02/02/00 - Well the weather certainly has been a son of a biscuit, hasn't it? The truly terrible part is living without power in 2000. Just no fun. A few colleagues STILL haven't gotten their power reactivated. But onto cheerier topics. I dreamt I was a good hoops player last night. That's roughly like Andre The Giant (God rest his soul) dreaming he was a good bikini model... I've an observation to discuss. Grocery lists. I find grocery lists supremely frustrating. In my former life as a single guy I'd go to the store, grab a basket, walk the aisles listlessly grabbing that which looked good. When the basket was full I was done... unless I hadn't gotten beer yet. Now I go with a list and I need a cart. You can't bob and weave with a cart. And the list... well, what if they don't have something? Or what if you can't find "temph" (pronounced "tem pay" Kara says... I say: "Huh... it looks like 'temf'")? I tell you what happens: shopper stress. Shop sucks badly enough... especially when the weather is crappy and you don't have power, why introduce more stress? But the power is back... maybe I'll look again elsewhere tonight.
02/03/00 - I was handed a clean bill of dental health this morning. Truly, I worked for it. I would also like a clean bill of, oh, say... how large a denomination do they print? That's what I'd like... and several of them. The dentist and I have been friends for 20 years. We used to play guitar together at church when I went to church. He was telling me he just pulled his guitar from the closet where it lived for 3 years... at least. He owns a Martin... for those of you who don't know guitars that would be like garaging a Porsche. Anyway, his young daughter had never seen him play. Geez! Ok, in other news, the snow is gone from my yard; it has been replaced by ice... really slippery, glassy, white ice. The dogs now hate it. They walk around like the ground is something to be avoided, which, I guess, it is. This proves comedy, at its heart, is pain. I laugh at their frustration. The tables will be turned soon enough when the ice leave a thick mud bog where the backyard used to be. They like mud. My carpet is off-white. I suffer. But what's new? I take great comfort in being able to derive humor from my own pain.
02/04/00 - I suppose it's time to come clean. Kara is pregnant. Yup, good ole me will, in a matter of months, be a father. I'm scared but this is a decision Kara and I made knowing we'd be scared. The hardest part is accepting. So many things can go wrong; A strong heart is necessary to embrace the possibilities. Well, I've embraced them. Luckily, my wife and our families and friends are supportive. I got a tiny bit of practice yesterday. I'd like to introduce you guys to Morgan. Isn't she cute? The answer is: "You Betcha!"
02/07/00 - Ode to an Old Wallet: What a fine wallet you were. Now you're in the trash. In close contact with our kitchen trash but amongst other room's trash as well in the big can out back. Tomorrow you shall be taken to the dump with other's trash. Someday maybe an archaeologist will find you and, if my butt is famous, be able to tell from your curves who you served faithfully from high school through the eve of 30. Almost half my life you sat on my butt... or more appropriately, I sat on you in cars, in bars, on boats and planes and trains. You carried my money and the evidence I spent it. Visa slips probably out weighed currency. And there were the stupid things: SLASH, A Gold Panning Diploma, a $2 bill and the picture from Senior Prom. You've been replaced by a wallet I've had almost as long as you. But this wallet is not falling apart. This wallet has sat in dressers and desks and boxes from move to move waiting for a turn to sit on my butt, too... or more appropriately, for me to sit on it. It is not yet curved like you nor is it the same nice brown. It feels funny back there. It's square. And it doesn't bear the stupid things. It does have the guitar pick. But it has pictures of my wife. Were it not for her you'd probably be in a dresser and not in the trash. But she knows better than to let me keep trash. Anyway, someday the new wallet will be old and I'll replace it, too. Probably with one I get for Father's Day.
02/08/00 - Kara bought "Slaughterhouse Five" for $7. I thought it would cost more but it's, I guess, the copy they make for high schoolers who have to read it in English class. On page 34 of my edition is a very bad word. I like thinking about this word hitting the ears of 17 year olds when read by a brash youngster... the rebel who actually does homework and gets good grades. Who pushes the boundaries by saying bad words in the one context wherein an ax won't come down... or at least parents won't be called. No one in my English class was like that. I wish I cared about those things back then. In "My Early Years" Winston Churchil says educations should be delayed until the a willing student arrives. I certainly feel that way. I should have worked until I was 26 then gone to college. Heck, I could have been taught the weenie stuff in 10 years and have been working by 15. Imaging if society were restructured such that energy rich teenagers worked and when we start to slow down in our late 20s THEN we went to school for a while. What a great world. Bad words wouldn't seem so funny, too.
