The New Job

First... I am not one to go around hunting for omens, portents or "signs from God" under every rock, but if this doesn't qualify, I don't know what does.

Last Friday my new supervisor called me. Long story a whole lot shorter... she used to work for the husband of a woman I met online through some of the most unbelievable circumstances you could imagine. (For those in the know, that woman is also known as Mrs. ex-Perp. The rest of you... don't sweat it.) No six degrees of separation going on here! And we're talking about opposite coasts... my new employer is headquartered in North Carolina.

Yesterday was my first full day on the job (and my head is still spinning, but that's to be expected). You know how "those in the know" talk about how you must be very, very circumspect and professional when using company e-mail? Well... yesterday morning, a whole series of e-mails started popping up, beginning with some concerns surrounding the fact that many of us (a) are new to the company and (b) are working on a brand-new account to boot, so there are some definite issues to iron out. In the midst of this, one woman made a reference to a "crabby old lady."

Well... y'all know me. I jumped in with "Crabby old lady? Did someone call my name?"

And after that it turned into a free-for-all--in which the supervisors were giving just as much fun to the party as us worker bees. Apparently, and I haven't learned otherwise yet, the corporate mentality is that we all need a sanity (insanity?) break once in a while, and group laughter (in the form of e-mails, anyway, since we're all working remotely) is to be encouraged.

And then, this morning, someone wrote in that now she knows why all the QA (quality assurance) people at her last job were grumpy... all of the ones who have a sense of humor work for OUR company!

Meanwhile... I am still getting used to their system, and there are some really, really difficult-to-understand ESL doctors whose dictation I have been unlucky enough to draw. But I cranked out marginally more work today than yesterday, so perhaps I am speeding up just a little. We shall see. I am meeting my first-week daily production quota so far, and hopefully will have sped up enough by week 2 to meet that quota, and so forth. I am still well under the normal production quota, though.... Oh well, this is what the training period is for!

Is it time for my nap yet?

Watch This.

That is an order. CrankyBeach hath spoken.



(Hat tip: Baldilocks)

A Blast From The Past.

Literally.



The first time I heard this song on local radio I was driving home, pulled up at a stoplight, and the person in the next car looked over at me and quickly looked away again because I was laughing my pinkytoe off and the tears were rolling down my face.

In the next day or two I managed to tape-record the song from the radio; but at this point I have no idea where that tape might be hiding.

It had to be 1986, because unless my brain is completely gone (instead of just mostly gone) that was the year Clint ran for mayor and put Carmel on the map.

Brings back some crazy memories, that's for sure....

(Edited to add: That was a popular local band called The Medflys.)

Job-Hunting In the 21st Century

I have not mentioned this on the blog until now because I really don't enjoy bleeding all over the folks who come here hoping for a little entertainment and enlightenment.

But I've known since the middle of June, right after I got home from visiting Kerry in Wisconsin (and seeing the Moody Blues in Waukegan) that big changes were coming.

(This has turned into a very long post, so I am putting the rest of it below the fold.)

