nobody asked…

Eric, the original Straight White Guy, and his lovely Missus are off on their annual trek to Scotland to pay homage to her homeland and make the yearly plea for her family to continue allowing him to claim kinship by marriage. I have been deeply honored and humbled by Eric asking me to be one of several journeymen who will ghost guest blog in his absence. I can vouch that all the others who will be keeping the SWG machinery oiled are certifiable, and most likely should be in restraints anytime they are off their medz. I, of course, was hand-picked by Eric to add a balance of reason, logic, and intellect… of course… ahmmm…

So if you have spare time on your hands or get too bored elsewhere, come on over to check out the droppings on Eric’s back deck…

When I drift off to sleep, nothing rattles me. I have slept through many noisy calamities, tornado like weather, and family members being awake and sick with lights on and making noise enough to wake the dead. My own snoring, which I am told causes window glass vibration throughout the neighborhood, does not wake me. When I sink into the arms of Hypnos and Morpheus, my position in bed does not change. Apparently I don’t twitch a muscle until hours later when I arise and quickly move with a stiff, hobbling sprint to the restroom for urgent urinary relief. I am what you might call a heavy sleeper, or deep sleeper, both of which mean the same as sound sleeper.

On the other hand, Roomie is the antithesis of that, as she usually has trouble getting to sleep and will waken at the drop of a tissue three houses away. She tosses and turns, kicks and bucks, thrashing the night away, in and out of bed until she can’t stand it any longer and just gets up and stays up. She might be described as a light or shallow sleeper.

On several occasions my good Welsh blogging friend, Liz, has made reference to rough sleepers. I understand the words rough and sleeper, so initially I thought I knew what she was talking about — someone like Roomie who kicks and thrashes about in a very rough manner. But that was nonsensical when used in Liz’s context. Yet again, Liz often weaves fantastical mysteries for her American readers by writing about such things as fish pie, Mumbles, beans on toast, titchy spaces, portakabins, dithering, and… well, you get the picture. English is the native tongue for both of us, but my American version is not nearly so rich as Liz’s Welsh slant on it. I have not heard her voice, but I can imagine that it has that same richness and melodic quality that we love to listen to.

According to dictionary.com, a rough sleeper is an informal UK phrase used to refer to “a homeless person; a person living on the streets.” So, if you’re reading Liz spinning her stories about George, her often misbehaving pup, and her charming life in Swansea, Wales, if she mentions a rough sleeper, she is really referring to what we know in the States as a street person or homeless person. As for titchy, I have not a clue…

[In yesterday’s exciting opening act of this meme, we followed the request and instructions of Pagan Sphinx, who recruited me into participation in this important discussion. The opener included hair raising commentaries on my To Do list, and what I might do if I became a billionaire. If you have not had the pleasure of reading that first installment, it doesn’t matter since it has nothing to do with today’s conclusion, but you are certainly welcome to jump back, Jack, and read it prior, during, or after reading today’s edition… ]

4. Three bad habits… are difficult to sift out of the many that I have. Hmmm… I guess number one would be eating patterns — no breakfast, lunch on the fly or not at all, gigantic dinner followed by too many late night snacks. Secondly, though I quit a while back, I am and will always be a smoker. Every hour, every day, I want a cigarette. It’s like being an alcoholic — there is no such thing as being over it. It’s forever just one hour, one day at a time. And in third place… I don’t know… I’m torn between picking my nose while driving and farting out loud when there’s nobody around.

5. Five places I’ve lived… if you call it living. Pittsburgh PA, Richmond IN, Meridian MS, Knoxville TN, NYC (briefly) and currently Franklin TN, which is suburban Nashville. That’s six and there are more, but this question is boring.

6. Five jobs I’ve had… ran the gamut from clerk in a department store, to pin setter in a bowling alley, engineer in a major industrial plant, middle-management position for a  Fortune 50 company, and currently business owner/entrepreneur. There are several more. Perhaps one of these days I’ll find something I can do…

Now here is where I balk. I played the game. I gave it my all. And I sincerely hope that Pagan is not too terribly embarrassed or disappointed. Or sorry that she picked me. But rather than tag folks and have them stalking me for all eternity with revenge in their hearts, I will leave it for you, dear readers, to honor Pagan with a visit to her blog . If you are among the first three to read these words (I can assure you that you are), then take it upon yourself to respond as if I had tagged you myownself. Honor system, now, boys and girls…

[Written in bits and pieces over the last week, which may explain any temporal juxtapositions that seem to lack harmonic continuum synchronization.]

