pal in his Cessna 172 to Fort Stockton as he accumulates flying hours toward getting his instrument rating. Land at the airstrip in FS, where my father-in-law will meet us, and, possibly, drive us over to the snackbar at the public golf course (which is within walking distance of the airfield). Eat chicken strips and burgers with him and my parents, load his sick computer into the back seat of the Cessna, and fly back to Midland.

Either way, it's a pretty cool way to spend part of a Thursday.

Vocabulary Time Out

So, tell me this. If the noun form of the adjective "ironic" is "irony," why isn't the noun form of the adjective "sardonic" "sardony"?*

And should there be a comma between the last two words of the previous sentence?

We now return you to your regularly scheduled international nuclear crisis.

*The correct nounish manifestation is, of course, "sardonicism**," which makes sense, I suppose, since the meaning of "sardonic" is closely akin to that of "sarcasm," (he wrote, displaying not a smidgen of either in his demeanor).

**The best quote via a good googling of the word is this one: "For the record, yes, I too love sardonicism...now that I know what it is."

Waiting for the other shoe...

If "interesting things" occur in threes, I'm one away and it's not yet noon.

Heading into the last leg of a bike ride this morning, my cell phone came unclipped from my waistband and skidded into an intersection. Two cars passed by, narrowly missing the chance to turn my new RAZR into high tech roadkill.

I made it home without further adventure, parked the bike in the garage and hit the control on the wall to shut the garage door. Suddenly, a shot rang out...and a pirate ship was spotted on the horizon! OK, I made up the last part, but if you've ever heard one of those big honkin' overhead door coiled springs break, you'll agree that the former is not an exaggeration. Fortunately, the spring simply snapped rather than disintegrating and sending shrapnel flying in all directions.

This, however, presented a new challenge. My car was now trapped and I have an appointment later this afternoon. You might think that manually lifting a measly 8' metal garage door would be easy work, spring-assisted or not, and if you do, I bow before your steroid-enabled muscularity. But for scrawny cycling types like me, it's no picnic.

Juggling the opener remote in one hand, I'd hit the button then heave the door up as far as I could before the opener would grind to a halt with a mechanical hernia. It didn't help matters when the upper right and lower left guide wheels popped out of their tracks, an aggravatingly symmetrical corollary to Murphy's Law. We (the opener and I) eventually managed to get the door up just far enough that I was able to back the car out of the garage, clearing the door by less than an inch.

I figure "interesting event" #3 will most likely manifest itself via either the equivalent of a massive myocardial infarction in my poor garage door opener, or else I'll awaken in the morning unable to move a single muscle thanks to my new workout routine.

Advice for Boys

It's been a while since I quoted the illustrious Mr. Lileks, and I'm not sure I've ever just stolen an image from him (although I came close with the Chastening Perry Head), but this was too good to pass up. From today's Bleat:

I would heartily second Mr. Lileks's suggestion, although there's at least one additional womanly look that should give even the most seasoned veteran of the male gender pause for thought. When confronted by a smiling chick wearing Birkenstocks and holding a loaded AK-47, one should always err on the side of gushing appeasement.

Light Me Up

I will eventually get around to posting a report about our family reunions (although it occurs to me that family reunion reports are probably about as interesting as posts about dreams [not that your dream posts are uninteresting -- far from it; they're like angelic cotton candy in every respect -- but I don't have the gift of dreamwriting, and mine come out all "...and then I looked down and - whoa! - no pants!" and, really, who wants to read about that?] so the challenge will be to find those tidbits that are poignant-yet-piquant without overlapping into saccar... sachari... saccerhi... sugary sentimentality) but I have to share this touching anecdote that illustrates why blogging can, literally, save a life.

There was an interesting little package in the mailbox upon our return and after we got unpacked and semi-reorganized I tore it open to find the thing that's pictured at right: a package of Bob's Milchschokoladen Stäbchen, the literal translation of which is "Bob's milk chocolates rod" but which in American English you've no doubt figured out mean's "Bob's Chocolate Cigarettes."*

I immediately identified the sender...as do a few of you, I suspect. If you've been paying attention, you saw Julie Neidlinger's cry for help regarding her sad addiction to these Coffin Nails of Cacao. Being the selfless, empathetic type who is always willing to take on the burdens of others, especially when chocolate is involved, I counseled Julie that -- strictly for her own good -- she needed to dispose of the vile things, preferably by sending them to me where they would no longer be a threat to her well-being. I never thought she'd actually do it, but it shows that she's serious about taking back control of her own life, and I applaud her for it.

If the truth were known, I suspect many of you are carrying a similar burden and I'm going on record right here and now as being willing to provide the same kind of therapeutic solution that Julie wisely availed herself of: if you are enslaved to that Demon Chocolate, you should put your hand on your TV set -- no wait, that's another script...just a minute -- you should immediately forward that chocolate to the Gazette where trained professionals will dispose of it in such a way as to negate its danger to society.

*We're still trying to identify the insidious "Bob" (if that's his real name); we haven't made much progress other than to pretty much rule out Julie's own Bob. Although it would make a great O. Henry-esque type of story if that's who turns out to be behind the chocolates rod.

Technorati tag: chocolates rod

And the winner is...

The voting to pick the Gazette's new tagline for the next year has ended and the results are definitive, if somewhat surprising:

The winning entry, submitted by Clarence Bowles who blogs from Kentucky via the creatively-named Can You Hear Me Now? won the contest by 13 votes, with the margin of victory coming relatively near the end of the voting period. Ironically, Clarence himself agreed with my suggestion that someone might be stuffing the ballot box, and even more ironically, Clarence himself implied that he would never have picked this method for choosing a tagline for his blog, and most ironic of all, Clarence didn't even think his entry was the best of the finalists. However, I think Clarence will also agree that he takes these things more seriously than me, and I don't have any heartburn accepting the results of the process that I set up.

So, congratulations to Clarence (and he'll get some kind of special link for 12 months in the Gazette's new design when it's finalized), and many thanks to all of you who played along as submitters, judges, and voters. I enjoyed the process, and I hope you had fun with it as well.