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March 31, 2006

The New Notebook and the Port Replicator

I got a new notebook. It's a Dell Latitude D610 and replaces my Dell C800.

So far replaces isn't exactly true ... it sits next to.

I spent three hours Wednesday trying to get a port replicator to work with the notebook. The port replicator was one I had laying around and is the type that makes use of the PC Card slot. I had some concerns about the bus speed -- especially when I noticed boot up was taking longer with the replicator attached.

The replicator had it all ... display, Ethernet, USB, parallel, serial, and mouse and keyboard; mostly but maybe I was worried about speed for nothing ... I/O demands and busses aren't really my thing.

Things were a bit more complicated as it was my intention to run the port replicator to my KVM switch so I could bounce between several computers that surround me via a single keyboard, monitor and mouse (the monitor being the "V" part of the whole thing ... video, y'all.)

The setup didn't work. I suspected the replicator-to-KVM bit initially. I would eventually suspect other bits before deciding to start with the simplest, most basic, part. Was XP happy to make the port replicator part of the Device Manager Family?

No. It wasn't. I was out of resources.

Three hours passed. Three hours of loading and unloading drivers. Disabling devices. Googling. Rebooting.

I went to lunch. While eating it hit me that I'd put three hours into this. Three hours so that I wouldn't have to make a monitor connection, mouse connection, and keyboard connection. How long could it take to make those connections individually? Ten seconds? Fifteen.

Three hours equals 180 minutes. (255 Canadian)

There are six 10-second pieces in each minute: 6 x 180 = 1080

There are four 14-second pieces in each minute: 4 x 180 = 720

Without vacation and holidays there are 260 workdays each year. Had I never piddled with the port replicator it would have taken 4.15 years (first example) or 2.8 years (second example) to lose the amount of time by plugging things in individually that I lost today in one fell swoop. Assuming I'd taken the notebook home each night and had to remake the connections each day. Naturally, as that is unlikely, and as there are holidays and vacations involved it would take a bit longer.

And I'm not really convinced it takes all of ten seconds to make the connections. (... to make the connections, eh, Canadian)

Posted by delmer at 10:02 AM | Comments (1)

March 30, 2006

Poop-a-loop-a-lus

I was reminded of the following story by this entry from Baby Poop and Business Suits.

Haydn was probably three and, despite the fact he'd been potty trained for a good long while, was in the habit of tracking down an adult he made a noteworthy poop. The adult would make the trek into the bathroom, admire Haydn's work, and then make the appropriate comments.

On one such occasion I remember being genuinely impressed and remarking, "That's incredible. It's as big as your arm!" It really was incredible and my wonderings ran from "How could something that large come out of you?" to "What can we change about your diet to keep things like this from happening again?"

A day or two passed after the big-as-your-arm poop.

Haydn had moved his bowels again and was pretty sure I'd want to see his handiwork. Hey, and why not? He was obviously putting some time and effort into these things. Who knew what might come out? (Well, I had a pretty good idea. But isn't a really really big poop just half a step away from a golden egg?)

"Haydn," I said, "This is very impressive."

"Yea," he said, his tone a little less enthusiastic than mine, "It's not as big as my arm."

Ahhh. The boy had goals. Even at that early age.

(Hey, here's another post about poop via Notes from a Very Small Island ...)

Posted by delmer at 8:01 AM | Comments (1)

March 29, 2006

Early Morning Dreams

I woke up sometime before 6 a.m. and thought about getting out of bed. As it happens I would lay there another hour or so drifting in and out of sleep. During this time I dreamed:

I was dating a female author. We were on our first date, anyway. She was renting a 6000-square foot log cabin that was sort of isolated and in a very nice setting. She had a successful series of Harry Potter -like books. I didn't know any of this before the date started -- not until she showed me one of the books. In the book she showed me my name appeared as one of the characters, as a dedicated to, as something; if something like this happened in real life, I guess it would be kind of creepy. My name was glowing.

She was medium height for a woman and had brown hair. At one point she had her back to me and I remember thinking she had a nice looking back of the head.

I'm certain the nice-looking-back-of-the-head thing comes from seeing Teachers last night. The substitute had her back to the camera and I'd noticed her hair fell down her back the same way Vanessa Marcil's does in the opening scenes of Las Vegas -- which, I think, is a very nice look.

As for the creepy my-name-in-a-book thing ... there may be nothing to this, but, I did see about one minute of Misery last night. The part where James Caan kills Kathy Bates. Caan, coincidentally, is in Las Vegas.

At one point in the above dream I was tasked with starting my date's furnace. It had a really big crank on it like an old-time car (maybe this came from yesterday's Aunt Jane's Pickle Mobile photo). It was cranked in such a manner that the entire furnace was lifted off the floor. Fortunately the pilot lit on the first crank.

I woke up and considered hitting the floor. Instead I drifted off again.

In this dream I was some place with my buddy Darrell. We were eating cookies that his mom was serving us. They were probably oatmeal raisin as this is what I keep asking you people to send me (and some of you people are related to me and some of you see me on a regular basis and none of you bring me freakin' cookies. Just last night someone mentioned the Pickle Mobile they'd seen on the blog ... so I know you read this ... ahem).

Darrell's mom was serving us oatmeal raisin cookies. At one point she put the plate down and said, "This plate has eleven cookies on it."

Darrell and I laughed and Darrell said something like, "So if you've had ten cookies and you want something to push you over the edge, this plate has eleven." He was using a British voice.

It doesn't tell well, but in the dream it was very funny. This, of course, is a Spinal Tap reference and the dream might have been triggered by my appliance buying. Maybe it was triggered by my knowledge that James Caan co-wrote Lick My Love Pump. (He didn't, really.)

I woke up and drifted off one more time. There was one more bizarre dream ... but it has been lost. Hmmm. And I know I remembered it on the drive to work. Ahhh ... well ... I can still point to all of our servers and routers and tell the public (as applicable) and private IP addresses from memory. I suppose that's more important -- though totally uninteresting. One nine two dot one six eight dot ... see, you're already losing interest.

Posted by delmer at 8:23 AM | Comments (0)

March 28, 2006

Aunt Jane's Pickle Mobile

A short while back I made mention of the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile and how "Not since the Aunt Jane's Pickle Picklemobile has a vehicle held such fascination for me ..." which I should probably amend as I think the new Mustang is looking pretty good.

Not long after I made the entry mentioning the Pickle Mobile, Shawn Fisher left the following comment:

We have one of the original Aunt Jane's Picklemobiles. If you would like pics or would be interested in buying it contact us. It's in great shape the only thing missing is the rubber balloon from the horn. My wife won this as a little girl back in the early 60's. The Drawing was held by the local IGA Food Store.

Which just goes to demonstrate the supreme coolness of the Internet.

Before I go any further I'd like to thank Shawn for the Pickle Mobile photos. Getting them made my day and provided some authentication for the Pickle Mobile memory I've been carrying around all these years ... very close to forty years.

I remember being very young and seeing the commercials for the Aunt Jane's Pickles Pickle Mobile and can still hear, I think, part of the tune in my head. Though, of course as with so many old songs I remember, it sort of sounds a little bit like the Stones' Bitch. Okay, maybe not.

As I remember the commercial there was a little girl zipping around in this car as the jingle played. She seemed to be zipping around a guy that I think was carrying an umbrella and wearing a bowler. That's how I see him now, anyway, and I've always thought he was sort of a butler character. I was probably about eight when all this was going on -- which makes this about 1968; maybe a bit earlier.

I suffered a moment of obsession and decided to Google for Aunt Jane's Pickles. The first hit turned up my entry about the Weinermobile ... which isn't a good sign. I also found a link to a site encouraging me to quit funding my own oppression which linked to Dean Foods Company who may be the current owner of Aunt Jane's Pickles ... though, if they are, they're ashamed of the lass as there is no mention of her or her pickles on their site. Another link turned up a story about an Aunt Jane's Pickle Plant closing in Michigan.

The above is sort of sad. You just know that Aunt Jane would never oppress anybody.

If anyone has any memories of the Pickle Mobile jingle or commercial, please leave a comment about how dead-on or off-the-mark I am regarding the either.

If you are interested in owning your own piece of Aunt Jane's Pickle memorabilia and would like to purchase the Pickle Mobile, drop me a line and I'll forward it to Shawn.

And to Shawn ... Thanks again.

Posted by delmer at 4:14 PM | Comments (3)

March 27, 2006

I was at Panera

Well, maybe not Panera. I don't really eat there. For the sake of protecting the involved parites I've fictionalized this account of a a conversation I overheard. My booth was separated from the conversationalists by plants.

First Woman: My neighbor, Pat, has been saying unkind thing about me to some of the other mom's in the neighborhood.

Second Woman: Pat!? Isn't she the one who caught you going away for the weekend with her husband?

FW: Yea, but ...

SW: Do you think, maybe, she's a bit pissed about that?

FW: Yea, but ... how did you know about that?

SW: It's a small town.

A short period of silence

SW: How are things going in your Sunday School class.

FW: Good. I really enjoy being a Sunday School Teacher.

I stood to leave and gave the women a nod. "Mrs. Smith ... Mrs. Jones," I said as I passed.

A longer period of silence followed my some murmuring I couldn't make out as the gals had finally figured out how to whisper.

Posted by delmer at 10:40 AM | Comments (4)

March 26, 2006

Death (Penalty) and Your Immortal Soul

As I've said before, I support the death penalty. I always have.

Some of those opposed to the death penalty suggest we are executing innocents. This article from the Wall Street Journal says otherwise.

What I think is interesting is that some folks are adamant about doing away with the death penalty but have no problem with God sending people to Hell for these (and other) sins. These people are far more callous than I.

Now, it is unlikely that I will be the person checking IDs at the Pearly Gates. But if I am I'll let everyone in. And you'd all be stamped "HIGH." None of that three-two crap for you. And Baptists will have access to the dance floors. Suh-weeet!