JR, the doctor who has been my employer, my doctor, my other adopted big brother and truly a member of my extended family for nearly 28 years decided, for various reasons, that it was time to close his practice and spend his remaining working years practicing medicine in the employ of someone else.
I have always known, in the back of my mind, that this day would come. After all, the man is 11 years older than I am, and it stood to reason he would retire long before I would be ready to pack it in, and I'd have to go to work for someone else. That was one of the major reasons I went back to college 10 years ago and finally finished my degree. (And JR gave the toast at my graduation party.)
I guess it's human nature that even when you know something will happen eventually... you are still stunned, gob-smacked, reeling from the two-by-four upside the head, when it actually happens. You just didn't expect it to happen NOW.
JR is not retiring just yet; he and his daughter NR who joined the practice about 4 years ago are going to work for another medical group. In July I sent my resume and a very polite and professional cover letter to the other medical group, more or less applying to keep my job.
But it was not to be; the other medical group has other solutions in mind to cover the medical transcription department (voice recognition among them, which I want to watch, because I have never actually seen a computer melt down in self-defense). JR went to bat for me, but he was not able to persuade them to bring me on board.
So I've been looking around, and asking around; but there's nothing local to be found. There is one job that's been advertised for at least a month and a half on the state employment site--but it would be an 80-mile round trip daily commute, plus the pay rate offered--well, I haven't worked for that low a rate since the Reagan administration, so I was not even tempted to apply. I'd have eaten up half my paycheck in gas alone.
Interestingly enough, the office where JR and NR will practice was advertising for a medical biller. In addition to being a transcriptionist, I am a recovering biller--but I have said I will clean toilets for a living before I will go back to being a biller. The entire medical reimbursement racket has turned into such a headache these days. When I started, all those years ago, it was so simple. The doctor saw a patient, you billed their insurance, you got paid. End of story. Nowadays, you have to call the insurance company practically every time the patient is seen, because what was true the last time you called very often is not true the following week. You call, you verify that they have coverage, you verify that the service you want to perform on the patient is a covered service under their plan, you request authorization to perform the service, you perform the service and you bill for it--and then you wait and wait and wait to be paid. The insurance company requests medical records and justification for performing a covered service that is the standard of care, because they've got some medical director sitting up there who probably hasn't actually had his hands on a real live patient since 1969, whose job it is to deny or stonewall.
I got tired of pushing that boulder uphill (seriously burned out is actually a better description) and left the billing department a year ago last July to come home and transcribe full time. And now my job has gone away.
With the technology these days, medical transcription can be done from anywhere (anywhere with an internet connection, that is) for a client located anywhere (also with an internet connection). There's no commute, no professional wardrobe to maintain, and no office politics. The downside is that with all the cost savings on both ends, the pay scales have dropped. Part of this is because there has been a lot of outsourcing overseas, and those folks overseas will work for a tiny fraction of American wages. But we're starting to see a trend for the jobs to come back onshore, because even if the initial wage is lower, when you have to proofread everything that comes back with a magnifying glass, where's the savings? Best to pay a bit more and have it done right in the first place. Plus... there's really no way to enforce the privacy laws when you're sending work overseas. There's a true story floating around about how a transcriptionist overseas sent an e-mail to a major hospital threatening to put their patients' medical records on the web, for all the world to see, if she did not get paid for her work. She attached some medical records to the e-mail to prove she actually had them, and could make good on her threat. This led the hospital to rewrite all their contracts with medical transcription services, prohibiting the services from subcontracting any of their work offshore.
I started job-hunting seriously about a month ago. And discovered that even with 36 years of experience under my belt, I am not qualified for at least half of the available jobs. Why? Because I have worked strictly in the doctor's office (clinical) setting, and never for a hospital (acute care), and no one would even let me try out for acute care. The only people eligible for those jobs are (a) those with at least 2 years of recent experience in it, and (b) recent graduates of the top medical transcription schools.
I even called one school, explained my dilemma, and asked if they had a crash course in acute care for someone like me. The recruiter sympathized, but said no they didn't, and did I want to enroll in their complete course (at least half of which I could teach in my sleep). I said no, thank you, and went on with my search.
Finally, in the last couple of weeks, I began to receive job offers; but these employers required me to commit to a 40-hour week in order to be eligible for benefits. Interestingly, within that 40-hour week, they require a per-day line quota, usually 1200 lines, and the pay is by the line, not by the hour. When I am doing familiar work, I can knock out 1200 lines in 4 or 5 hours--and my hands (and brain) can't go on much longer than that. So I needed to find a job where the quota was the thing, and not the hours.
A week ago I applied for one such job (1200 lines a day and they don't care what time you do it, or how long it does or does not take you, as long as it's done and back by midnight) and waited for the recruiter to call me back. And waited. Meanwhile, I kept applying.