Just as I was beginning to think I had safely hidden from all the remaining memes, here comes another one. It is not yet clear what I did to deserve this, but my new found friend, Pagan Sphinx (doncha just love that name), has whapped me upside the head with a tag. I s’pose she is working off her anger from being dragged into it herownself. Or maybe she was having a bad hair day. Or maybe I really did do something wrong that raised her ire — but I certainly don’t know what that might be. Whatever the case, I am but putty in her hands. So with that bullshit out of the way, here goes…

1. Ten years ago I was… several years younger than I am now.

2. Five things on today’s To Do list… will probably not get done. The list includes taking the dog out before I go to work, going to a customer’s site to investigate a problem that I already do not not know how to solve, returning to the office and installing hard drive upgrades in two notebook systems, call Roomie a couple of times to see if she’s OK (still recovering from hysterectomy 2-1/2 weeks ago), a visit to Waffle House and/or Donut Den, cursing spiraling gas prices and the beneficiaries of those excessive oil company profits (think Bush and Cheney for starters), and then in the afternoon I will…

3. Things I’d do if I were a billionaire… do not include working my ass off as I now do. Some things that first come to mind include paying off everything and telling all my creditors to go to hell, taking care of my extended family’s needs, including getting my Mom out of the nursing home and into a place of her own with full-time paid round the clock help. Significant donations to my alma maters, University of Tennessee and University of Pittsburgh, and setting up a major research foundation for stem cell research (go to hell, George W. Bush!). I think a new house on one level (bad knee) would be in order, something like the California contemporary that I designed and built several years ago, the one my ex stole from me. Whatever billions are left, I would turn over management of to my good friend and customer, who I believe to be one of the brightest financial advisors in the land. Then, I would have me some fun… maybe even buy that shetland pony that Santa never brought me…

… Join us again tomorrow, same time, same station, for Part Deux, the exciting conclusion of this mind expanding post …

And now, girls and boys, a little change of pace as we cruise into the weekend…

Thanks to Jackie Sue and her cousin Big Tex for holding the lantern while I found this.

That subject line should increase traffic hereabouts. I’ll keep you posted. But the real reason for this post is to pass along a bit of vital information that I learned last week.

Like all of you, my email Inbox is rife with unwanted spam messages trying to interest me in everything from V1ag.r.a, spelled in a variety of creative ways, to mail order drugs from Guatemala at pennies on the dollar compared to US prescription costs, death benefit and burial insurance on my puppy, every kind of get rich scam you can think of, mortgage and debt consolidation, and of course, the gazillion different ways to grab my hard earned dollars for penis enhancement. [My mama-in-law has actually replied to some of those, to let those poor misinformed people know that she is a female and does not have a penis that needs enhancing. Heh…]

Also, like many of you, I take precautions to keep the buggers out of my Inbox, using a variety of filters at the mail server level and on computers running my favored mail client, Thunderbird. But those spam bastards are clever, always coming up with new ways to get through, by, under, over, or around any defenses put in their path. As if finding ever new ways to bug the living shit out of me will finally make me break down and click the link and reveal my credit card number to them so they can sign me up for the best opportunity in decades to grab some beach-front property on a little known but fast developing resort island in the Caribbean. As if… Right…

Occasionally one of those rogue messages does land in my Inbox where I can blow it away or dissect it to my heart’s content. I just love to see the little buggers squirm and squeal when scalpel is applied to their soft tissues. So last week I had retreived my mail and was scanning over it when this subject line caught my eye:

Average Gain is 302 Inches!!!

On closer examination… you guessed it… it turned out to be a penis enhancement scam. But 302 inches? That’s over 25 feet! I wonder if they supply a hose reel that straps around your waist…

Raging at the sun
Waiting for it to yield to
Whispers in the dark.

1. Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than going to a garage makes you a mechanic.
2. Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.
3. If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you haven’t tried before.
4. There is no evidence to support the notion that life is serious.
5. It is easier to get forgiveness than permission.
6. For every action there is an equal and opposite government program.
7. If you look like your passport picture, you probably need the trip.
8. Eat well, stay fit, die anyway.
9. Men are from earth. Women are from earth. Deal with it.
10. Junk is stuff you keep for years and throw away the week before you need it.
11. Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.
12. Blessed are they who laugh at themselves for they shall never cease to be amused.

