Month: September 2005

  • Ow ow ow!!! 

    Do you hate telemarketers? No, I mean really hate telemarketers? 

    Then you'll love this invention and this site....turn on your speakers and listen to a conversation between the TC2K and a telemarketer.

    I howled.  Positively howled. 

  • Moosebugs  -  who finds the neatest stuff on the net, I can't
    imagine how he does it  -  came across these monitor cases
    made in Russia:


    That shutter is so slick!  I want one. 

    The pedestal version in mahogany is also lovely.  No shutter
    though, and I'm powerful fond of that shutter feature.  There's
    also a wood-enclosed keyboard, and a mouse. 

    Here's a photo of one of the craftsmen who made them:

  • Sometimes I wonder....I really wonder....

    Dmitry's playing Runescape and just came in to urgently ask me, "From where do we get flour?  Cows?"

  • "Oops!" indeed. 

    Did you read that yesterday's blackout afflicting half of the Los
    Angeles area was caused by a worked inadvertently cutting the wrong
    line?

    Talk about having a bad day at work. 

  • You know, crosswalks are all very well, but ISTM the smart
    person....the one likely to have a lifespan longer than next
    Thursday....doesn't just step into the street, blithely assuming oncoming cars will stop.

    Yeah, yeah, this is the only way to get anywhere on foot in Rome, but Fort Worth isn't Rome, now is it?

    I was just driving down University on my way to the TCU-area
    Albertson's when my attention was caught by some peculiar - and large -
    boulders plunked down (in what doubtless meant to be a tasteful
    arrangement) outside of what was a gymnasium when I was a sophomore
    there.  No telling what the building is now, of course. 
    Anyway, the TCU campus is not generally given to such flights of fancy
    so I was staring at the rocks in some perplexity, feeling reasonably
    safe in so doing as there was no intersection coming up, nor any cars
    in front of me.

    There WAS, however, a faded crosswalk.  When I turned my attention
    back to the road (understand this has taken much longer to read than it
    did to happen) I was dismayed to find a man stepping off the median
    into the street.  I was in the right hand lane, thank the LORD, so
    I had some time to react, which I did by applying the brakes with more
    than my usual degree of enthusiasm (it wasn't necessary to actually slam
    on the brakes), allowing me to come to a stop right as he approached my
    front left fender.  He casually waved a gracious acknowledgement
    of my halting for him (which, to be fair, was pretty civil of him) and
    crossed in front fo me.

    We were very very fortunate, that's all.  Fortunate I wasn't in
    the inside lane (he'd have been roadkill), fortunate I looked to the
    left instead of checking my rearview mirror, fortunate I wasn't
    speeding, etc.

    I'll willingly grant I shouldn't have allowed my gaze to linger on the
    boulders, but in my defense, there were no cars ahead of me, and there
    was no intersection where pedestrians would be expected to cross. 

    If the man had bothered looking at my car he'd have surely noticed my
    head turned away from him, which would tip him the nod I'm unaware
    there's anyone about to walk out in front of me.

    There one is, though.  More proof of the old saying "Assumptions
    are dangerous things"!  I assumed no one would just step in front
    of an oncoming minivan, and he assumed the driver of the minivan wasn't
    distracted by the boulders at 2:00.  (In this age of cellphones,
    it's doubly dangerous to assume a driver isn't distracted, what with
    people trying to dial using those itty-bitty buttons on those
    teeny-tiny phones.)

  • Dmitry simply slays me, he's so funny to listen to as he plays
    Runescape, or most any video game.  It's a continuing mix of
    stream-of-consciousness commentary, singing, one-sided discussion,
    maniacal laughter and howls of frustration, interspersed with an
    occasional "Yeah!  In your FACE!" or "Blast them all to oblivion!"

    Don and I can't decide whether he's even aware he does it.

  • Hard to believe my Bryson bunny is already a year old!  Where does the time go? 

    This afternoon Kirstin and Matt hosted a festive party in Bryson's
    honor, giving many family members an excuse to see their new house for
    the first time.  Kirstin found one of those bounce-house things on
    a super sale and snagged it.....the kids loved it, to the point Jessica
    felt constrained to tell 'em to settle down a trifle:

    At one point there must have been ten kids in there. 

    Our gift to Bryson was a Little Tykes indoor/outdoor slide, which Matt
    and Dmitry hauled upstairs to the playroom so it could be
    assembled.  Talk about "If you build it, they will come"! 
    Next thing we knew we were awash in small fry, all anxious to help put
    the slide together.  Nothing inspires confidance like a toy built
    by a committee, most of whom were under 5 years old. 

    Tell you what, don't eat before going to one of Kirstin's parties, for
    she does not stint on the refreshments offered to the guests. 
    Unfortunately, we left before getting a cupcake from the
    football-shaped cupcake "cake."  Dang.  It was chocolate, too.

    Again I was struck by how few wrapped presents are given these
    days.  The gifts mostly came enclosed in a gift bag, with the
    exception of ours....it was so big we blew off wrapping it at
    all.  Heck, the kid's only a year old....like he cares, right?

    You'll notice Uncle Dmitry hunkered down with his Gameboy, up there in
    the upper left corner.  He still gets overwhelmed by too many
    people.

    And last but certainly not least, the birthday boy himself. 

  • Speaking of poetry (this is a very erudite sort of blog, it's plain to see), who has a favorite poem or poet?

    My favorite poem is Shelley's Ozymandias:

    I met a traveller from an antique land,
    Who said -- "two vast and trunkless legs of stone

    Stand in the desert ... near them, on the sand,

     Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

     And wrinkled lips, and sneer of cold command,

     Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

    Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

    The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

    And on the pedestal these words appear:

    My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,

    Look on my Works ye Mighty, and despair!

    Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

    Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

    The lone and level sands stretch far away."

    I've always loved that.  Shelley did a fabulous job of making one see the huge, broken statuary, highlighting the
    folly of any person thinking he's hot stuff.

    However, as a poet in general, the palm goes to Edgar Allen Poe. 
    His short stories I can do without, but his poetry is marvelous. 
    For an example of the skillful use of alliteration, no finer specimen
    is available than his Annabel Lee:

    It was many and many a year ago,

    In a kingdom by the sea,

    That a maiden there lived whom you may know

    By the name of Annabel Lee;

    And this maiden she lived with no other thought

    Than to love and be loved by me.

    I was a child and she was a child,

    In this kingdom by the sea;

    But we loved with a love that was more than love -

    I and my Annabel Lee;

    With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

    Coveted her and me.

    And this was the reason that, long ago,

    In this kingdom by the sea,

    A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

    My beautiful Annabel Lee;

    So that her highborn kinsman came

    And bore her away from me,

    To shut her up in a sepulcher

    In this kingdom by the sea.

    The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

    Went envying her and me

    Yes! that was the reason

    (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)

    That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

    Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

    But our love was stronger by far than the love

    Of those who were older than we

    Of many far wiser than we

    And neither the angels in heaven above,

    Nor the demons down under the sea,

    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

    For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

    And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

    Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,

    In the sepulcher there by the sea,

    In her tomb by the sounding sea.

    Perfect. 

  • This photo at CNN.com just tickles me, and shows the indomitable spirit of the US postal service:

    And this picture shows an entirely different, though far more commonly seen, spirit:

    I regret to say I'd probably bear more resemblence to the little girl than to the implacable postie.

  • You know what I'd love to hear, just once?

    When Pat Sajak jovially asks one of the losing contestants, "So, at
    least you had a good time, right?" the contestant bluntly responds,
    "Well, no.  Not particularly."