And meanwhile, I did the last of NR's dictation (she moved over to the new place on the 19th) and I did not handle it well at all. Friday the 25th a bunch of the staff went out for unhappy hour, something we never did before, realizing this might be the only farewell party we would get. Monday the 29th was JR's last day of seeing patients in the old office. M, the manager who had been there even longer than me, told me to come over at lunch time. We had ourselves a little farewell pity party that involved bagels and doughnuts. Tuesday the 30th I did the last of JR's work--and handled that even less well.
Wednesday, I spent most of the day just scanning medical transcription bulletin boards, looking for names of companies that people were happy working for, hunting down websites, and sending in online applications. I also took several tests, at the sites that had tests available. In all, I applied for 13 jobs that day alone.
By the time I turned in my last test (and resume) of the day, it was about 4:30 in the afternoon, and I was really, really tired. I went off for a couple of hours to see some friends--and when I got home, I had a sizzling hot e-mail from the recruiter for the very last company I had applied to. She had marked up my test and sent it back to me (THAT was a first!) and really, really wanted to talk to me ASAP.
So I called her first thing in the morning. She said I had scored 98.6 percent on the test, and the bits that I missed, everyone misses. (She even missed them herself when she took the very same test.) She had three more positions to fill for a large hospital/clinic system that is coming online as a new client for their transcription company, she had already filled two of them, and when she saw my test and resume, she knew she had found her third person, if only I would agree. After learning all the particulars, I asked her if I could have a little time, since I had a couple more phone interviews actually scheduled for that morning. She said okay but that she really needed an answer ASAP because it was getting down to the wire. I told her I would let her know by the end of the day.
So I took the other two interviews--and in addition finally got a call back from that "dream job" I had applied for, the one that was strictly production-based and not hourly. Unfortunately, the "dream job" recruiter said she had several other interviews to conduct, and would not be able to make a hiring decision until next week, and of course there was no guarantee I would be chosen. I did get an immediate offer from one of the other interviews. After I ran the numbers and considered all the particulars, I decided to go with the first one. I called the recruiter back and accepted the job. I spent half of yesterday filling out and faxing back employment paperwork.
The new job actually starts at a slightly lower pay rate than the other offer--but there are production incentives, which I will have no trouble meeting, plus my share of cost for the health insurance premium is far less than for the other company. That alone was almost enough to make up for the pay differential.
But... there are other compensations. As soon as I have worked for them for 3 months, I will sit for the first certification exam--and they will reimburse me the cost of taking the exam. They offer free study groups for exam prep, and passing the exam bumps up the pay rate. I am, the recruiter said, over-qualified to take that first exam, because it is designed for newbies right out of school. The second certification (and second salary bump) has a prerequisite of 2 1/2 years of acute care experience.
Here's the thing that sealed the deal for me. Since I scored so high on the test, I am eligible for up-training into acute care. Yes, acute care, the discipline in which I haven't even been able to get arrested, the don't-call-us-and-we-won't-call-you thing. They'll start me, of course, on clinical work (what doctors and what specialties, I don't know yet) but as soon as I am eligible for that up-training, you can bet I will be right there. Acute care of course pays better than clinical.
None of the other companies that offered me jobs offered me up-training, or reimbursement for taking certification exams, or even study groups for exam prep. With all of those things to consider, it turned into a no-brainer.
The company supplies all the hardware. They're shipping me a Dell tower, a KVM switch, a network cable, a headset and a foot pedal first thing next week. Thursday morning, I will get a training call from the IT department, and they will walk me through setting up the computer. Later in the morning I will get another training call, for training on the online interface and transcription platform. (Somebody remind me to dig out that old hands-free headset telephone....)
Monday morning, October 13, the account goes live, and we will have work.
I may actually not start real work until Tuesday, because I have signed up for a Tuesday-Saturday, 6 a.m. to noon California time, work schedule. Yes, they do require at least 30 hours a week of seat time for benefits eligibility--but again, the entire pay scale is based on the production quota. So I will have 6 hours a day in which to get in a minimum of 1000 lines, or 10,000 lines per 2-week pay period. At 12,001 lines, there's a production incentive pay bump, in which not just the lines over 12,000 but the entire production for that pay period gets paid at the higher rate. There's another bump at 15,001 and on upwards. I shall have to see how well my hands (and my brain) hold up; but I know I can do the 1200 a day with no problems.
There are also bonuses for working holidays; if a holiday falls on one of your regular workdays, you get your regular pay but you also get PTO (paid time off) hours put into your bank. I don't know yet exactly which days are considered holidays in this company--but Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's Day all come on a Thursday this time around, and that is one of my regular work days, so I will rack up some PTO fairly quickly. Routine PTO does not start to be earned until after the first full year of employment. The health insurance kicks in after 90 days, and there is also a 401k available.
So... the whole proposition will constitute a rather substantial pay cut, but since no one local was hiring, I really didn't have much of a choice. And the compensations of working at home (the commute is a few feet down the hall, the professional wardrobe is pajamas, and there are no office politics) do count for a lot.
If you're still reading... thanks for listening! It's been quite a ride. I have a lot of training to get through, and the learning curve on the new platform alone will be steep; but hopefully, once I get used to it, my life will settle back down into its usual dull roar.
At least I won't be bored.