If you were to take eternity and stretch it out into a never-ending string you'd find that the amount of time we spend here on earth is less than a pin-prick on that string. Are we supposed to believe that we can spend and eternity in Hell for doing something that happened in a cosmic blink of the eye? I wouldn't do that to my children and it is my understanding that God wants better things for his children (us) than we want for our own.

I believe that a lot of murderers could be put back on the street and be productive members of society if society could forgive and forget. They would never murder again. In a lot of murder cases something just got out of hand and things snowballed. (I read this somewhere. I didn't make it up and it makes some sense. These might be crimes of passion killers.)

Serial killers are another thing. I think they are driven to kill; they can't help it. They are the way they are not because they want to be that way, there is something wrong inside. Which doesn't mean we, the non-killers, should be expected to put up with them. They should be sent to the great beyond as fast as possible. Maybe they'll meet a nice girl who spent her life as a Baptist and has been waiting forever to cut some Heavenly rug.

Presidents of the United States ... well, sometimes they claim they get bad intel. Some are just buffoons.

It wouldn't be hard to take my thoughts and, if a person was able to make sense of them, try to make an argument against the death penalty. The crimes of passion group are unlikely to murder again -- do we need to execute them? Yes. We don't get a pass on the first murder. Though, if we did we'd probably cut the population of the Earth in half overnight. I have a list. John Malcovich admits he has a list. You probably have a list too.

The serial killers can't help themselves -- should we really hold them accountable? Yes. As I said above, just because they can't help themselves doesn't mean we have to put up with them.

As people, Ohioans anyway, we have a contract with one another. Part of that contract says that if you murder someone you will be executed. It's a rule. You know about it. You've been warned ahead of time.

If you have any concerns about your immortal soul as you approach the Pearly Gates and you don't see me sitting on the tall stool just inside the door, mill around outside until I come back. That Peter's a real stickler for shirts with collars.

Posted by delmer at 11:34 PM | Comments (1)

March 25, 2006

Our Governor

Taft is the governor of Ohio. For the life of me I can't remember his first name. Fortunately, this isn't really a problem as he doesn't come over to dinner all that much and we don't often speak to one another.

Bob ... it's Bob. Bob Taft. Rats. The other night when we were out drinking I called him Gary. Maybe he couldn't hear me over the karaoke.

I'm a Democrat and, despite supporting the death penalty and the rights of the citizenry to carry concealed weapons, I prefer to vote for Dems. (Every year the DeLay people call asking for donations I remind them I'm a Democrat and they assure me they'll remove my name from their list of people they call to bother.)

Taft ran against Tim Hagan for Governor of Ohio. You may know Tim Hagan as Mr. Captain Janeway of Star Trek: Voyager. How cool would it be to have a Starship Captain as First Lady of Ohio? Very cool! Thats how.

You know that when the aliens come they're going to:

1) Eat the fat people first. (I saw this on a billboard and laughed. I was fat a the time.)

2) Contact Captain Kirk, Jean-Luc, Sisco and Janeway (I have Galaxy Quest on VHS and DVD.)

The aliens could land at Wright Patterson, maybe return some of the Blue Book volumes they borrowed on previous visits, sterilize the anal probes and then head up I-70 to the capital for a coffee, a Big Don sub and, well, some probing.

I really wanted to vote for Hagan. I was on board. Ready. I was going to make super sure my chad didn't hang. I had ironed my Mrs. Columbo Fan-Club T-shirt and had it ready to wear to the polls.

And then Hagan said one of the first things he was going to do as governor would be to put a moratorium on executions until the cases could be reviewed. One of the first things? I mean, it's nice the guy had a list. A plan. A strategy. A hot wife (don't read anything into this ... Hope Taft is a honey too). But one of the first things? How about spending some time breaking the chair in?

Well that wouldn't do. I was worried that the Brewer case would finally come around.

I voted for Gary.

Posted by delmer at 7:01 AM | Comments (2)

Clemency

I attended David Brewer's clemency hearing shortly before the execution date.

The clemency hearing is the defense's last shot at getting a death sentence reduced to life. Barring a last-minute call from the governor, if clemency is not granted, the execution will be carried out.

Not surprisingly the room was divided into two camps. Brewer's friends and family and the defense reps were on one side and the Byrne's friends and family and prosecution team were on the other. Naturally, I sat with the Byrne contingent ... across the aisle sat, for the most part, people we knew either through high school or from around town.

People cannot be faulted for the things they remember, especially when the memories are 18 years old or older. It isn't uncommon for a friend or family member and me to tell two different versions of the same story -- I'm not always sure which one is right. So, it isn't surprising that some of the things said about Brewer by people across the aisle didn't match things I remembered about him. One story, involving a brawl at a high school football game in which our players got into it with the opposing team (David was painted as a saint who didn't participate) did not jibe with the version told during break by the guy sitting next to me (he'd been a kicker on the same squad and was at the brawl.)

Family is family. They were recounting memories they had. They weren't reading from notes. They were struggling with strong emotions.

The Ohio Public Defender's Office was struggling with the truth.

The Ohio Public Defender made a big deal about what a great help David had been during the investigation. The OPD said many times that law enforcement knew what they knew because David came forth and gave them the information they needed. They made it sound like he walked in, sat down and said, "I did it ... let me take you to the crime scene." That would have been about two pages typed up -- and that long only because there's all that stuff in there about the names of the officers conducting the interview, the time of day, and the reading of the rights.

I've read the confession -- it is something like 100 pages of anything but a confession followed by a couple of lines of confession. Those couple lines came only after Brewer tripped himself up several times.

I was looking for notes to help flesh this out and ran across a first draft of a Letter to the Editor I'd prepared for the Toledo Blade. It is far too long in the incarnation below and I chopped it down some before sending it off. I also changed recanted to partially recanted -- I'm not sure of the significance, but made the change as that's how the AG rep said it ... (just because you spend time with people who are sloppy with the facts doesn't mean you should pick up their bad habits.)

In rereading the letter I was reminded of another pisser. When Sherry's murder was front-page news it was mentioned, time and again, that David Brewer claimed the two of them had had a long-term affair. The truth eventually came out, that they had not so much as had dinner alone together, but by that time the stories were a mere half-dozen sentences long and buried in the deep, dark recesses of the paper.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Editor:

I am writing in response to your April 30 article titled "Ohio puts killer Brewer to death." Mr. Drew's story gives a very good overview of the events leading up to the murder of Sherry Byrne 18 years ago: David Brewer lured Sherry Byrne to a motel, sexually assaulted her, forced her into the trunk of his car, and later brutally murdered her.

During his trial, and I was there every day, Brewer admitted to everything mentioned above. He also admitted that he and Sherry Byrne had never had so much as dinner alone together. There was no affair.

I attended Brewer's April 7 clemency hearing and was disturbed by many of the things I heard. The Public Defender's office tried to make a case before the clemency board that Brewer was an all-American kid who had never been in trouble with the law prior murdering Sherry. Brewer and I worked at the same paper mill one summer and, while never terribly close, we were about the same age and spent time talking with one another. Brewer told me of several scrapes he'd been involved in and said he'd shaped up only after local law enforcement told him that the next time he was in trouble he'd find himself at the Lebanon Correctional Institute.

During the clemency hearing a spokesperson for the Attorney General's office made mention of a ploy the defense team had hoped to use. A short time prior to the clemency hearing, the PD's office sent a representative to Mansfield -- Brewer was being held there at the time -- to get a statement from a guard who might hold the opinion that Brewer should not be executed. The PD was successful. When the same guard was interviewed by the AG's office he said the defense team had told him that David Brewer and Sherry Byrne had been having a long-term affair and that when she tried to break it off he snapped and killed her. When the guard was given the facts of the case he provided the AG with a statement recanting the one he have the PD.

I've no doubt that had the Attorney General's Office not interviewed the guard that the Public Defender's Office would have presented his statement to the Clemency Board. I'm certain they would have failed to mention the deception used to get the statement.

During the clemency hearing the Public Defender's Office misspoke when they presented to the Clemency Board the notion that Brewer's attorney at his murder trial was court appointed. They were trying to make the point that a court-appointed attorney might be ill-prepared to handle a murder case. Brewer's trial attorney was not court-appointed. The Brewer family sought out and paid for counsel. I knew this 18 years ago. The PD's office must have known it as well.

I understand the need for an appeals process, but I've got to believe there is no good reason to drag it out for 18 years. It is my understanding that the Ohio Public Defender's Office delayed appeal after appeal in this case. One appeal was postponed for over a year due to the fact that attorneys working on Brewer's case had put a non-refundable deposit on a houseboat; the date of the appeal conflicted with the time period for which the houseboat was rented. If I were sitting on death row, and I had an appeal coming up that might result in getting my sentence changed to life in prison instead of death, I would hope the people working on my behalf would show a little more dedication to the job.

In all honesty, I don't doubt the dedication of the Ohio Public Defender's Office. They did everything they could to keep David Brewer alive as long as they could, with the ultimate goal being to get his sentence commuted to life in prison. They did all of this for someone who confessed to brutally murdering an innocent young woman. They did all of this without regard for the truth, without regard for the Sherry Byrne's reputation and without regard for the pain and suffering they caused Sherry's husband, mother, family and friends.

Posted by delmer at 12:23 AM

March 24, 2006

The Ohio Public Defender and Ethics Issues

I've stated twice before that I'm not a big fan of the Ohio Public Defender's Office. I believe, well, I know, that I've said it is my opinion that members of that office are horrific assholes.

I believe everybody deserves to be defended in a court of law. There are probably people out there who are accused of crimes they didn't commit. People who can't afford to hire an attorney. The PDs office should do everything they can to help these people. (Well, maybe not the Ohio Public Defender's Office. Indigent criminals might want to commit capital crimes is states where the PD's office has a better reputation.)

There was never any question about David Brewer's guilt.

The OPD didn't spend 18 years trying to save an innocent person from lethal injection as they worked on Brewer's case. It simply seems to be their goal to do away with the death penalty. They think it's bad. It is soooo baaaad they feel they have the right to work outside the law to get things their way. They are damned near a Fox reality series.

Too friggin' bad if you've lost someone to murder. If it means that they'll have to malign the deceased, mislead the court and misrepresent facts (if you did the same things the action would simply be called "lying"), they're willing to go the extra mile. No matter how long it takes. AND ... they're willing to take your tax dollars to provide this disservice to you.

Not too terribly long after the execution I ran across an article detailing the unethical doings of the Ohio Public Defender's office. The format looked good. The details were laid out boom boom boom. Naturally, I can't find it now; I can't believe I don't have a copy on my hard drive.

One of the problems the OPD has run into involves some affidavits that have appeared suggesting that one of the murderers they were trying to save from the needle was not, in fact, a murderer. The affidavit states that Byrd (the accused) was too drunk to have killed the person he is accused of murdering; someone else did it.

The affidavit was signed by a guy named Pottinger -- after Byrd's sister showed up with a carload of beer and the promise of a night of tender lovemaking. Oh ... and she brought a girlfriend with her. Promise a guy sex and you can get him to say almost anything ... sex and beer?! Hell yeah! ... a three-way and beer and you can get him to say he's the only surviving 9/11 pilot.

Peter Bronson's Editorial from the Cincinnati Enquirer is reprinted here. The Byrd case is discussed.

Scroll down to Ohio: Trouble Brewing for public defender to read about one of the OPD members invoking his fifth amendment rights to stay out of trouble and the general mess that is the Ohio Public Defender's Office.

I have three boys. One never lies, one lies sometimes, one will lie to me out of simple reflex -- 75% of the time -- even if the truth is likely to bring nothing in the way of punishment. You can bet that when I ask the three "what happened" I weigh the explanations given to me according to the boy they came from. Good or bad their current actions are tainted by their past actions.

The same thing has got to be true for the OPD. Based on their past actions anything they say needs to be closely examined before it is taken as truth. This can't be good for the people they represent.

Posted by delmer at 5:21 AM

March 23, 2006

The Death Penalty

I have done a lot of typing on the murder of my friend the last couple of days. Not all of it has made it to the blog.

This week I've put a fair number of strolling hours into sorting out my emotions surrounding this.

Before we go any further, let's put a face on this crime. Sherry Byrne was murdered by David Brewer 21 years ago.

The following item comes from a cached Google page. I don't want to mess with the bandwidth of anybody's personal or work server ... I know Google can take it, though I don't know how long the link will last. This was written by someone who used to work with Brewer and it is very close to how I remember things.

This is a timeline from the Cincinnati Enquirer.

And another link from the Cincinnati Enquirer.

The extended entry contains something I put together when I was running a little pissed off. Before I did the emotional sorting. It lacks cohesiveness or something.

What got me going with the piece is the line that suggests Sherry spent several hours in the trunk of Brewers car. I put that in the spin class as it minimizes what happened. Yes she was in the trunk ... periodically he'd stop the car and beat her. She'd pushed out a tail light and held a "Please help me note" out the assembly hole. Motorists saw it. An officer heard about the note and put a call into police HQ asking if he could respond -- he was told to keep trying to catch speeders.

I see things like several hours and I know the anti-death-penalty crowd knows everything but decides to print just the stuff that helps them out. And then I take a step back and see the article they're using is from the AP (the second item in the extended entry) and nothing they'd put together themselves. Maybe they aren't totally to blame. Maybe a 20-year old college student put the posting on the website; what would that person know about this?

Anytime I read anything about this murder I am reminded of the whole event. I know it's foolish to think that the whole story can be laid out every time and that every detail -- those that made the paper, those that came out in court, and those that came out later -- can be mentioned everytime. But anytime I see anything that I think minimizes the the heinousness of the crime I'm suspicious of the motives that led to the murder being described as it was.

The death penalty is a hot-button issue for many people. I understand that some people want to put an end to it no matter what. But they need to say that. They need to quit trying to make something look like one thing when it is another. I want honesty. Say something like, Bob was a horrible man and in a different time and place I'd gladly be the one to light the fire as we burned him at the stake. But, we're living in the 21st century .... yada yada yada

Don't lie. Don't misrepresent. Don't try to shift the blame to the victim. Don't spin.

The following are snippets from the National Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty site

The state of Ohio is scheduled to execute David Brewer April 29 for the rape and murder of Sherry Byrne in Greene County. Brewer, a white man, allegedly stabbed Byrne, his friend’s wife, after kidnapping her on March 21, 1985. According to his attorney, he has exhausted his appeals, but is hoping for a commutation from Gov. Bob Taft.

During the sentencing phase of his trial, Brewer presented three mitigating factors in hopes of avoiding the death penalty: youth, mental illness, and lack of prior criminal history. The courts refused to consider his youth argument because he was not a juvenile offender, acknowledged his mental illness but weighed it very lightly, and ignored his impeccably clean prior record.

I don't care for the use of impeccably clean prior record. This gives the impression that Brewer was a saint. When I worked with Dave he told me several tales of youthful exuberance (to put an NCADP-type spin on things). I remember asking, as he told me a story, "What did you do next?" to which he replied, "I kissed him across the teeth with a pipe I happened to have in my hands." At one point I asked him what made him change his ways -- he told me that the police had told him that the next time he got in trouble he'd be off to LCI (Lebanon Correctional Institute).

Maybe these were juvenile offenses, and, thus, not part of his permanent record. Still, I don't think Brewer was out busting people up when he was 12 and 13. And, I'm certain they don't send juveniles to LCI. (I didn't see any the weekend I was a guest -- should I believe that his record was more impeccably clean than mine?)

How is it that I know about his past transgressions and the NCADP doesn't? Certainly they have more resources than I. I'm not exactly Columbo.

Although Brewer’s actions are thoroughly inexcusable, his case never should have resulted in a death sentence. The state of Ohio claims to reserve capital punishment for its worst offenders; in reality, it reserves it for those with the worst lawyers and fewest resources.

There will be a couple of links at the bottom of this entry that will clarify just how gruesome this murder was. I don't know how it could be worse. Maybe the anti-death-penalty crowd means habitual murderers. One doesn't trouble them so much.

My favorite line from the NCADP bit: Please contact Gov. Taft and the state of Oklahoma to recommend clemency for David Brewer.

If only the calls had been made to the State of Ohio ... maybe this madness could have been stopped. (In all fairness to the NCADP, I'm not always sure Taft knows who he's governing.)

From Citizens United for Alternatives to the Death Penalty we have this snippet

Authorities said Brewer sexually assaulted and beat Sherry Byrne, 21, in a motel room on March 21, 1985, after luring her there on the pretense of meeting him and his wife, Cathy. He then abducted her and drove around with her in the trunk of his car for several hours.

This, per the website, comes from an AP piece. I don't care for, allegedly and several hours. But I am being nitpicky.

In the first set of snippets above an appeal is made for stopping the execution of Brewer. He allegedly kidnapped, raped and murdered Sherry Byrne. Neither site gives any indication of just how heinous this crime was. If all you knew about this was what you read at either of those places you might think:

It was wrong. It was bad. But not that bad. It was worse than say, watching Sherry take a tumble down a set of steps and not doing anything to help her, but not as bad as, say, this.

Sometimes it's hard to garner support for your cause when all the facts are out there in the open.

The following item comes from a cached Google page. I don't want to screw with the bandwidth of anybody's server ... I know Google can take it, though I don't know how long the link will last. This was written by someone who used to work with Brewer and it is very close to how I remember things.

Another link from the Cincinnati Enquirer.

Posted by delmer at 4:22 AM | Comments (1)

March 22, 2006

Fatherly Stress

Samson is 8-years old today and decided we should go to McDonald's for breakfast.

Those of you unfamiliar with Hilliard, Ohio weather may be surprised to find it snowed ever so lightly yesterday. Just enough to melt from snow form to water form which allowed it to immediately turn to ice form.

Haydn, on crutches and still recovering from knee surgery, was out of the van first. I helped the other two get out of the van while he started toward the door.

What happen next happened in real-time -- that is, not in slow motion as in the manner that life's more traumatic event pass -- so I should have realized right away things were going to be OK. However, worry suppressed everything I knew about movie special effects and I was thrust into worried-parent mode.

Haydn was not using good crutch sense as he motored forward. He is supposed to approach a curbed sidewalk and stop with the crutches at the curb. I can't remember if the crutches move up first or if the good foot moves up first, but I am certain that a person is not supposed to carelessly fling himself forward over a curb onto a sidewalk. Especially where ice is involved.

Haydn was kind enough to demonstrate the foolishness of such a move.

He slipped and hit the sidewalk on his side. He started screaming.I know it hurt. I felt horrible. Someone in the drive-thru lane stopped and asked if he should call an ambulance; I thanked him and assured him we were OK.

A gentleman stepped out of McDonald's and asked if we were OK -- he was wearing a Franklin County Children's Services Jacket. Had I been Tim Allen, Jim Belushi or Ray Romano in any of their respective sitcoms I would have probably been hauled off to jail; as I'm not I was pretty sure my, "I think were OK" was going to be enough to keep The Man from locking me up.

The McDonald's people checked on us. I told them we were OK, that the fault was all ours, and that we didn't possess the 'suing' gene. I immediately felt bad for making that joke.

Toward the end of breakfast I asked Haydn how he felt. "I'm embarrassed," is all he said.

Ah. Only 12 and already a typical man. I think he'll be fine. (Just to make sure I made the necessary calls to his surgeon's nurse ... It's all part of being super dad.)

Posted by delmer at 2:28 PM | Comments (3)

Memories

There are events in my life that always bring to mind certain people.

Likewise, when I think of certain people a specific event usually comes to mind. It isn't always the event that makes the most sense regarding that person, just typically the fist thing I think of when I think of them. Many of these people have 10 to 20 years of memories I could choose from, but these are the first things that pop up:

Dave: I knocked a tooth loose with a softball.

Roy: Went jogging with Darrell and me and started his kick too early.

Darrell: Slapped a long fly over a Springoro nimrod's head.

Joe: Borrowed a tool set from a car.

Lois: A superman pose in my kitchen during Darrell and Sherry's post-wedding party.

Sherry: We jumped out of a plane together.

