Category: Uncategorized

As Legend Is To RL and Catera Is To CTS…

Hello Obfuscator!

As recent visitor and boyfriend of recent visitor have pointed out lately, there’s a fair amount of false names, head fakes, and general whatsis going on around here. Anyone who’s been following these goings on since (eep!) 2002 has a handle on the whys and wherefors of the name changes and trickery. Those who are new to my little mess and its legal and moral imbroglios might need a tip sheet. You can’t know the players without a scorecard, after all. As always, if you need help with something that looks like I’m making it up, just submit a comment in Comments.

Okay, here’s the weirdest stuff:

San Diego’s Omnipresent Charitable Organization: Where I used to work until a few months ago. The I.T. Department has little to do with religion and the company claims that as well. Feeding, housing, and preparing the homeless for the big scary world is the mission there (did I say “mission?” Ooops.)

San Diego’s Omnipresent Charitable Organization’s Far Eastern Outpost: Where I now work. It’s the same deal as above, except in the desert. With heat. And many wealthy volunteers who likely feel so guilty about their personal wealth that they work in the kitchen every day at lunchtime serving mushy peas to the downtrodden. An affliction not suffered by the very wealthy in San Diego County.

The Dum Dum Team: A relatively new name that I’ve given to Bruno and Uta. They’re German Shorthaired Pointers that were adopted from San Diego’s finest and most dedicated canine rescue site. They’re breed-specific, so when (not if) you find that the hole in your heart can only be plugged by a pointer, go there and adopt a fun and fun-loving dog.

The Damp Dog Lodge: My lovely new-ish home in mile-high Idyllwild, California. Bring your Harley! Wear your Tevas! Pretend you’re a cowboy! We cater to all kinds of weirdos up here!

The 1912 House: Oh, you’ve dug into the archives, haven’t you? That’s my former lovely home prior to The Troubles. Somebody still lives there.

Somebody: You are curious, aren’t you? Hated her other made-up name. See the next entry.

My Beautiful and Talented Bride: Yep, just past tense, that’s all. See Somebody.

The Fourteenth Largest Marketing Frim (by billings): I don’t know how they’re positioned nowadays, but I used to work for them doing some writing deal. Apparently I was very good too. They gave me every raise I asked for, right up until I was laid off. Did I singlehandedly drain their coffers? Um, sure I did. [cough!]

My Lovely Writing Partner: You know, I’ve been friends with this woman for almost two decades (think on that for a minute). We’ve worked at three jobs together, and she continues to fail to be annoyed. I also know that she’s neither deaf (which would help her not hear my screeching) nor blind (which would help her not have to read this crap. – ed True! – Bob) so I don’t get it. And she knows her way around a turbodiesel! Scared yet?

Have I missed anything? Comments, please.

Your best pal ever,

bob

My Secret Car Crash (of sorts)

Friends,

Don’t tell anybody, but I’ve done something I promised I’d never do. I had a wee vehicular incident caused almost entirely by me. Considering that I was the only one affected, it wasn’t all that cataclysmic. Harrowing? And how. Vehicular damage? Almost nil.

Monday morning commute down the hill. It’s usually a non-event and I take my time (that’s my time, which is pretty quick, but it’s my own pace) but yesterday there was some hoon riding my bumper no matter what I did to try and shake him off. Short of playing the Slow Game, which the might Dakota isn’t any good at (no horsepower means no mid-range acceleration) I decided to put an end to the torment. Unnaturally, I decided to turn out in the first place, rather than the best place so while still at speed I let the blinker click twice and swerved out into the first dirt patch. It wasn’t dirt though and it was a little shorter than an actual patch.

The spot I’d “chosen” was paved, but covered in gravel so even the anti-lock robots failed to slow down the brave little truckster. The pedal shuddered without any actual, perceivable shedding of momentum. Good thing that big rock was there.

I was heading down a ravine and didn’t like the looks of the stuff I couldn’t see beyond and below the hood. Cranked the wheel hard left and stopped with nothing less than a bang. Oh yeah, the dust, tire smoke, stalled engine, that was all there too.

With the right front wheel in the ditch, my head not very clear (no physical impact in the cab, no airbags, just adrenaline) the shifter flung in reverse, I gunned it to get out and back on level ground. Did I mention the thing about the absence of traction? Pea gravel on pavement turns out to be a bitter enemy of my cheap tires and even though I spun the things really, really fast, I couldn’t get out.

Let’s consider how dumb this is getting for a moment (I did). Emotion overrode good sense in swerving off the road. At speed. I spent way too long to mash the brake to the floor to take advantage of whatever ABS could offer, and now I was sitting there spinning my wheels, thinking more about being late for work than about the repercussions.