02/09/00 - Somewhere around page 150 I came upon the reason Slaughterhouse Five is called what it is. Pretty mundane reason. The reason I like Vonnegut so much is he says simple yet profound things in an exceedingly silly way. People die. So it goes. I got this idea about "heaven" from him... I used quotes and a lowercase Aytch so as not to offend. In the book time doesn't just march in one direction. It can be navigated like space. To extend the metaphor let's look at space. Say you could only see one unit of space at a time. You may see a single grain of sand. Then you may see the next and so on... But since you can really see more than just one unit of space at a time you can see all the sand actually forms a beach and out from the beach is the ocean and above all this are clouds. Now lets apply this to time... well, I can't with any certainty since I've only occupied one unit of time at a time... but I have an idea what it would be like to see the whole thing. Do you? My idea is about "heaven" is this: It's the ability to see all of time at once. Of course "once" loses significance... so does "forever" for that matter. And maybe you can only see what you saw "before". But what is "before"? Staggeringly moot to us now, isn't it? And what is "now"?
02/10/00 - Ok, I was thinking this morning. Today is Feb 2nd, 2000. But that can be expressed as 2/10/2K. When you say that it could sound like: two ten two kay. Phonetically that's also: Tutentukai. That looks and sounds like an Egyptian King's name, doesn't it? Let's say 7437 years ago ( 5438 BC) there lived an Egyptian King named Tutentukai. Do you suppose he and his friends ever wondered about the year 2000? You can be damn sure they didn't. Have you ever considered the future... THAT FAR into the future, I mean? Heck, until this very moment I pretty much never considered a calendar system other than whatever this whole BC/AD thing is called. I know in China there's a different one and the Buddhists have their own as do the Jews and the Muslims and many other ethic and cultural groups. I guess in a sense we each have our own; I'm in my 29th year. I went to high school with a guy who shared my calendar. Don't know where he is... nor am I certain about his last name. I'm taller than he is. I bet I'm taller than Tutentukai, too. I'm probably taller than Jesus, too, but that doesn't mean anything more than I could stand behind him at a show and still see the band.
02/11/00 - My phone is saying "Lee, I have something to tell you" but when I ask it "What's new, Phone?" it says "Sorry, I can't tell you right now." "Why NOT?! You keep blinking your silly light." "Yeah, but they told me not to tell you why it's blinking." "That's stoopid." "So? I don't write the rules; I just enforce them." "Is it something about that meningitis thing on campus?" "It could be but I can't tell you." "Come On... how about a hint." "Nope." "Dammit, phone. I have to go to this class in 10 minutes." "So?" "SO?! What if it's an important message?" "Well then I guess you miss it." "But..." "I told you, Lee; I don't write the rules." So that's how it went. The phone and I fought. The little red light blinks. Somewhere on campus a virus hunts us and I may not have the crucial information... like "Don't go through that DOOR!". But I doubt it's that simple. Maybe Phone will cooperate now.
02/14/00 - Happy Valentine's Day, Kara; I Love You. Ok, the guy in the next office is famous. See there's a meningitis outbreak on campus. 3 people in about a month... 2 in the last week, have gotten it. So far, thankfully, all are ok. One is in critical condition so pray for him if you think it will help. Anyway, Doug, the guy next door. Scooped up the latest sick person and flew, just like Superman, to the hospital. If it hadn't been for Doug the campus would have melted. Or maybe the library tower would have fallen. Frankly, I'm not certain. Well, Doug also happens to be in charge of things phonely on campus. He set up the famous 804 287 1212 meningitis line I heard about on the news this morning. So, if you don't believe me about the above points call that number and hear an honest to God VA Health Department person speak about meningitis and the University of Richmond. I hear Doug is up for a "Best Spoken Word" Grammy for his efforts on the recording. He was the voice behind all the characters in " Saving Private Ryan so this new Grammy, along with the last, will make a nice set of bookend for his office where all the books have tumbled to the floor for lack of adequate support. You'd think someone who could fly like Superman would have a neater office, wouldn't you?
02/15/00 - Word is the last confirmed case of meningitis is lessening meaning the kid is doing better, thank God. And Doug had a phone installed in the breakroom. When I get around to writing that novel Doug will be a main character. Of course it won't be Doug as he is but my version of Doug who gets paid for winning Oscars and installing phones anywhere they may be useful. And no one will flinch when he wears dresses to work... he's only done that once. The great thing about Doug is no one can tell where fiction and truth part. Doug will even have a nickname... of course it will be "Doug" so you won't know if he's being called by his name or his nickname. Like Vonnegut's characters Doug will/does have a military background. If he truly did singlehandedly capture a Soviet spy sub commander in a dense fog off the coast of Alaska is a topic for later discussion. The fact that he wears the commander's fur hat in bad weather is indisputable, though. In other news Kara's mother says they received 20 inches of snow which has drifted, in places, over 6 feet...cool... I mean cold. Glad this southern boy doesn't have to drive in it.
02/16/00 - Today Emelie and my officemate share birthdays. Emelie is 8. Cheryl is a bit older... we'll stop there. The spector of Meningitis is leaving campus. I saw him yesterday at the coffee shop. No one was sitting with him and he looked lonely and rejected. It's no wonder he's leaving. Who likes to be lonely and rejected? The Unibomber liked lonely but it's pretty obvious even he disliked rejected. In fact he was at the coffee shop yesterday, too. He started to walk up to the spector of Meningitis but, I'm guessing by the look on the Unibomber's face, he had second thoughts. Both sat there, at separate tables sipping their coffee drinks and pondering the days of Yore. How Yore ever got days is beyond me. I guess in his time he was really something, too, but that was so long ago. You know what? I think Yore, the spector of Meningitis and the Unibomber might make good characters in this book I'm writing, don't you? But even more important than all that is my empty coffee cup. I'm afraid to go back to that coffee shop; you never know who I'll see.
02/17/00 - I think I've decided on the book's title: Coffee Shop Blues. That's a bad song Help Wanted used to play. Actually, I'm convinced it's a good song that we were unable to pay well. Oh well, we weren't perfect. And this novel won't be, either. I think it will be about the last 4 months of my 30th year (ie 29.75 to 30). I'm sorry, but I'm not confident enough to write about anything other than myself... of course the book will be fiction. I'm going over the opening scene in my mind. Driving down Monument Ave to pick up Kara (whose name, along with mine, will be changed) a traffic helicopter crashes in the road in front of my car. The book's theme will be the struggle to make an ugly world beautiful. The answer will be love and caffeine but please read the book anyway, ok? Some may be wondering why beer isn't an answer, too. Beer can't be consumed at work and is therefore not a valid answer. Plus beer can lead to drunkiness which can lead to ugliness which is what we're trying to make beautiful in the first place. So maybe if you want more raw material beer is a possible answer but there's enough raw material already, isn't there? Love and caffeine... and humor... which is pain... this could be deeper than I thought.
02/18/00 - It's the friday before my Dad's birthday and I'm thankful for many things including the coffee in my cup. Dad is much higher on that list... so are most people in my life but I want to talk about coffee today. Like I said yesterday the secret to making ugly beautiful is caffeine. Are you familar with the ugly beauty of Southern winter? Where the classic image of winter is that of snow and white and wind and cold Southern winter are wet and brown and muddy and cold and wet and brown and muddy and cold... and those things yet another time. Part of a Southern's heart loves this but then that part also hates... Southerners are comfortably dualistic; just look at our clinginess to things Confederate. Anyway, while we appreciate its beauty we loath its ugliness. That's where coffee enters the picture. Needing a lense through which to view the ick I sought one in breakroom coffee, the nasty, unimbibable swill baked down the hall past Doug's office and around the corner. Entering the breakroom, seeking relief, Bill and I found exactly 2 cups in the pot... and NO INGREDIENTS TO MAKE MORE. Consider our miserable plight: 10 minutes worth of coffee can't fill a work day much less combat the ugliness through which we just fought to get to the place we come only because we need the money... which is not exactly true but does paint a bleaker picture. Down on our knees we went to pray for a quick end to our suffereing and, as if God placed it there Himself while our backs were turned, WAY in the back on the bottom shelf of the coffee cabinet was a whole, unopened, unmolested, undidturbed, fresh, clean, beautiful box of crappy, undrinkable, yet fully fortified with caffeine, ground crud. We didn't have to chew the grounds after all. We may have grazed the wall spitting them out, though.
02/21/00 - I had a good bit of time to read this weekend. I read a complete Kurt Vonnegut book (Hocus Pocus) which wasn't as good as as the other Vonnegut books I've read but still ranks high on my list. When that was done I bought another Vonnegut book called Fates Worse Than Death: an Autobiographical Collage but started a childrens book lent to me by Mitch, the Bad DBA. Mitch isn't bad in the sense of unskilled but bad in the sense of Darth Vader... at least he jokingly portays himself as such when in actuality he's no worse than anyone else... may be a bit more bitter but that, too, could just be like shirt od some other piece of cloth he wears. The point here is not Mitch, though; it's Mitch's book. Mitch belongs to a book club wherein folks take turns choosing texts, reading them and discussing them. I think Mitch joined this club to meet women but, as I said earlier, the point here isn't Mitch but Mitch's book. The thing I'm calling "Mitch's book" is owned by Mitch but wasn't choosen by him, I think. I know Mitch didn't write it. Mitch liked it, though. And thought I would, too. Mitch's book is famous; you may have heard of it: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I'm almost half way through. I find it neither insightful nor particularly well written (in its defense it is, at worst, averagely written) but the story is fun. I know the good guy will come out a winner but that doesn't hurt the reading experience. Well, I guess that's the story... ar, ar.
02/22/00 - Well, no matter how you slice it today and last sunday are all 2s and 0s (zeroes). November 11th and 19th were 1s and 9s. And both this year and last match this digit pattern: XYYY. Oh well. I reflect back on my time as a fighter pilot over Detroit. Those were the days. Protecting GM cars from aerial assaults. It's a good thing my plane had airbags with all the rough landings I had to make. How's that for a symbiotic relationship. GM needed me to make airbags and I needed GM to make airbags. "I don't remember what came first" I said to Marta as I munched on leftover chicken nuggets and a hard boiled egg. "Does it matter?" was her reply. I guess not. I wish I still had that plane; it would make the morning commute that much more fun. Richmond, someday, might need my services. You never know. But they can buy me a new plane if it comes to that. How knows in what shape the old one is. I might have to go visit it in Detroit. I think I copied its address off the Christmas card it sent me this year. p> 02/23/00 - Driving from VCU to UR. Fan roads are sandwiched between ribbons of sand covered in parked cars. How do the cars get into spaces with only a foot to spare on either side of the bumpers? I bet there's plenty of skidding on that sand. At least the housing looks cool. But I bet there are many plumbers have made and will make fortunes on these houses. I want to live here someday. That guy in the black shirt, black pants, black shoes, black socks and black overcoat must be a VCU student. I wonder if people don't dress like that after college because it's hard to get hired looking so gloomy. Sellouts. I don't think I could dress that gloomy. When Kara wears all black it doesn't look gloomy. I'm going to be a block from World Cup... but I should get to work and drink swill coffee... which isn't as bad as I say it is. I remember when I used to run from Maple Ave to Thompson and back; that was fun. I know Mom and Dad lived in one of these building when I was born but I can't remember how far from Grove it is. Grove is a cool street but I think it has something against me today... what's up with all these traffic lights turning red? Better stay in the right lane; don't want to get stuck behind... see, look how much traffic is stuck behind that woman turning left onto Malvern. Ahhh... the greek Festival. I wonder how Andy is doing today? I wonder how often he ate dinner alone when he lived here? Bummer. Damn traffic light. This was where that Miata was coated in snow... like a Tootsie Pop with an automotive center. Stay right... Hey, Construction work! What are they doing to that sidewalk? I hate this curve... but that's a cool Volvo wagon. I think I had an ingrown toenail removed in that yellow building... I seem to remember the pain and tugging... ug. Of course this light is red. I guess all the St Catherines girls are in class because the traffic cop is gone. Stopping again. What's Scott doing here? Yep, that's his Jeep; look at all the stickers. He must be sick. I might actually make it by 9:30. Geez, Richmond radio sucks. I wonder what I'll discuss this morning. This is a cool neighborhood, too; We could never afford to live here. I always take this turn onto campus too quickly, but the it's hard to see on coming traffic. Yep, too, fast today, too. But I'm here. 9:31. Darn red lights.
02/24/00 - I've put off authoring until now so I could attempt to compile COBOL programs. If computer languages were cars COBOL would be... well, there is no good analogy. Let's pretend Studebakers were still on the road in large numbers... not new ones but ones dating back to the 50s. That's what's up with COBOL. For my next trick I will execute a script which will, in one fell, produce software from what is now only strictly formatted text. Oooo. Programming needs metaphor to be exciting... there isn't all that much excitement in it otherwise. It's like a turkey sandwich on white bread. That was a simile. This is a metaphor: And with the strength of a giant the COBOL program holds the campus in its hands providing the foundation for such unexciting things as tax calculations and the creation of various pieces of corespondance. Or: But it's not just one COBOL program; many programs scurry around campus infesting this build or that build with evidence of their visits. I've been fortunate enough to do battle with COBOL programs and emerge from the contest soiled but stronger. Nest time I'll know how to beat their insidious "Unsatified Symbol" link error. I'll show you an unsatified symbol you lousy old, unairbaged, locking brake, no shoulder belt jalopy! Just look in the mirror, Mr COBOL! Have I been too harsh?
02/25/00 - It's noon 2 months after Christmas. The temperature should be nearly 75 today. Warm weather awoke the ants living somewhere near our kitchen. The invaded Marta's food bowl... I think she ate them sans the chocolate coating with which people normally eat bugs. Dogs can't eat chocolate but they can eat almost everything else. Actually, they CAN eat chocolate but they SHOULDN'T. Back to bugs. I think I'll invent an ant camera: one that sits on an ant's head recording an ant-eye view of the world. The technology must exist to creat a camera that small. How cool would seeing the view from a countertop be? A vast plain of faux something spreading out in all directions. The gentle raise by the sink and the Grand Canyon-esque sink with its powerful water fall. The sheer walls spattered with gook since the kitchen's last cleaning. And the drops of water towering above you... perhaps moving an various speed over the less than level plain. The plain's edge drops suddenly... drops more severely than the sink down to a floor littered with taste scraps of mud and food and gunk. And the ant can just walk right off the edge and down the cabinet onto the floor to get these tasty SPLAT! Time for a new Ant Cam, I guess.
02/28/00 - We bought TurboTax and calculated 1999 Federal Taxes yesterday. The heartbreaking result was enough to make me vote for George W based solely on his tax plan. Elections must be placed where they are simply so Taxes aren't the sole issue. Were elections closer to April no one would give a rats bottom about anything but "Why do you take all my money?" What do I get in return for the heartbreaking emptiness in my already empty bank account? Well, I'm protected by the military from raging racists in Europe and overjealous oil mongers in the Middle East. My parents may get something out of Social Security. Back to the military: Canada and Mexico haven't invaded in a while. The FBI, CIA and DEA seem to be keeping bad guys away from me. DC has some nice museums on our bill. Anarchy is a word many don't know and most don't fear. I guess these things are worth pain but are they really worth ALL THE PAIN?! Nope; what we need is me as President plus me as Congress. I'll let the Supreme Court stick around for a while but the next two justices will be my brother-in-law Tim and my friend Steve.
02/29/00 - Leap Day. Leap Frog. Frog Stomp. Silver Chair. C.S. Lewis. Huey Lewis. The News. Presidential Primaries. Primates. Firstmate. Gilligan. Finegan. James Joyce. Re-joice. Happy. Happy Meal. Surprise. Birthday. Beatles. John. Gospel. Godspell. Musicals. Rent. Mortgage. Taxes. Yuk. Gak. Gheimer. Beard. Van Dyke. Artist. Prince. 1999. Marriage. Kids. Dad. Mom. Home. Home Free. Free. Lunch. Chili. Wendy's. Big Classic. Andy. B210 Bomber. Turbo. Diesel. Physics. Newton. Fig Newton. Yellow. Mt Dew. Morning Dew. Grateful Dead. Dead. Black. Phone. Phone Home. ET. Reeses's Pieces. M&M's. Blue. Blue Christmas. Elvis. Evlis Costello. Abbot and Costello. Mr. Abbot. History. Civil War. Civil Disobedience. Henry David Thoreau. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Where's Waldo? Willy Wonka. Chocolate. Vanilla. Vanilla Ice. Cheese. Crackers. Polly want a Cracker? Polymer. Plastic. Plastic Ono Band. Rubber band. Band Aid. We are the World. World Champion Braves. Maybe this year. 2000. 2K. Tucan. Yucatan. Chihuahua. Taco Bell. Saved by the Bell. Bad TV. Bad Brains. Punk Rock. Rinn. Running. Not running. Fat. Lowfat. Diary. Cows. Vermont. The Pages. The Yellow Pages. James Earl Jones. Darth Vader. Luke Skywalker. Bad Actor. RH Factor. Blood. Bloody. Scotland. 2 Ts? T2. Terminator 2. Dixon Partying. Jon. Jon Songs. Guitars. Cadillacs and Hilly Billy Music. Country Music. DJ. CMJ. Coffee. Morning. Mourning. Doves. Soap. On a rope 'cause the beats and the rhymes are so dope. Stephan. Toby. Moby. Techno. Heck No! We won't Go! Stop. Ok.