Jeff: Used to yell "Delmer Delmer Delmer Delmer" to some cartoon tune (Maybe it was, "I got bells that jingle jangle jingle.)

(I could write several paragraphs on each of the above -- but then this would be a lot to read.)

I can't continue referring to my murdered friend as 'the victim.' I'll eventually post some links that will make it clear who she and her husband are. If you grew up near me you know who they are already. I didn't come out right away with names probably for two reasons: I wanted to provide a bit of privacy for the people involved and leave it to you to put in the leg work if you wanted to find out the details and I have an issue with the hey-look-at-me-I-know-someone-who-was-murdered mindset and the fame(?) that people try to derive from it. [During the period of time just after the murder I saw some odd behaviors. Odd by my standards anyway ... and let's face it people, that's odd. (If you are reading this, and you know me, and you know the event ... I am not talking about you; and I'm not saying that to make you feel better. I have a good feel for who my audience is with respect to readers I grew up with.)]

What's a Delmer Look Like is certainly disclaimer heavy these days.

We've finally come to the point of today's post.

When I think of Sherry this is the first thing I think of. Joe, her husband and tool-set borrower, told me about this more than 21 years and two days ago. I do not remember all the details as if they happened yesterday.

Sherry had a friend named Carol (not her real name, if you care). They may have worked together.

Carol was a cutie and seemed to have an interest in me. I remember rubbing noses with her one night after the four of us had been out together. It was a good-night nose rubbing and there was nothing forced or awkward about it. I mean, I never had the impression she was put off by it.

I'm pretty sure we didn't go out after that. I don't think we spoke on the phone. I believe very shortly after the nose rubbing -- like a couple of days --she started dating a guy we'll call Biff.

In any case, whatever it was, she felt the situation was a bit awkward and maybe I'd expected more and that there would be some uneasiness between us.

A party was coming up and Joe, Sherry, Carol and I were all going to be there. Carol asked Sherry, "Do you think Delmer will be uncomfortable if Biff is there."

Sherry, innocently, without any hidden meaning, matter-of-factly said, "Oh no. Whenever we're out Delmer has girls hanging all over him."

If only I had known.

Maybe I have women hanging all over me now and I'm unaware. And now they're old ... in their 40's. Back then they were in there 20's. And nubile, whatever that might mean.

I don't remember Carol and Biff coming to the party.

Anyway. There you have it.

Remember this: If someone you know is murdered, when the murderer is finally executed, you will feel better.

And this: It is my opinion and David Bodiker and the staff of the Ohio Public Defenders office are horrific assholes. Each and every one of us deserves a good defense in a court of law ... but when did it become acceptable to cause additional pain and suffering to the family and friends of a murder victim to further your cause. The 18-year ordeal led by these folks was not about justice -- there was never any question about guilt or innocence -- it was about promoting their cause -- they want to do away with the death penalty. They believe it is wrong. There was a murder. There were photos of the murder scene. Everybody that needed to was able to testify. There was a trial. There was a verdict. It was not good enough for these guys. They dragged it out as long as possible. They maligned the victim without any regard to what it might do to the family.

Posted by delmer at 8:38 AM

March 21, 2006

Twenty-one Years Ago Today

Twenty-one years ago, today, a friend of mine was murdered. I get chills typing that and a little teary; which is not what I expected.

I'm not sure where I'll go with this. One of the important things I want you to get out of it -- and one of the things I want to be archived in the Internet is:

If someone you know it murdered, when the murderer is finally executed, you will feel better. Call it closure. Call it justice. Call it whatever you want.

I don't mean jumping-up-and-down better -- though your experience may differ from mine. I felt better in an undefinable (by me) kind of way. And I didn't realize it right away ... it wasn't like I drove away from Lucasville (the site of the execution) thinking, "Goddamn, life is better all of a sudden. Is it just me, or am I losing weight?"

It was one of those things that sort of snuck up on me. (Please refer to the bit above where I mention undefinable (by me)). Again, I don't know all the ins and outs of how the human mind works. I know now, that when I think of my friend, I think of her and what a good person she was -- not the terrible thing that happened to her. I have, mostly, separated her from the murderer.

Months after the execution I was visiting her husband. He remarried years ago and he and I keep in touch the way 45-year old men (he's 46 now .... god ... that is sooooo oooooold!) do when they live several states apart. I used to kick his ass on a regular basis playing basketball and I could always out bench him -- today we e-mail, chat on the phone, and visit whenever one of us is in the other's state. (Okay, the basketball and benching things are lies .... I did beat the husband arm wrestling once ... I'm pretty sure I had a better 3-mile time ... and I could out beer chug him any day of the week. )

As the husband and I were talking I asked if he felt any better in the time that has passed since the execution. This was in the context of had it brought closure, a feeling of justice, or some other undefinable thing. As it happens, prior to my visit he'd had a similar conversation with another person who had been intimately affected by the murder. They both felt closure, justice, whatever. Better.

So, three out of three people felt that the execution of the murderer brought something -- justice for the victim ... closure for the friends and family ... something I'm unable to define.

And please note that my inability to describe what is better is a shortcoming on my part. The husband and the other party may have been able to put in words exactly what they were feeling. I am not good with serious subjects ... I'm better (though not great) with things that are funny, or that I think are funny (and this has ruined more than one relationship with members of the opposite sex). It was, hard for me not to write : Twenty-one years ago, today, a friend of mine was murdered. I remember because it was a year to the day before Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play.

See I couldn't help myself. I imagine that it is a self-defense mechanism of some sort. If I make light of it, maybe it wasn't as bad as it was. Maybe you won't expect much from me. (I think the victim would chuckle at the Sgt. Pepper line.)

I said there were a couple of things I wanted you to take away from this and that I want to be searchable on the Internet.

One:

It is too easy to find things that say otherwise. Written by people who will say anything to try to do away with the death penalty.

Two:

It hurts me to know that my tax dollars go to pay these people. I don't like feeling this way; Bodiker has a look about him that suggests he might be a pretty good grandpa.

There was never any doubt that the murderer was guilty. They kept him alive on Death Row for 18 years. They filed BS appeal after appeal and had one hearing delayed because one of their team had put a non-refundable deposit down on a houseboat rental. If he showed up at the hearing he'd lose the deposit. Don't these guys have Daytimers? Even I, with the control I possess over space and time, am smart enough to not book two events for the same time.

And they're attorneys. Threaten to sue the houseboat people if you don't get the deposit back! Maybe they're not very smart attorneys. Once in a while a member of the Ohio Public Defender's Office will have to plead the fifth in order to stay out of trouble with the courts; in their efforts to keep murderers from getting the needle it would seem they don't always let the truth stand in their way. Is there another reason you'd have to take the fifth?

I could really go on, and I expect I will for the rest of the week. A portion of this was going to appear as part of a Blue Monday theme, in which I'd planned to cleanse my soul of things that continue to bother me over the years. I'd typed that entry up and decided not to post it. For messed up reasons of my own (probably) I try to stay away from this topic.

Anyway.

Twenty-one years ago I got a call from the husband. His wife had not come home that night. She'd called him at work earlier in the day and said she was going to meet the murderer and his wife. In the time that had passed the husband had called the murderer -- who had told him he had not seen the wife. The husband was very concerned.

I suggested to the husband that maybe she was out shopping or visiting friends. The husband was genuinely worried -- I could hear it in his voice -- and I remember thinking his panic was misplaced. She'd be home. Certainly. She'd lost track of time. Women are like that.

There's no way I would have ever guessed what happened happened. It wasn't like I could have changed anything. Still, I wish I'd have given his concern more attention and had not been so quick to dismiss it as needless worry.

I was 24 at the time and from a small town.

A couple of weeks after all the details came to light I came home late -- after midnight. The front door was locked. That was new. The next day mom told me she thought she should start locking the doors at night. I explained that it was unlikely a stranger would walk in and kill her -- more likely it would be someone she knew.

Mom and dad still lock the doors at night. I do too.

Posted by delmer at 8:34 AM

March 20, 2006

Hey. It's been a year

Yesterday marked a year of What's a Delmer Look Like.

I should have paid closer attention. I could have used that gripping story about Sam learning to tie his shoes later in the week.

If you care ...

There were 354 entries last year (all of them Solid Gold) and 411 comments (even Golder).

I prefer white cake with white icing and ice cream with cookie dough in it. I live right across the street from a Dairy Queen and I'm pretty sure they deliver ... or will at least hold treats until I get there.

What are you waiting for???? Get on the horn.

Posted by delmer at 2:02 PM | Comments (8)

Sammo needed new shoes

Samson needed some new shoes. The old ones aren't that old, it's just that Sam is that hard on them. He is a seven-year old boy after all.

We stopped by two Famous Footwear stores. The first had a pair of shoes Sam wanted -- but not in his size. They had another pair he really liked, but I balked at paying $50.00 for something he'll have the toes out of inside of two weeks. We were off to the second store.

They had neither pair that Sam had shown interest in.

He found another pair he liked but commented that they cost too much. I was so very proud that I'd taught him something in the short period of time we'd spent at the first Famous Footwear.

He finally decided he'd try on some skater shoes. They fit. He liked them. They were $26.00.

They were also tie shoes. Sammo'd been wearing Velcro or zipper shoes most of his life. This was going to present a challenge. Samson was concerned that he'd have to take his shoes off during gym and then be unable to tie them when he put them back on.

Back home we got down to business.

I could remember something about a bunny ear but couldn't remember if he was chased around a log by a fox or if that rhyme-type thing was used to teach something else.

My teaching involved a lot of, "OK. You've got your bunny ear. Now take the string over the thumb ..."

We worked on it a while and then took a break to ride our bicycles. We came back in and worked a short time more.

After Sam got the hang of it there was not stopping him.

He was very proud of himself.

The whole thing reminded me of when I learned to tie my shoes. I probably learned at a younger age -- we certainly didn't have Velcro shoes and I never remember seeing zipper shoes. What I remember most is that a friend of the family -- Mildred James (for whom my sister is named) -- promised to buy me a ball when I learned to tie my shoes.