I hit the life-saving rock with the side of the right front wheel, leaving the aluminum banged up and a tiny piece of the lip actually broken off. Otherwise, the wheel was straight and would still be fine to drive on if I took it easy. Breathe, move the rock, crank the wheels, rock the pickup to get out of my little “stuck” and I was back on the flat.

Honestly, I turned out of traffic nine times (in perfectly safe places) before I made it to work. Too spooked, I suppose, but my secret crash could’ve been much, much worse.

Like, a lot worse. Not kidding. Ravine. Airbags (maybe, if they still work). Bigger rocks at the bottom.

Time for a new job, methinks.

Your pal,

bob

P.S. No, I’m not getting the motorcycle. Just in case you were wondering.

Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia!

Hooray! You knew there just had to be a word for it, didn’t you? By the way, I’m not impressed that 06/06/06 is anything more than the Mark Of The Actuaries. Which may actually be scarier.

Have a fine, erm, Tuesday.

Your pal,

bob

The Jaunty Little Marketing Department
Proudly Presents

Two Sentences From A Press Release!

“Either way, John Moore, the Irish director of “The Omen” remake—entitled “Omen 666″—realized that June 6 was too good a date to miss for a film about a sinister child named Damien who turns out to be the Antichrist. “It’s a fantastic marketing gimmick,” Moore said.”

[sigh]

– bob

The Jaunty Little Players
– Proudly Present –

Two Sentences From A Book!

“Even dresses hanging in stock areas, or aprons on a counter, become more appealing to the customer when illuminated. Besides selling the store, lighting is now selling the contents of the store.”

Thank you! Oh, you’re too kind…

Suggestions Please.

Pals,

Here’s a quote from an actual recent visitor to bobtherieau.com: “I tried to click on the monkey, but it didn’t do anything. Was it supposed to do something? I didn’t know what to do…” There, there recent visitor. Everything’s going to be okay.

It might be a good idea to actually put something up there, but what? You tell me! Photos? A pithy About page? Another peevish quasi-resume thing? Something else?

Please feel free to call the shots! Pretend that you’re the big shot you secretly, deep-down know that you are! Issue your edicts in Comments and I’ll try to make something out of what you guys come up with.

Thanks,

bob

Scritch, Scratch, Scritch

Kids!

Memorial Day at The Lodge was a lovely affair, I have to say. As is the case with establishing a family tradition, my guests weren’t sure what exactly to do with themselves. My folks came up from the desert and were overly concerned about frostbite considering the sub-90 degree weather. My sister did a lot of the heavy lifting in the kitchen (for which she will surely find a special place in heaven, the dinners were that good) and my nephew found new ways to endear us to his, well, cuteness.

Up here in Idyllwild Memorial Day means garage sales and the folks were prepped and ready on Friday. They, and the rest of us, found the sales wanting though. “I guess they couldn’t lug all of that stuff to the dump so they put price tags on it instead,” was the lament. My sister found a nice spherical aluminum ice bucket, but I found the records. Esquvel! Frank! Space Age Dating Electronica! (oof. dating music? you? please spare us all. – ed But the cover photo sells it. The young couple in cocktail attire flying through the city in their bubble top Bell helicopter? That’s class. – Bob) I’m gonna need a new cartridge for the turntable just to enjoy all of the 25-cents a piece goodness.

My Mom found a yellow Bauer pottery plate that wasn’t already represented in her collection of Fiestaware. That’s a fairly rare occurrence. What doesn’t she have? It’s down to colors of things now, but she didn’t have an example of this shape. Weird.

My nephew found all manner of things to do while here. Even though we didn’t go out much, he raided the crafts basket and found crayons, clay, paper, pens, toys and all kinds of kid’s stuff that occupied his time. He bashed his Big Wheel around the deck until I finally tired of the crashing. Based on discussion of my crashing a bike up here thirty years ago and going to hospital, I came upon the idea that he might like to barrel down my driveway. And how.

The previous owners left me some utility company wheel chocks tied together with a rope. That became the arrestor line at the bottom of the driveway. My sister and I stood beyond the line to arrest the arrestor should our flyboy overshoot his landing and blast into the street. Ready! Go!

Controlled terror ensued. The little plastic trike wobbled furiously. His sneakers lost a good bit of sole. There was a minor crash involving the wobbliness and not steering with both hands, but no bloodletting (and we didn’t have to bring out the portable defibrillator for his mom).

At the end, we ate and laughed and talked about my aunt and tried to figure out what we can do better next year. I scoffed at that final idea though. We’ve got an entire summer to work out the kinks. Don’t we?

Your pal,

bob

The Little Kensington Jaunty Players
– Proudly Present –
– The Proud Return –
– of –
– An Ongoing Feature –
– Entitled –

Two Sentences From A Book

“Doc Austin had vanished, but his participation in the wedding had created a barrier between the good citizens of Helena and the new Mrs. Bodein. Greeted curtly in the street, Mattie found her attempts to be neighborly were politely rebuffed.”

Thank you!

Beep!

Hey there sweaty monkeys,

[crap.crap.crap. This post was about halfway done, with links and witty commentary and a mostly interesting story, then the little iBook froze. The keyboard continued working, allowing me to issue commands, but wouldn’t accept them once entered. Wanna know what happened? The IBM-branded mouse is what happened. I had one in the bag with my work laptop (or is it “notebook?”) and thought I’d use it on the Mac. Despite the problems I’ve had with them at work I figured that it might be just fine on another platform. That wouldn’t be the first time that trick has worked and all was going well until now. BTW, that would be your IBM Model MO27FO four button optical mouse with scroll wheel manufactured by MICRO Innovations. If you could take the time to avoid them like the plague, I’d recommend that course of action—unless you dig frustration, in which case, be my guest. On second thought, not even then.]

The temperature at San Diego’s Omnipresent Charitable Organization’s Far Eastern Outpost in the hub of the grand Coachella Valley was a balmy 102 degrees this afternoon. No big deal, actually. It’s May and they’re girding for summertime highs in the high 120s, so today’s weather was fairly typical. Folks were in and out of the building. The air conditioners were humming along, as were my charges in the server room.

Then the power went out.

This has happened fairly often there despite the Imperial Irrigation District’s commitment “…to offer low-cost, reliable energy service to its local customers.” My understanding is that the low-cost part is right. Even the “local customers” part is accurate. They’ve just been struggling with the reliability part. Hell, what are they going to do when absolutely everybody has their A/C on full-tilt? I suspect they’ll offer the same reassuring words that their phone operator hoped to soother our troubled souls with today (which I’ll paraphrase); “…geez, you and 500 hundred other people, just keep ‘yer shirts on…”

Ahhh. I feel much better.

The nice thing was that the big backup batteries gave me plenty of time for an orderly shutdown of the servers and still kept the switches running. We had a connection to the rest of the network the whole time the mains were down. Sure, nobody could get to their documents and if they had a desktop workstation they were screwed, but the laptop users were hooked up and working until their batteries ran out (which only happened to one older laptop). If you ask me, it was a fairly decent test and most everything ran like we expected. I was a little concerned that the analog phones quit, but that’s another post (or not. analog phones? are you kidding? i’m bored just objecting to the idea. – ed).

There’s actual good stuff to write about. Last weekend was good fun and pointed to the eternal joy to be found by a four year old in a Big Wheel and steep driveway. But that’s later!

Your pal,

bob

I’d Prefer To Go Faster Than 55 MPH, Thank You

Friends,

I just have to say that I’m impressed. It’s a little early in the 2008 Presidential Election cycle (gee, you think? – ed) and already, Hillary found an issue to sabotage whatever campaign she was thinking of launching. Yep, gas prices are pretty high, but when she suggested that a 55 MPH speed limit be reinstated while delivering a speech, all seemed right with the world. Why?

It reinforces the notion that the Democrats will waste no opportunity to appear irrelevant. Crap. They’re poised to regain the House in the mid-term elections fer crissakes. Can’t they keep it together for half a second?

I’ll answer that for all of us: of course not.

If a George W. Bush appearance at an election rally is as “radioactive” as they say, what’s Hillary? Kryptonite? Maybe she can just check the tires on her limo for proper pressure her own damn self and leave the rest of us out of it.

This has been your Jaunty Little Public Service Announcement of the day.

You’re welcome.

– bob

But Death Is A New Beginning, Mmmmm?

Friends,

I was charging up the Hill this afternoon in the Little Dodge That Could (powered by AMC!), minding my own business, not screwing with the radio or the A/C, when I grew concerned. No specific reason, really, just some glazed over Hispanic fellow careening towards me down the road in his fullsize Chevy pickup—in my lane.

He corrected, I slowed down, then he veered back into my lane. It didn’t look like he was screwing with anything either, except the demons in his head. Or invisible spiders.

I put the right side of the truck up the side of the rock face (the high side on my side of the road, not the falling-off-into-the-abyss side) and narrowly averted a head-on crash. The strange part about that whole encounter was that I wasn’t really worried about my fate. I had the time to survey my options, there was a good one available, no big deal. Oh, except that Señor Screwy might actually claim the guy coming up the hill behind me who might be a little less prepared than I was.

Somewhere in the posts below I mention that my Aunt had passed after a breathtakingly short but brutal battle with brain cancer. The initial diagnosis was when? January? Geez. The memorial service was last Saturday and was pretty well attended. She understood the nature of her illness well enough that she had the time and foresight to plan her own service. Music selections, scripture readings, the whole bit. She may not have planned for the priest’s linguistic tic though. I wouldn’t even comment on it but more than one attendee brought it up.

Everything he said during his sermon seemed to be a question, like he was engaging the crowd by asking us to approve his every point. And what points? “It’s a happier place we go to after we pass, eh?” “That we go on to everlasting life is a miracle, mmm hmm?” “These are the fundamental tenents of our faith, aren’t they? Hmmm?”

Er, uh, you went to divinity school, why’re you asking me? Oh, that’s why. It was a rhetorical device! One that worked, too. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house except for my Dad and I. You see, we’re tough guys (oh, that’s rich. – ed Okay, not that tough. As far as I was concerned, that wasn’t the venue for big outpouring of emotion. Dad? I didn’t ask. – Bob). The eulogy ended, the Bells n’ Smells™ got back underway and everyone recovered. Then my Uncle delivered the eulogy. Bang! Everybody whose eyes were leaking before fished around for their saturated hankies for this next round.

I’ve been dealing with it in my own way lately. For instance, I was looking forward to showing her around The Damp Dog Lodge. She used to love the Hill, and one of the reasons I chose that particular house to buy was the easy access for folks with limited mobility. I envisioned the family hanging out on the deck, playing cards, laughing, just like old times.

Maybe she’s doing just that right now, uh hmmm?

Your pal,

bob

New Things

Yeah, I’ve been playing with iWeb over the last couple of weeks. It could be easier to manage—with fewer features than blogger—but easier. It’s prettier too, but that’s not everything, is it? I dunno. Follow the link and see if it might be worth the trouble to migrate. I’m conflicted at this point, so I’m open to suggestions, in the comments please.

Here’s what I understand about it at this point: adding photos will be much easier but there is no commenting system. I’ll have to post the thing at bobtherieau.com to enable the bandwitdh (and to have manageable URLs) but that will kill the RSS features. If I post to my .mac account, the URLs will be horrendous piles of hex, but you’ll get RSS and I’ll get photo synchonization and instant updates—but from the machines that I’ve installed iLife on. If you’re still following, I have two machines, G4s, that’ll run the thing. No posts from the field. Nothing spontaneous.

Granted, I haven’t been doing too much of that lately, the random posts from the email kiosk here and there, but still…

I guess I’ve made up my own mind, haven’t I? Blogger stays for the time being. Maybe Apple will upgrade the tools to allow me to have, well, everything. Not yet though.

Your pal,

bob

P.S. Following the WatergateGate bribery/hooker/Duke Cunningham thing? Is CIA Director-designate Gen. Hayden involved? This is good stuff for the red meat crowd. Bad for the republic. Can the Democrats screw themselves out of a mid-term election victory? (answer: with pelosi leading the charge, of course they can! – ed Good point. – Bob)

“It’s Like Your Fourth of July…”

Mine? Don’t get me started on what my Fourth of July is like.

Anyhoo, I walk into work today, into the facility located in the Southwestern end of the Coachella Valley, and am greeted with a smile by the Latina security guard. “You know, today is Cinco de Mayo.” “Yeah, I knew that,” I half-replied while signing in. “It’s Mexican Independence Day!” she added.
Huh? “It represents a minor victory over the French Army, doesn’t it?” “Oh no,” she added, “Cinco de Mayo is like your Fourth of July. See? We celebrate Mexican Independence today.”

“That’s fine, but should you?” I thought to myself. After all, I didn’t want to argue the point. She was carrying mace and what did I have? A travel mug half full of lukewarm coffee? Game, set, match. It clearly must be Mexican Independence Day then. Besides, she had sketched little piñatas on the bottom of the sign in sheet. That sealed the deal for me.

Then, another staff member walks in wearing a flouncy fuscia peasant dress that wouldn’t be out of place on Olivera Street. “You know,” (oh no, here it comes) “we wear these dresses because it’s Cinco de Mayo. It’s a big celebration for us, it’s Mexican Independence Day!”

Good grief.

I let her know that the jeans and t-shirt I’m wearing are part of the traditional French costume my people wear on this day. You know, on that battle in Mexico, the one that happened 144 years ago today?

Your pal,

bob

Strange Visitors From Another Planet

I’d just returned to The Lodge yesterday from an overnighter in the desert and settled in a bit when the dogs started losing their minds with the barking. Not “get out of here, damn squirrels!” barking, but the big warning that signals the arrival of mailmen, pizza delivery guys, or Jehovah’s Witnesses.

And there they stood, grinning, in their freshly pressed white shirts, holding the Holy Scripture (WTF Edition) in one hand, a copy of The Watchtower in the other. (those dogs are good! is there anything they can’t do? -ed How about get off the couch? – bob) Son Of Lurch had visited before, but this time he brought

Posted on April 27, 2006June 13, 2018