Six and a half percent.

That's the percentage my entire portfolio (retirement, savings, etc.) lost in the last one month.

How did you do?

No Comment Needed.

I Told You He Was Psycho.

Geico, that is.

He's supposed to be nocturnal... but as of 1:30 this afternoon, he had still not gone to bed. Every time I walked past his cage, he would attack the side of the cage.

Ever since he bit me the first couple of times... I've kept a glove next to the cage, in case I want to handle him when he's acting sassy. So today I put on the glove and reached for him.

He actually hung onto my gloved finger while I went and got the camera, then took him into the kitchen where the light is best for shooting pictures.

After several minutes of trying to bite through my finger, he finally figured out he wasn't getting anywhere and tried to let go. Then he discovered that gecko teeth get caught on yarn:

Finally he got himself disentangled and slumped onto my hand for a well-deserved rest.

I put him back in his cage, and he didn't try anything else. I hope he has finally figured out that it's waaaay past his bedtime.

What a goofball.

Firefly snaps at the shadows when I walk past her cage, and she has snapped at my fingers a time or two... but as soon as she figures out what she's snapping at is not edible, she lets go immediately and does not try again. Geico... not so bright. I couldn't believe how long he hung onto my finger today!

Let's Stuff This Ballot Box!

PBS is running a poll. Very simple question: Do you think Sarah Palin is qualified to be VP of the United States, yes or no?

When I voted, it was running about 60 percent no, 40 percent yes.

You know what to do.

(I have discovered that you can vote more than once.)

Hat tip: Wizbang

The Best Image I've Seen Yet.

From the fine folks at Wizbang, at a McCain-Palin campaign rally 9-10-08:

In The E-Mail....

... I am now offered a pet nail clipper.

I doubt any of the lizards would sit still to have their nails clipped.

And one of the pet stores is offering a $5 off coupon on my next order.

Really? Gecko-goo costs $3.99. Does this mean they'll give me the gecko-goo and a dollar too? Uh huh. Sure. And I'm Hermione Granger. (I didn't even bother clicking through to see how much I'd have to really spend to get that $5 off.)

In other news... Samantha wants to know why I haven't blogged about Saracuda.

Mostly because practically everyone in my blogroll (that's the links in the right sidebar, for your flatlanders) has commented. Copiously, fervently and eloquently. Rachel has done a great job, as usual, amongst her other usual topics. If you haven't read her, go do so. Immediately. I'll still be here when you get back. I promise. And then click on all the other links in my blogroll.

In The Headlines

Palin May Be Benefit or Bust for McCain's Campaign

Benefit or bust. Is there a third alternative here?

Wow. What insightful analysis. A real high risk prediction.

/sarcasm

Aaaak!

For reasons far too boring to explain... I happened to surf past the AOL home page. One news item caught my eye; the question of whether I could pass the U.S. citizenship test.

So I clicked over. Imagine my sheer annoyance to find that the linked page is almost entirely in Spanish--under a heading of "immigracion".

Apparently the fine fun folks over at AOL think anyone interested in this topic is a Spanish speaking immigrant.

At least the quiz itself is in English. Which makes me wonder what language the real live this-is-for-all-the-marbles citizenship test is administered in. Does anybody out there know?

Even More Unbelievable.

I found the "itemization" for the aforementioned hospital bill on the insurance company website.

Unfortunately for my curiosity, the itemization did not include procedure codes or descriptions or even categories of what each item belonged to. Just a list of dollar amounts:

227.00
230.00
109.00
378.00
117.00
288.00
210.00
162.00
2,730.00
2,745.00
103.00
1,152.00
70.00
234.80
243.00
258.40
________
9,257.20

Now here's the really scary part.

Keep in mind we are dealing with that infamous insurer, that denier-of-rightful-claims and canceler-of-policies that the press loves to hate: Blue F. Cross.

Well, guess what. Good ol' