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Get Out On The Highway!
Would you rather…
form a unity government by choosing a running mate from the other party,
or
forgo replacing that cracked windshield in favor of wearing a full-face helmet?
a) Paid for by Ralph Nader/Ted Nugent ’04 Committee
b) It’s tough on the coiffure.
Tort Reform Fever!
bob
Tomorrows’ Question Today!
Would you rather…
put crumbled bits of cheese in your flatbed scanner,
or
have your chances of contracting a drug-resistant infection compared to a prison stay?
a) “You know, like a Rembrandt still-life…”
b) “…or sitting on the bench in a public shower…”
I feel icky,
bob
Oh No!
Just noticed a post on BoingBoing (after a leisurely scroll) that, on the surface shouldn’t have provoked a second thought, but instead reminded me that the streets here in our little neighborhood were named after centuries-old streets in the UK. To those of you who might have entertained the thought, don’t bother. The folks around here aren’t into that.
Okay, maybe they are.
Your pal,
bob
Incendiary!
Would you rather…
run the Abu Ghraib Prison Gift Store and Visitor’s Center,
or
the only filling station in Fallujah?
a) I just can’t keep the Martha Graham dance videos in stock…
b) Business is booming!
That’s disturbing,
bob
Missing A Little Bit Upstairs…
Would you rather…
tear around the neighborhood in your Corvette at 5:00 a.m.
or
scream at the top of your lungs for a sports team appearing on your television?
a) What? Gas is $2.95 a gallon? You’re kidding?
b) I just know that they’re really playing for me!
…or downstairs?
– bob
Memories, Like A Window On Your Mind
I followed a thread this evening from a reader (via the logs) and started reading the posts I made in March of this year. “Wow, that guy was desperate,” I thought. I also thought hard about, based on what I know now, what that mess meant. More importantly, if the writing was any good.
The chickenhawk stuff is—as you would imagine—passe at this point, but you could count on that. The job stuff is charming and naive. The social commentary appears a little tired.
Hindsight IS 20/20 after all.
The writing does appear to be much more lively than what has appeared here in the last couple of weeks though. For that I apologize. The new job has been fairly taxing so it has kept me from devoting as much energy as I would like.
On top of adding comments to this thing (just click on the post date below), I think that I’ll revive The Question only because I miss it. Question ideas will be welcome as usual, and I will write it (unless my former compatriots want to get back in the game). So plan on a new Question on Monday the 17th with all the dumb goodness that it used to bring.
Beyond that, I had a very productive, if sticky, day building and deploying computers. I also took a little trip to the airport to pick up somebody I’m no longer allowed to mention here. You know, some person. An entity if you will.
Purposefully vague,
bob
Yes, They Can Make It Political
Gee whiz, if we never went to war in the first place, a young engineer would’ve never been subjected to such a cruel fate…
Golly, if we hadn’t started on this adventure into the Middle East to avenge the president’s daddy, we wouldn’t be embarrassed by those prison photos…
Our credibility on the Arab Street is in tatters, maybe the U.N. can help…
Did I just about get all of your objections down? Sure, I missed the oil thing, but you know how well that’s going don’t you? David Brooks suggests a “if we lose we win” strategy by staging Iraqi elections early and allowing candidates a platform of, essentially, “I’ll get the infidels out sooner than my opponent” or “I’m tough on Americans, vote for me” as a speedy way towards democratization and building Iraqi national unity.
I say that’s exactly wrong.
To be very brief, the rotten core of Islamic fascism will never be satisfied if we throw the world’s supply of carrots at them. They certainly can’t be held up as exemplars of rational thought by any stretch of the imagination. It’s Jihad Time my friends, so in my very humble opinion, I propose that we give them what they want, to see what’s behind the curtain. If it’s seventy virgins, so be it. At least they’ll be out of our hair in the here and now. If it’s lovely raisin loaves, happy eating—you bastards.
No, I don’t propose turning the entire region into a pile of molten glass. I will suggest that, contrary to the current fashion, we stop with the self-flagellation that clearly turns these monsters on and get down to the business of prosecuting this second major battle in the war on terror. (you forgot that we’ve been at war since 2001, didn’t you? remember who started it? You should.)
It was about a year ago when I speculated on the brutality to come in our “stateless” war on shadowy underground terror. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of it.
Or even the middle.
But we will surely win. We have to.
– bob
Spic Or Span
I have a deadline of sorts today. The 1912 House has become a filthy mess and I need to change that—TODAY. Clearly I’d prefer not to, instead filling out the rather “thin” offerings here, but there’s work to be done. Shininess to achieve. We have chrome, dammit, and it must be polished!