Actual conversation I overheard today in a convenience store while trying to pay for a cup of coffee. The young woman cashier was enmeshed in what sounded like a quiet, defensive argument with an olive-skinned gentleman, who I took to be her supervisor. The subject had something to do with an earlier transaction by a woman who was paying for lottery tickets with a $100 bill. As the clerk waved her hands side to side, from the lottery ticket cabinet to the cash register, back and forth, explaining the details of those proceedings, she made a statement in a somewhat higher volume and pitch than she had previously used. This certainly persuaded me…

I know I did it, because I don’t remember not doing it.

The prosecution rests…

[URGENT UPDATE: Dr. Weevil made a comment over at CGHill’s dustbury site (Thank you CG for the memorial link…) that he believes September, 1997, was 10-1/2 years ago and not the 11-1/2 years I mentioned below. I gently reminded the good Doctor that he had obviously not taken three things into account:

1. Y2K
2. Daylight Savings Time
3. Here, we count using the admittedly controversial Tennessee rules.

However, in keeping with my Southern Gentlemanness, I acknowledge Dr. Weevil’s eagle eye and promise not to try improving upon future calculations…]

[Hum to the tune of Simon & Garfunkle’s Sound of Silence … “Hello darkness, my old friend…”]

Have you ever had a wart or mole removed? One that had been with you for many years? One that was as familiar as it was ugly? A couple of weeks ago I had such a bittersweet experience when shutting down the last of the Novell Netware Servers that we built, sold, and supported.

When I got into the business in the mid-eighties, Netware was all the rage for small as well as big businesses. At first it was Netware 2.xx through a couple of iterations. Then came Netware 3.xx, with the almost usable 3.22 being a soft landing spot. But before we could get too cozy with that, Novell in their stupidity wisdom delivered the 4 series, partially in response to a pesky upstart in the network server business, Microsoft, who dominated the desktop, where Novell did not compete. But now, that arrogant Redmond, Washington, gang had the audacity to challenge the arrogant Provo, Utah, group with something called Windows NT Server 3.51, aimed squarely at eating Novell’s Netware lunch in the small and medium business market. 3.51 was about as big a dog as the current day Vista, but it rattled a lot of cages and paved the way for Windows NT Server 4, which ran Novell’s Netware out of town on a rail.

The Netware Server pictured here was IntraNetware 4.11 for Small Business, running on a box built by my little company. Except for shutdowns every 2 to 3 years for replacement of batteries in the UPS (battery backup), this system has stood there spinning, serving up files and managing network printing since September 15, 1997! That is 11-1/2 years, friends! They just don’t make ‘em the way we used to!

Netware was clumsy, cryptic, difficult, ornery, and unforgiving. And stable as a friggin’ boulder. This little single purpose network, with server as described, and three MS-DOS 6.22 workstations, was about as solid and trouble-free as a network can be. There was not a mouse in sight and no internet connection. There was no way for viruses to get in and no need for routine patches and fixes. Life was simple. Life was good. Enter Microsoft…

[All photos can be dimensionally exploded with a single click.]

For the terminally curious, the server box was built around an Intel Server Board with a genuine Intel Pentium 166 MHz Processor, a whopping 32 MB of RAM, and a 1.2 GB Seagate IDE Hard Drive, housed in a heavy-duty server grade enclosure with 200 Power Supply. Network was 10BaseT Ethernet, all 3Com gear. And with that pitifully low horsepower, which would not be enough to display Windows’ opening splash screen, this server ran like a scared rabbit…

I would rather be exposed to the inconveniences attending too much liberty than to those attending too small a degree of it. — Thomas Jefferson

If two negatives make a positive, how many positives does it take to make a negative? Or how many conditional statements make one definitive declaration?

A Tennessean story by Staff Writer and NFL/Titans beat writer Jim Wyatt about the on-again / off-again, almost there / widely separated negotiations for future services of suspended Titans bad boy Adam “Pacman” Jones, the owner of the Dallas Cowboys, Jerry Jones, was quoted as saying something to the effect of…

I can say with a high degree of certainty that this thing probably may or may not come about.

How do you spell doublespeak? How about posturing?

Jerry Jones’ actual words and the full article can be found here.