A ball.

And I was very excited about the prospect of getting it.

Posted by delmer at 1:41 PM | Comments (0)

March 19, 2006

IT is so glamorous

It is currently about 8:45 a.m. I climbed out of bed about 20 minutes ago when I heard a child squeak.

The boys had overnight company last night and three of the four were up late. I got them settled down at 1 a.m. and then again at 2 a.m.

Before going to bed I shut my phone off. I turned it back on at about 8:40 this morning. There were two messages from work ... one came in at 5 a.m. and the other at 7 a.m.

We are a Monday-through-Friday-nine-to-five type of business. Sure, there is typically someone there on the weekends -- it isn't uncommon for that someone to be me -- but five a.m. on a Sunday is a rarity. It's just wrong.

I called the guy who left the message just a bit ago. He's packing it in for the day. I'm current;ly connected through the VPN and looking at things. As everyone should, before panicking, I'm rebooting the troublesome server.

You and I should know how it works out in just a minute or two.

Five a.m.?! Eeek!

The server just came up ...

I've logged in ...

The ERP utility has allowed me to connect ... it didn't before the reboot ...

I can login to the ERP via the client ... so things are good.

And I did it all while watching The Grimm Adventures of Billy and Mandy. (That's the glamorous part.)

Our NT servers reboot every night. If we don't reboot them sometimes our ERP hangs during the day -- well, as I recall, it was happening once every two weeks or better. I can't remember the last time the overnight reboot failed to start the ERP instance.

Why why why on a Sunday at 5 a.m.??

Posted by delmer at 8:44 AM | Comments (1)

March 18, 2006

Is it Pat?

Just an hour ago I was at Burger King with two of my boys and two boys I'd borrowed from another family. So there were four kids, ages running from 6 to 10,

Burger King was uncharacteristically busy. The four boys I had with me were characteristically boy-like with a little bit of herd mentality thrown in.

My four guys eventually made it to the drink station where they struggled over which pop to put in their cups. An adult was standing behind them, waiting patiently.

"Boys," I said, "Step back and let this gentleman get his drinks."

And as soon as I said it I realized the man waiting was, in fact, a woman waiting.

From the back I could see that she had really short hair. She was also wearing a ball cap. She was old too.

From the font I could see breasts.

I almost apologized, but I thought that would make it worse. I slipped into I-hope-she-didn't-hear-me mode.

Posted by delmer at 7:37 PM | Comments (4)

March 17, 2006

Happy Endings

I assume people like me when they meet me.

I think this for several reasons. I think I'm honest. I know I'm not trying to bullshit people when they meet me. I assume people can tell this about me when they meet me. It takes less work to like someone than it does to dislike them, or even feel indifferent about them (which is closer to disliking them than it is liking them).

I don't think people are lazy when it comes to meeting new people. But why make things any harder than they have to be.

I once read something about that guy who was the first Bush's VP. Rats. What was his name. Young guy. Wife sorta had a Laura Petrie hairdo. They made a spelling mistake on a Christmas card. Man I can see his face ... I just can't get the name.

Anyway, he may have been a pretty good guy despite all the flack he took while VP. What I remember reading -- and this is my interpretation -- is that he sort of accepted things that were going on in their best light. If something happened, and there were two ways to see it, one way making someone out to be a rude sonuvabitch and the other way requiring giving a person the benefit of the doubt in order to not see him as a sonuvabitch, he'd go with the benefit of the doubt.

Day Quayle. That's it.

There was a sort of polite innocence about him. I think we were too rough on him while he was VP.

If you've read over the entries the last two days you'll notice I had some polite innocence with regard to my experience with Bad Date. Of course, I took polite innocence to the extreme and tripped right into social buffoonery as I assumed, time and time again, that Bad Date was just not seeing me as we all but slam danced into each other on campus.

Two years later -- two years after I graduated ... two years after she called me "ass hole" -- one of my thug friends (Jeff) and I went back to Miami for a visit. As we walked past one of the bars (One of the ones in the alley. What the hell was it called? Dan Quayle's Bar and Grill. Not likely) I saw Bad Date working the door checking IDs. She would have been a senior.

Not only do I think people like me, I think they eventually forgive me if at one time they hated me. Polite innocence? Maybe. Idiocy? Who knows.

"Hey," I said as I approached her. "Do you remember me?"

"You look familiar," she said. Maybe she recognized me right away as the ass hole. Maybe she recognized me in a vague out-of-context sort of way.

"You called me 'ass hole' in Lottie Moon's two years ago."

"Oh yea," she said laughing. "How have you been?"

We chatted briefly and laughed at the incident. After a short while Jeff and I took off up the alley.

After about ten steps a raw egg hit me in the back of the head. Did Bad Date throw it? I'm inclined to think a Canadian Goose on a fly by let it drop from the heavens. Polite innocence? Maybe. Idiocy? Probably.

Okay. There was no egg.

(I believe the bar was CJ's. Which would have been what is was called back then. If not CJ's, then the bar across from it. Which, now, has a new name. Here's the Google link.)

Posted by delmer at 8:07 AM | Comments (1)

March 16, 2006

Bad Date and the Bad Diners

In yesterday's entry we touched on the subject of Bad Dates. When you realize you have a bad date, in the fruit sense, you simply toss it aside and reach into the bag for a new one. When you realize you have a bad date in the she-chews-with-her-mouth-open sense, well, you gotta suck it up and see the date through.

Chewing was not the problem I had the particular bad date mentioned yesterday. I just wanted to make a weak comparison to fruits you can buy by the bag and that was the quickest way I could see to getting there. You don't always get gold here at What's a Delmer Look Like, but I do spell check each entry.

As I've said before, I attended Miami University in Oxford Ohio where we like to say Miami was a university when Florida still belonged to the Spanish. We're a sensitive lot when it comes to the uneducated assuming a reference to Miami University means Miami, Florida. Which is really the University of Miami. Just two days ago I saw a basketball score in which University of Miami was represented as Miami (Fla), which made me feel good as I'm so used to seeing Miami (OH). (Yes, I'm afraid we sometimes have a Napoleon complex when it comes to our alma mater. I don't know why. We certainly have a better looking website.)

When I was at Miami there were about 15,000 students. I honestly don't remember if that counts the regional campuses as well as the Oxford campus, or just Oxford. It was big enough that you didn't see the same people all the time every day, but small enough that if you knew someone it wasn't uncommon to stumble across them, once in a while, on your way to and from class.

And so, it wasn't uncommon for me to pass Bad Date periodically. Not often, but often enough. On the sidewalks going to class. In the bookstore. Once while I was going up the stairs in one of the academic buildings she passed me coming down.

Let's say half-a-dozen times over the course of the first part of senior year we had a close encounter. And it's a close encounter only, not a real encounter, for while the two of us were closer to each other than you are now to your monitor (probably ... I'm not really familiar with your computing habits) she never saw me. She was always looking the other way.

The boneheads among you -- mostly men -- are thinking, how fortunate for you ... you avoided an awkward situation, the real boneheaded among you, the men who didn't realize that some women give out fake phone numbers until you read it here yesterday, the men who think you can come off a shitty date in junior year and then several months later act as if nothing bad happened because you know the intervening summer has erased all bad feelings -- hell, you don't have any bad feeling and the date was just as bad for you -- are thinking, how unfortunate, it would have been nice to exchange pleasantries with the lass. (That 'lass' part is for the boneheaded Irish men among you. St. Paddy's day is just around the corner.)

The women among you know what was really going on. She saw me. She was i g n o r i n g me. Giving me the cold shoulder. Bitching me out under her breath. Hoping I'd trip and tumble across the slant walk.

Senior year at Miami I worked at Lottie Moon's, that was mostly a restaurant but sometimes -- especially during Monday night three-for-one triple trouble -- became a bar. Just beneath Lottie Moon's was mostly a bar that also served food. Both establishments were owned by the same couple.

One day three guys came into Lottie Moon's while we were mostly a restaurant. It was an off night. Business was slow -- they were the only table in my section. There was something about the guys that made me wonder about them. They did not look like our typical customer (college kids, parents). They ordered pizza and a pitcher of beer. My spider sense suggested I card them. The part of me that didn't want to be prejudiced against townies, or non-students in general, held back. I served them. I gave them the necessary attention. I went to the kitchen for a minute.

When I came out of the kitchen the guys were gone. I asked Al, the bartender, where they'd gone. He had not noticed them leaving.

I checked the table for the bill and cash -- sometimes people would leave a wad of money on the table when they left. There was no wad.

I checked the bathroom -- hey, they were drinking beer ... sometimes it works its way through a person in pretty short order.

I decided to take a tour through the downstairs -- in the past we'd had people (once, really) take money off a table upstairs and go downstairs to spend their ill-gotten gains. The criminal element is not always terribly smart.

I was not in the best mood. I was going to have to pay for the pizza and beer if I couldn't find the guys. Still, my anger was focused. When I walked into the front door of the downstairs I noticed Bad Date, her roomie and two guys in a booth against the back wall. I thought she saw me and went to raise my hand to wave. Like I said, I was upset with the criminal element of Oxford, Ohio ... not the world.

She quickly turned her head away from my direction and I thought, she must not have seen me.

I looked over the tables and booths as I made my way to the back door and never saw the dirt balls I was looking for. Bad Date and her friends were chatting -- sitting two booths from the door.

As I walked out the door I heard someone ... well, Bad Date ... clearly say "Ass hole."

Ahhhhh, I thought. She has seen me. She just hates my guts. I'd had a bad date. She'd had a horrible date (bold-and-italic worthy).

There is something about having people steal from you that affects you in a way I can't describe. If you lose money it is a bit bothersome, depressing, whatever. If that same amount, or even less, is stolen from you it is a whole different thing, it puts you in a whole different state of mind.

So there I was. In a whole different state of mind due to the whole different thing that had happened and a woman who, in all fairness, was not a good date herself, was calling me "Ass Hole." And not a slurred-hard-to-understand Ass Hole. It was well enunciated. Crystal clear. Almost as if someone from Cleveland had said it. (Clevelanders over pronounce words to the point it is amazing that they ever get anything said.)

I reentered the restaurant through the back door and approached her booth. "Were you talking to me?" I asked.

"No," she quickly assured me.

"I really didn't think so," I said. I was half-tempted to sit with her and her pals to tell my side of the bad-date story. But I had a dine-and-dash check I had to make good and went back up to Lottie's.

The upside the whole thing -- if there is one -- is that it wasn't uncommon for the bartenders to slip the wait staff a beer here and there when they knew we were going to have to make a check good.

Of course, it wasn't uncommon for them to slip us a beer ... just because.

(St. Paddys day is tomorrow? Hey! that means there were serving green beer in Oxford last week. St. Paddy's day always falls during Spring Break so MU students celebrate a week early. Take that University of Miami)

Posted by delmer at 7:49 AM | Comments (3)

March 15, 2006

What do you say at the end of a bad date?

I was watching Seinfeld last night. It was the one where Jerry was getting bootleg cable from a couple of Russian guys. One of the side stories was about a woman who came up to Jerry and read him the riot act because he had not called her the next day as he promised he would after a date several years prior.

At the end of this episode Jerry was doing his stand-up bit and asked, "What do you say at the end of a bad date?" He went on do a bit about what "See you around" means. It was funny.

Still. When he asked "What do you say at the end of a bad date," I automatically said, "Bye."

At the end of a date, in college, when I dropped her off I simply said, "bye." It was a bad date. She knew it was a bad date. I knew it. I had no intention of calling her. I'm certain she didn't want me to call.

And yet, when she slammed the door shut as she exited the car I was such the bonehead that I wasn't sure she'd slammed the door or if the wind had caught it.

The story has a happy ending, but it took more than a year for it to come about.

Once, following a date, I called the girl the next day. She said, "I can't believe you called," which sort of caught me off guard.

"I said I'd call," I replied with a question in my voice. (Whatever the hell that means. Mostly it means I didn't say it with a pompous-ass-like quality. More of a I'm-keeping-a-promise quality.)

"Yea, but guys always say they'll call and they never do."

This was surprising to hear. Who are these guys giving the rest of us a bad name?

A couple of years later I'd learn another dating tidbit. A female friend and I were talking about the various aspects of dating and joking about what a bitch the whole thing can be. I made a comment akin to, " ... and then you have to get up the nerve to ask for her number ..."

And before I could finish my female friend continued, "... and after you get it you have to worry about whether or not the number she gave you is really hers ..."

"What!" I exclaimed ... revealing, once again, my superior level of dating boneheadedness. "Women sometimes give out fake numbers?!"

"Well, never to you, I'm sure."

Posted by delmer at 9:51 AM | Comments (1)

March 14, 2006

110 negatives and a Scanner

The two images on this page were created by scanning a 25-year old 110 negative. The pictures aren't great. Well, they aren't really even good. But this would do well enough to make a digital image of old pictures if you wanted to slap them on a web page.

I do not know who the young girl is in the top photo. I'm not even sure she is the subject of the picture. Maybe it's the two dudes in the water off to her right. UPDATE: The gal is my sister at a very young age. I see it now. How embarrassing. Sorry sis.

The second photo is of a friend of my brother's (Ron, in the foreground) and my brother, Jim. It looks like they were 18 or younger, which would put this about 25 years ago. UPDATE: Mom says Jim is about 16.

Posted by delmer at 11:59 PM | Comments (0)

March 13, 2006

Yesterday's Accomplishments

(As it happens, I didn't have anything too terribly interesting to say yesterday.)

When I woke up it was my intention to paint the kitchen ceiling.

Instead ...

The appliances arrived. The stove had a dent on the bottom on one side. It is the side that will be against the counters and never seen. The delivery guys told me they could bring me a new one or give me ten percent off. I took the ten percent. It would seem I purchased a model that has the expandable 6-to-9 inch burner; and a special warming burner. (The delivery guy made it a point to mention we should be careful about dropping things on non-burner areas ... it would seem the glass surface is somewhat fragile. The sales guy had not mentioned this. Not that it matters -- I was going to buy it anyway -- I just thought it was interesting that the delivery guys and sales guys might have different goals.)

Sweet, eh.

We decided we'd bring the fridge in from the garage. Before doing this, however, I thought it would be a good idea to remove the backspash from the area of the wall closest to the fridge. After two hours and two cut fingers it occurred to me that the new backsplash could have gone up over the old. Live and learn.

In between the start and end of backsplash removal the appliances showed up. After their arrival dad got busy moving a register vent as the placement of the new stove would have covered the old vent. We took a cabinet down. We puzzled over how to best match the flooring that needs to be installed due to a hole left by the removal of a ground-level cabinet.

Ohio State University basketball started at 3:30 -- that signaled the end of the Sunday workday. At the end of which, the ceiling had not been painted. The fridge had not been lugged into the house.

Posted by delmer at 12:32 PM | Comments (0)

March 12, 2006

If you have kids

Or are just in the mood for a cute story, you should read this.

I'll try to come up with something interesting that's all my own later. But, really, I've got painting to do. It may not happen,

Posted by delmer at 12:11 AM | Comments (2)

March 11, 2006

Shopping

The time came today to round out the appliance buying.

Today I picked out an oven -- one with a convection feature as it will make by baking stuff bake faster. In the past when I wanted to cut my baking time in half I simply cranked up the heat by double. This is more of a trick than it may sound. I've been assured that a convection oven is the better way to go.

All of the ovens I looked at had flat tops with four burners. One had an expandable burner -- if you turned the knob to the right it was a six inch burner. Turn the knob to the left and it was a nine inch burner. The regular burners all went from 1 to 8 and then HI. The expandable burner when from 1 to 6 then HI each way. I told the sales guy I wanted a burner that went to 11. He gave me a look that suggested he was a little young to catch the Spinal Tap reference.

I also got a Space Saver under-the-counter microwave with an oven vent built in. I got the unit with metal racks in it so I could do two levels of microwaving. Or one level of macro-waving (with a special attachment).

When it came to a dishwasher. I picked out a Maytag with Super Quiet Feature 300 which, I assume, is 100 better than the unit with Super Quiet Feature 200. It was something like twenty dollars more.

I spent more time looking at dishwashers than ranges and microwaves put together. At one point I called my brother in Virginia and asked what dishwasher they had. He told me he had one that "tumbles." Tumbles I thought wondering how the hell something like that would work. "What?" I said.

"You know, like they have in the laundromat."

"Dishwasher. Not washing machine." I clarified.

"Oh." As it happens the new dishwasher was sold with the old house. So, I was on my own.

Everything arrives tomorrow. I get a $55.00 delivery rebate.

Posted by delmer at 11:26 PM | Comments (0)

March 10, 2006

Dear Penthouse

I was just sitting at work, wondering how cleaning spyware from an XP machine could have removed (and, seemingly, made it impossible for me to reinstall) a network interface card, when an old memory popped up.

This is something I haven't thought about in a long time. And since, I'll bet, inasmuch as you don't know any of the characters, you have never thought about it I figured I'd share.

It was about 1982 and I was at Miami. My friend, Alan, and I were out late -- it had to be past midnight and quite possibly past 2:30 -- when he decided it would be a good idea to visit one of his old girlfriends. She lived in a dorm in which the first floor was women and the second floor was men. There was a third floor as well -- I don't remember the gender of those occupants. And that isn't important.

What is important is that men and women could not be on the same floor after midnight. That's also when the front door was locked and only residents with keys could get into the building.

We stood outside the locked dorm and noticed there was a light on in a room on the second floor. There was noise coming from the window suggesting that a small party was going on.

We made some low-volume shouts at the window -- loud enough, we hoped, to get the attention of the guys in the room ... not so loud as to attract the attention of a Resident Assistant who might come out and ask just what it was we were up to.

The low-volume shouts didn't really do us much good and Alan decided maybe bouncing something off the window screen might get someone's attention.

He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and made a dead-on throw. Had there been a screen in the window he would have hit it right in the center.

However, there wasn't.

We were both certain that keys flying into a room would have attracted some attention and stood beneath the window waiting. When nobody came to look out we thought we'd try the low-volume yells again; loss of the car keys inspired us to yell just a little louder.

Finally someone came to the window. Alan yelled up and said that his keys were in their room. The occupant assured Alan he was wrong. Alan said he was positive as he'd just thrown them through the window. The occupant, while still certain we were wrong said he'd come and get us.

We stood in the doorway looking into the room and traced a visual line from the window -- which was inline with the door -- to our feet. No keys. We looked behind us. The keys had gone through the window, across the room, out the door and into the hall. Without notice.

We made our way downstairs to visit Alan's old girlfriend. If this were a Penthouse Forum letter ... well, you know how it would end.

As it is a blog entry it ends like this: Jill and her roomies were sleeping. We woke Jill up and she let us in. She was happy to see us in a what are you guys doing kind of way and was curious about how we got into the dorm (Alan said, "I have a key." And he did. Actually a whole ring full.) We all reveled in the thrill of being someplace we shouldn't be and having someone in your room who shouldn't be there and then Al and I left.

Posted by delmer at 3:33 PM | Comments (2)

March 9, 2006

Dr. Scholl and Compound W

Did you see the Rodney episode where one of his kids is getting picked on by another kid at school -- I think the kid is making fun of Rod's son's name. Rodney asks his boy what the bully's name is. His child responds, "Richard Warts."

Rodney pauses and says, "We'll talk about this later."

This entry is not about that. It's about a product that allows you to freeze warts at home.

And, before I go any further, I should say I wish I remembered more about what I learned in chemistry. I remember seeing, on Mr. Wizard (I think) that if you take dry ice and mix it with rubbing alcohol it will get sooooo cold sooooo fast that it bubble violently. The Wizard had a metal sphere with dry ice in it, applied some alcohol and sealed it. The sphere exploded. (This sort of calls into question the sooooo fast part of my previous statement. Mr. Wizard is getting up there in years; I don't know how fast he's moving these days. Scroll down to Super Freeze for a better explanation.)

Anyway, ever since I saw Mr. Wizard with is dry ice and rubbing alcohol I've wondered if I could treat a wart I have on my finger -- at home.

Enter Dr. Scholl and the good folks at Compound W. They both have products that will let a person freeze a wart right at the kitchen table.

Maybe you've seen the commercial for one of the products. There is a cute little girl who seems to have a wart on her finger. Her mother takes the home-freezing product and applies it to the wart. We cut away to a bit about the product being used and with a voice over telling just how easy it is. We cut back in time to see the little girl smile at mom and say "thank you mommy."

I saw this commercial for the first time not too long after I'd returned from a dermatologist. He had dipped a long Q-Tip (the same type used in the story about my first pelvic exam, which makes them an honest-to-God all-purpose product) into a bit of liquid nitrogen -- which made it skin-burning cold -- and then applied that Q-Tip to my wart. At the end of the experience I probably said, "thank you Doctor," but I'm certain it was through clenched teeth and teary eyes. It hurt like a sonuvabitch.

The interesting thing about that experience was that during the process the doc narrated what was happening, but two second before it happened:

The skin is going to turn white ... one Mississippi two Mississippi ... check

You'll feel some discomfort in the finger ... one Mississippi two Mississippi ... check

That will eventually hurt a fair deal ... you know the drill ... check

Your testicles will shrivel and tuck themselves up between your butt cheeks ... check

You will want to reach across the table and kill me but your uncertainty over just how well I'm able to wield this Q-Tip will hold you back ... check

The pain will subside and become dull ... check

You'll leave me a ten dollar co-pay ... I paid by check (Sorry about that one. It was unplanned. It just happened.)

The wart in question is around the nail on my ear-digging finger on my left hand. I've had it for years. Keeping a band-aid on it keeps it at bay. Sometimes I try to do something about it.

The trip to the dermatologist was unsuccessful. Sure, the wart died and left a really cool dark place on my finger for a while. But, the dermy had said he didn't know if one treatment would take care of it. And I didn't go back when the wart returned; I resorted to band-aids.

Then Compound-W, which says it could take up to 12 weeks to work. It reduced the wart to nothing, but it never went away totally. I decided I needed to find a dermatologist to give me a laser treatment. But, first, I'd try the home-freeze-off kit.

I got my hands on the Dr. Scholl product. I read and followed the instructions. I left the applicator on the wart for 20 seconds -- the longest recommended time.

The skin seemed to freeze. I could see the white area form. It never really hurt like a sonuvabitch -- how could it have possibley worked? No pain, no gain. Go for the burn! Keep on truckin'. Ass, Gas or Grass ... nobody rides free.

I'm going to keep my eye on it. It is a little tender today.

Posted by delmer at 8:59 AM | Comments (1)

March 8, 2006

Swordfish

Haydn was about 6 and we decided we'd go to Red Lobster.

We sat looking over the menu and Haydn spied Swordfish under catch of the day. I noticed that swordfish was Thursday's catch and, as we were there on a non-Thursday, suspected it might be unavailable.

"I'll have the swordfish," said Haydn.

"I'm not sure that's available today," I said. "It looks like it might be a Thursday only item."

"But it's on the menu today."

"Yes it is. But you'll notice," I said, pointing to the grease-pen check mark next to the tuna, "that the check mark is next to grouper. I don't think you can get swordfish today."

"I think you can."

"I'm pretty sure you can't. And if you could when it came it would look like a square of meat ... not a swordfish like you see on TV." And this gave me an idea.

At that moment the waiter arrived.

"Can we get swordfish today?" I asked in a low tone.

"No. I'm sorry. That's only available on Thursdays."

"Can you bring us the tuna and when you set it down say, 'here's your swordfish.'" I asked.

"That won't be a problem."

Turning to Haydn I asked, "What would you like son?"

"I'll have the swordfish."

"And I think I'll have the catfish," I said, knowing I needed to order something that Haydn liked as tuna wasn't going to do it for him.

"Swordfish and catfish," the waiter repeated.

A short while later our waiter reappeared with a tray. "Here's your swordfish," he said laying a plate in front of Haydn, "and the catfish."

Haydn had a bite of the swordfish and decided it wasn't to his liking. I swapped him my catfish.

Posted by delmer at 1:40 PM | Comments (3)

March 7, 2006

Money Dance

Several Months ago -- sometime before October seems about right -- I started receiving notices from Intuit about my Quicken 2003 software. Intuit really wanted me to upgrade to Quicken 2006 and, as a loyal customer, I was eligible for a $20.00 discount if I acted immediately.

I received a couple of e-mails and a letter or two in the mail over the next several months. Each telling me, again, that, if I were to act immediately, I'd get the $20.00 discount. So I'd pay $69.00 instead of $89.00.

I really wasn't in the mood to upgrade. Certainly not immediately. Quicken 2003 was doing everything I wanted it to do. Why spend the money on something I didn't need? This sounds like poor money management. Why would Intuit want me to spend money I didn't need to spend?

I was also aware that Intuit had used strong arm tactics in the past to get people to upgrade; features would become disabled after a certain amount of time passed. I'd also read that people had upgraded to the newer version only to find the online features didn't work with their bank; some banking institutions were balking at paying Quicken's higher fees for the new file format they would have to use.

Mostly, I'd rather upgrade my software on my time schedule.

As time passed I'd stumble across other Quicken 2006 offers. Due to their relationship with one of my banks I could buy the new version at a $20.00 savings over what your normal schmuck would pay (yes, I'd pay $69.00). The Catholic Church was offering a Papal discount: for two extra Hail Mary's each Friday over Lent I'd save $20 over what your normal heathen would pay and I'd get a Holy Water spritzer.

Finally, at the beginning of February I received a letter from Quicken. In order to better serve me, and in accordance to their sunset policy some of the features of Quicken 2003 would quit working. Most notably the ability to download transactions from my banks. Fortunately, if I were to act immediately, I could save $20 over what the typical non-Catholic, non-My Big Bank Customer, pays for the new software.

I decided to look elsewhere for a financial package. A decision that, in the end, saved me $59.00. And I didn't have to act immediately. In fact I purposely dragged my feet with this purchase. When I did the online pay for the software I clicked the OK button extra slow. I felt a tingle.

After buying the new package I got on Intuit's website and left some feedback. I expressed my displeasure over their sunset policy and told them that while I would have eventually upgraded my Quicken that I'd have preferred to do it on my own terms. So now, instead of getting $69 from me at some point in the future (or whatever it might cost) they will not be getting any money from me at all. I also explained that I was changing my tax software and that this is money they would not be getting from me this year. I expect them to be out of business within their next fiscal quarter.

The new package I purchased is Money Dance. It is a cross-platform package -- Mac, Windows and Linux.

Thus far it does everything Quicken 2003 did for me. It downloads transactions from my financial institutions and claims it will allow on-line bill pay ... I do thins via my bank's website, so I don't know much about the feature. I've set Money Dance up to track my 401(k), something I never bothered to do with Quicken (though I'm sure it would have handled it.)

Money Dance is $30.00 and you can try it before you buy it.

Posted by delmer at 7:42 AM | Comments (2)

March 6, 2006

Just Last Night

Samson and I went to KFC to pick up dinner.

Ahead of us in line was a couple -- a man and a woman. After they had been trying too long to order I finally started listening to their conversation with the KFC order taker.

I came in at:

She: Wait. Will we save money by buying a large green beans rather than two of the side orders of beans.

KFC: Yes.

She: Do you think we should get a large green beans?

He: Yes.

She: Well, that's what we'll do. We'll take a large green beans and cancel the two sides.

He and she: Further discussion that was hard to hear.

Guy behind me: Made some sort of noise that suggested he couldn't believe this was taking as long as it could as the process we were involved in was the simple ordering of food at a restaurant that these folks had probably eaten at before and that they should have had some sort of idea what they were going to order before they got in line. It was not an impolite noise and was just loud enough for me to hear. Not loud enough for the couple to hear. It was an impatient noise. It was the noise that had run through my mind just before the guy behind me vocalized it and for a moment I thought I had some sort of mind-control thing working on the guy.

Me -- to myself: Thirty-one cents. You will save thirty-one cents by ordering a large green beans instead of two sides. If thirty-one cents is important enough to further hold up the line, maybe you shouldn't be eating out at all. Did you really think the difference might be five or ten dollars?

He and she: More discussion.

A credit card is passed forward.

His cell phone rings.

He: They have a bowl that ... (and he begins to describe menu items about some sort of bowl thing. You've probably seen the really stupid commercial about this product.)

Me -- to myself. Or maybe I'd read the mind of the guy next in line: You're shitting me!

He: Bowl this, bowl that, rice something, potato. (This is not an exact quote.) Does this come with cheese?

KFC: Yes

He: Blah blah blah. I'll have blah bowl. Do you still have my card?

KFC: Yes.

A second order is placed. A second charge is put on the guys credit card. Somewhere in the depths of the KFC this order is recorded as food order probably belonging to a different customer than the one who ordered the meal with the large green beans about two minutes before -- before the phone conversation.

I'm finally up. I have a seven-year old with me who was indecisive right up to the point the KFC guy asked if he could help me. At that point my seven-year old was ready. No changing of his mind. No questions about saving a quarter should he get mac-and-cheese instead of beans. No calls to his cell phone changing an order.

We ordered. Like we were reading off a list (or maybe off a menu suspended above the KFC guy's head). Like we'd put some thought into our food selection before leaving home. And, certainly, before stepping into line.

The couple left. I moved to the food-pickup section of the counter. The guy behind me placed his order.

A different KFC guy put a bag in front of me and said, "Here's your order sir."

The bag seemed to have my salad but the sandwiches were missing and I politely pointed it out. Then I took a closer look at the salad,

"What is this? I don't think it's mine."

"That's a potato and cheese bowl," said the second KFC guy.

The guy behind me in line said, "That belongs to the couple that just left."

"Ah. The phone order," I said.

"It would seem so."

As I walked out of KFC with my food I could hear John Lennon singing, "Instant karma's gonna get you ..."

Or maybe I was reading the mind of the guy behind me in line.

Posted by delmer at 9:06 AM | Comments (2)

March 5, 2006

Bush and Kerry

The Arnold Expo is going on in Columbus this weekend. To celebrate I thought I'd dig something up I posted in usenet (misc.fitness.weights) back pre-election.

There isn't much to the post, but it is important to note the following Misc.Fitness.Weights themes:

There is no such thing as toning

Squatting all the way down, ass to the grass, is preferred

Doing curls in a power rack or squat rack is frowned on

A person should really rerack his weights

Screaming at your lifting partner to motivate him is so '70's

Both Kerry and Bush have been in Central Ohio lately. And, oddly enough I happened to be at the Hilliard World Gym on the same days
both candidates were there working out.

As I recall Bush was there on a Friday. Maybe Thursday. I'm pretty sure it was toward the end of the week. He was wearing an older 'Big
Dog' t-shirt that had the sleeves ripped off. In between sets Bush would talk with some of the other gym rats and commented on what 'hard work' lifting is and how much safer World Gym feels now that we've declared war on terror. He also asked one of the trainers for tips on
toning.

I didn't stick around for his whole workout. I was put off by the constant screaming of the Secret Service agents as they spotted W on the bench. "PUSH IT MR. PRESIDENT!!! YOU SLIMEBALL!! GIVE ME TWO MORE! YOU ... ARE ... PATHETIC!" George was hitting about 280 in sets on the bench. He didn't rack his weights when he was done. I hate that. (He used the squat rack for curls too.)

Kerry walked in one day when I was getting ready to leave. I didn't notice whether or not he was freshly manicured, though he did smell of lilac.

Even though I was running late getting back to work I thought I'd hang around and see what Kerry was made of. He made himself at home in one of the power cages got busy squatting. I saw him kick out a set of 8 at 425 lbs (ass to the grass) without breaking a sweat. The man was just getting warmed up when my cell phone went off and I had to hit the road. As I walked out the door I could see John racking his weights.

Posted by delmer at 12:10 PM | Comments (1)

March 4, 2006

Knee Update

Haydn is up and down a bit more and is handling the crutches in such a way that I'm not worrying about him like I did just a couple of days ago.

He hasn't had any pain medication since Wednesday night and his eyes show it.

Today we went to Lowes, Wal-Mart and Sams Club. Haydn rode a scooter at Lowes and Sams. He tooled around in a wheelchair at Wal-Mart.

There was no tripping. No falling.

This evening he scooted on his butt up the stairs and supervised while I cleaned the Guinea Pig cage.

It's back to school on Monday.

Posted by delmer at 11:50 AM | Comments (0)

March 3, 2006

Scanned Images

We picked up a couple of new scanners at work and I spent a little time playing around with one. The scanners will scan 35mm slides and negatives and produce a picture that, for all I know, is called a positive.

I scanned two negatives. They are certainly passable, but the original photo is better; at least in the case of dad on the barn. Still, I thought it was pretty amazing and, for all I know, I may be able to do something to make the quality better.

It took just under 2.5 minutes to scan each negative. That doesn't include putting the negative in the scan mask.

The first picture is of Dad putting the last piece of sheeting on the roof of his barn. Uncle Teddy, who recently had a portion of a lung removed as well as four ribs, can be seen standing next to the ladder. I'm in the door walking toward the ladder looking very dork-like.

The second shot if of dad, Jack and Haydn. My arm is creeping in from the side.

Click the pictures for a larger image.

Posted by delmer at 1:39 PM | Comments (0)

March 2, 2006

McDonald's tests Canadians

I had breakfast at Micky D's this morning.

McDonald's is currently asking diners to participate in a survey they're taking. Instructions for taking the survey are on the back of the receipt they handed me and they start by saying Your Feedback is important to us. Please let us know how we did today.

For simply taking part in the survey you have a chance to win gift certificates and possibly $1000. Unless, of course, you are Canadian.

Per the instructions, In order to win, a Canadian resident must correctly answer a skill-testing question..

I wonder what it could be.

Aren't we supposed to be building bridges with our allies? Not pushing them away?

Have Canadians been crossing the border and using their uncanny luck and superior survey-answering skills to snap up restaurant freebies?

Bitches.

Posted by delmer at 4:24 PM | Comments (0)

God loves His Thin Mints

I made five women happy just the other day -- all at the same time. And it only cost me three dollars. In the past I've spent hundreds of dollars -- probably thousands -- to make one woman at a time happy; all without success.

I had just exited Lowes and stumbled across three Girl Scouts selling cookies. There were two moms sitting next to the table -- probably talking about how men have disappointed them over the years (I assume that's what women do when two or more of them get together and the Internet is unavailable denying them the privilege of blasting the same news to the far corners of the globe.)

"Would you like to buy some cookies?" asked one of the Girl Scouts.

"I'll be glad to buy cookies," I said, "But I'd like to donate them back to you folks. I'm really not a big cookie eater."

All the women and women-in-training smiled. I gave one of the Girl Scouts my three bucks and started toward my car. Thinking I was out of earshot I heard one of the moms say, "You certainly don't get an ass like that eating cookies," and then I'd swear I heard hands smacking high-five like and a little hooting. Of course, the whole thing could have been the wind playing tricks on my ears.

The reason I didn't buy the cookies is because I have little in the way of willpower. If I have a whole pizza, I'm going to eat a whole pizza. I'm like Donald Trump in that way. If he sees a super model -- he's going to marry her. If I see a full box of cookies sitting on the seat next to me, I'm going to eat them. (Guys. All the models Donald has married, while all very attractive, are not all necessarily Super. Not all models can be Super. Certainly there's some sort of criteria. And really, until they start flying -- and I don't mean Kate-Moss-strung-out-on-heroin flying, I don't think any of them should be called Super. Nice, hot, swarthy, whatever ... but not Super. )

I'm very good about ordering just what I need -- that is a very small personal pizza, or one or two cookies -- so I have some control in that area. But I'm know that if I somehow end up with a whole pizza or box of cookies that God must want me to have them. And who am I to disappoint God when it comes to this; I disappoint him on so many other things ... I like to let him have this victory. (You cannot disappoint God: he/she/it knows what you're going to do before you do it. He knew I was going to refer to Him as she/it before I typed it. He was cool with it.)

Posted by delmer at 9:01 AM | Comments (1)

March 1, 2006

I am kicking software ass

I hate to brag. Nothing will turn impending doom into in-your-face doom faster than bragging.

This is why I don't say things like, "Gosh, I haven't had a cold in more than xx months." As soon as you say something like that, boom ... you've got runny eyes, a stuffy nose and it burns when you pee. (Wait. Maybe that's what happens when you say things like, "Gosh, I haven't had an STD in xx months." The medical world changes so rapidly that it's hard to keep up.)

(And for anybody worried about my health in the upcoming weeks, just substituting xx for the actual month value is enough to ward off any bad karma that bragging might bring on. So, I'm safe.)

If you read down, past this entry, you'll see that I recently defeated the ill-performing-software demon. Many people would have used that victory as an excuse to sit back and drink margaritas all afternoon, And, I'll admit, I gave it a shot.

OK. In my case I had a Diet Pepsi and an oatmeal brownie. Still, that's heady stuff for me.

After the Diet Pepsi and brownie I decided to get off my butt and tackle another software problem.

We use ArcServe to back up our data to tape.

Several weeks ago I installed ArcServe Manager on my XP workstation. It ran dog slow. So slow you can't imagine. I mean, you would click ... wait 45 seconds ... click ... wait 45 seconds ... it was genuinely useless.

I dug around the Internet and found I wasn't the only one with the problem. The answer was to make an SPX-only connection during the software setup. I wasn't running IPX/SPX on the server (and at this point, aren't you thinking that as inappropriate as an it-burns-when-you-pee crack is, that at least that remark had some entertainment value).

Blah blah blah. I set IPX/SPX up. The software was still horribly slow.

I installed it on my Windows 2000 box, making sure to select SPX connection only and it ran like a scalded dog (that is, very fast).

And then I did something. I don't remember what. But all of a sudden it started burning ... No. I'd remember something like that. ArcServe Manager started running like crap again.

I unistalled. I reinstalled. I uninstalled and hand-cleaned the registry. I reinstalled the Netware client. I did this over and over. Nothing worked. I got in the habit of doing restores from tape (I do a test weekly) at the server console. I left the software alone for a couple of weeks ... letting it think I'd forgotten about it.

Then today, while I had my software mojo working, I took another shot. I uninstalled. I used a software tool to clean up the registry. I reinstalled making sure to select SPX connection. I came. I saw. I conquered.

Time for another brownie.

Posted by delmer at 3:27 PM | Comments (0)

Software Additions

Yesterday I spent some time installing software on three of our NT servers and our Netware box. I'd put this off as I'd been concerned that the addition to the NT servers might cause problems. Not for any particular reason -- it's just that they'd been running well for a long time; why rock the boat.

I had all three NT boxes set up in about 20 minutes. Each box did the auto-configuration through the serial port as hoped. All was well. So much for my worry.

I thought the Netware box might be even easier. This turned out to be a foolish thought.

First, per the vendor's instructions, I had to make sure I was running at service pack 4 . I was. I also needed to make sure I had JVM 1.4 or better installed. Well, upgrading was easy enough.

The vendor's website stated our version of Netware would require the Business Edition of their software ... the Professional version would not work. I downloaded the latest Business Edition.

I installed the BE and it went in easy enough. At 6:30 p.m. I did my first reboot to see how things were going to go. Things didn't go at all.

For the next three hours I uninstalled, reinstalled, changed settings, looked for help in forums, unloaded NLMs and reloaded them with different switches blah blah blah. At 9:30 I went home.

This morning I took a different approach. Instead of trying to make the BE work, I checked to see what kind of success people were having with the Pro edition. They were having enough that I thought I'd give it a shot.

Twenty minutes later I was sipping margaritas.

Well, maybe not, but I'd moved on to something else.

Mission Accomplished.

Posted by delmer at 1:38 PM | Comments (0)