But first, an aside. During my days at San Diego’s Omnipresent Charitable Organization, I often find myself in the midst of the disadvantaged. You might even call them the downtrodden, but for this… at least they bathe. Our company provides meals, job training, and showers to those who are down on their luck, all for free. Certainly there are those who don’t take advantage of all of those services, in fact, there are some who are pretty grimy. They’re the tiny minority. Most people down in the heart of downtown seem happy to get cleaned up if for no other reason than to protect their health.
So it falls to reason that the people serving those less fortunate might learn from the example. To clean up once in a while. This is not the case.
Within the last couple of days I’ve worked on computers full of a fluffy amalgam of lint and grease, that once warmed reek of rancid bacon fat, that were so sticky that I found myself emulating Lady Macbeth once out of sight of the client (the killing part? – ed no, the obsessive hand washing part, geez – bob). It’s clearly not ergonomically correct to type while arching your palms to avoid the bits of yesterday’s lunch remaining in the keyboard tray, is it?
Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, and I’ll do anything I can to help the people on the front lines get back to work. But I had to ask, “do you think it would be a problem if I wore latex gloves while I fix some of these machines?”
Maybe Chemtool will help.
Your pal,
bob
“The Groupen”
– or –
How To Succeed In The Restaurant Business Without Really Trying
I got suckered into attending the German Shorthaired Pointer Club board meeting this evening. The downside is that the only thing we had in common was the breed of dog that lives in our houses. Oh sure, the occasional leash-free park or best dog door discussion came up, but after that, we mostly shared awkward silences or quick glances at the menu. The upside was that the board meeting was held at McKee’s Tavern in Rancho Bernardo. My brother-in-law had wanted to discuss additions to his website so he sat down at the table and we had a little chat in between those other silences. I was saved.
When the time came to order dinner, we naturally asked about the special of the day. That’s when the story began. My brother-in-law’s mother told him about her favorite sandwich—The Groupen—a Reuben with grilled Grouper instead of corned beef. All the rest is there, the rye bread, the grilled sauerkraut, the Swiss cheese. “Of course,” Billy said, “it’s hard to get Grouper here in San Diego, so I use Mahi-Mahi instead and you get onion rings instead of fries…”
What’s not to love?
From a quick peek around Google, the “Grouper Reuben” can be found predominantly in Florida along with other Grouper recipes. Maybe they have way too much Grouper on their hands and have to find creative ways to get rid of it.
So what we had was basically a Grouper Reuben that wasn’t a Reuben and didn’t have any Grouper in it. No wonder I’m confused. Full, but confused.
Your pal,
bob
P.S. I’ve enabled comments throughout the blog as of yesterday. You wouldn’t really know by looking at it, but if you click on the permalink below (the post date), you’ll be taken to a page for this post with a comment box below it. The discussions are unmoderated to allow for some freedom, but if it gets out of hand I can simply shut the comments feature off so be nice. Sound fair?
“Momma, What’s That Awful Smell?” *
This being Mother’s Day, and with the dogs (the “grandpuppies” as Mom tells it) and me (that’s a pretty awkward construction. – ed Sure it is, but it’s grammatically correct. Sorry pal. – bob) spending the weekend with the folks in the desert, I thought it would be a good idea to send a shout out to the mothers out there (oooh! you’re so street! – ed)—after a detour to lay out what’s been going on since the last post.
The Omnipresent Charitable Organization that I work for has a satellite in the Coachella Valley and the I.T. guy there was let go a month or so ago. Since then, we’ve sent folks from San Diego there to address their computing problems every week. Only one day a week. Often unannounced.
That has been a problem for the folks stranded in the outpost because like the folks here, they have to get work done too and they need functioning computers to do it. “Don’t let them sidetrack you, just get these things done and get out of there,” was the advice, but I’m too big a softie to let their impassioned pleas go unheard. Sure, I got my assigned tasks done, but allowing myself to be pulled in every direction made for a much longer day than I had counted on. In fact, as I was pulling out of the parking lot, the Director sent a guy out to wave me down and bring me back (for another two hours).
Am I complaining? Hell no. They were all happy—and happy to see me. “Lunch is being served now, can I get you something?” “Oh no, I’m too busy. I have to be in three places in the next forty-five minutes…” “Well, I can make you a plate, what would you like?”
It went on like that all day. Friendly, courteous, and inviting is all I can say about the people down there. All I can think about is what more I can do for them. My immediate thought is organizing a work party where everyone from San Diego goes there to fix anything they see as broken. It could be good fun and we could make these fine folks really happy. They certainly relieved any fears I might have had about the place (and frankly, I was initially spooked by the new environment).
I guess what they say is true, “you attract more flies with honey than vinegar” (would that make you a disgusting insect like a fly? I hate flies. – ed That explains a lot. – bob)
Your pal,
bob
P.S. I said that I’d say something more about Mother’s Day, so here goes: Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers! I think that you’re all really neat! (How was that? – bob kinda weak. – ed)
* My favorite nephew uttered my current favorite line while my sister was in the kitchen. Her response? “It’s your breakfast, buddy.” His reply? I’m not really sure, but I’ll post an update when I find out.
I Was There
This Flash Animation pretty much sums up (through the lyrics) where I was in, say, 1982. Sure, it’s mostly British, but that’s half the fun. The rest concerns the PEEKs and the POKEs that we had to do back then to do anything useful. Oh yeah, the tape loading errors we had back then too.
You know that crappy Windows 98 machine you’re using right now? The one that always crashes at the slightest provocation? I’ll trade you my Commodore 64—straight across.
I’m good like that.
Your pal,
bob
Wow.
There has been overwhelming response to the post yesterday about, well, everything. Some expressing sadness, some expressing alarm that I would be such a knucklehead as to put something up about the general state of my workplace so early in my tenure, some worried that I had gone off the deep end.
Yes, yes, and yes. I agree, times three.
Yes, my friend’s loss is tragic. She buried her father today with full military honors and she seems to be holding up pretty well considering. I continue to be sad for her and her family, and I would recommend that you should be sad as well. I won’t go into the rest of the expanding story out of respect for the man and the family’s privacy.
The original article I posted yesterday has been edited to remove whatever might possibly in some bizarre and overly sensitive world be construed as work-related and potentially unfriendly. As I don’t run a j-school-approved operation, I get to do that. Considering that I also run a friendly joint around here, I thought I’d let you know about that too.
As for the deep end? Perhaps I have been a little too candid. But isn’t the truth—however obscured to protect identities—a powerful weapon? I’ve actually seen that posts here, entries that adhere to my rules of conduct for fairness and accuracy from my particular viewpoint, affect change. More often than not for the better.
I’m sure that countless individuals have taken a look here and decided that I am a troublemaker with an axe to grind. I can assure you that the only dull implement I see in need of sharpening is the one named “silence.”
Your impolitical pal,
bob
“I’ve Been Worried Sick…”
Oh, poor bloggy. So sad, so lonely, so dejected. Your master gets a job and you lie fallow, alone in your never-ending task to serve up jaunty goodness to the world-wide masses. ed doesn’t get anything to provide snarky comments on. And you poor bloggy, my poor dear sweet bloggy, you find yourself with nothing to do but serve up the same old tired reruns. “Tonight, a very special episode of The Stickley Table…” It’s no wonder you’re sad.
That’s about to change.
First, the first week at the new job has worn me out. Not physically, mind, but I’ve found myself in what you might call a dilly of a pickle. [We removed a lot of content here because some of the people on our side have said that it’s not “work-safe.” Apparently Bob can’t keep his mouth shut. -ed That’s why you’re on the payroll. Geez. -bob]
“May you live in interesting times” goes the Chinese curse. I think that rightly describes the workplace at this moment.
Second, I’m heading to the desert over the weekend through FIRE! See? I’m as dedicated as they come. Sure, it’s Mother’s Day, but I’ll also be working. Into the frying pan, indeed.
Third, I don’t know if I should be writing about this (Is that why it’s third? – ed Exactly. But if I get the word, I’ll strike it. You know, if it’s too personal. – bob), but my lovely writing partner and co-conspirator has suffered a great tragedy in the loss of her father over the weekend.
I met him briefly at her wedding and found him to be warm, charming, and generous with his affection. Despite the pain he was suffering at the time, I caught him at a moment—with a gleam in his eye—when he took my dear friend’s hand to walk her down the aisle. In those few steps, you saw the real man inside that man.
When I shook his hand after the ceremony, I realized after a while that I wasn’t letting go. And now we have to.
Your pal (wherever you are),
bob
State Of The The Alley Address: Presented Without Interruption By A Jaunty Little Blog
Readers, lurkers, search engine castaways, my fellow San Diegians, ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to pronounce that the state of our alleys today is strong.
[applause]
The alleys in our great city of San Diego—America’s Finest City—are in the best shape now than at any time during their storied history.
[applause]
We are in a time of rapid change, of great technological breakthroughs, of unprecedented prosperity, and we are unified in our goal to create the best alleys on the face of this planet…
…but there have been setbacks…
At 3:00 a.m. Wednesday morning we, as San Diegans, awoke to the product of a fevered mind. This evil man inflicted a wound on our community that will take faith, courage, and a good contractor to heal. But rest assured my friends, we will surely have our fences again, even if some drunken angry fool decides to careen out of control down our alleys, into our backyards.
And now I’m speaking to you, the ones who don’t find the question “When did you stop beating your wife?” to be a conundrum. I say this…
Just go away.
To jail, preferably.
– bob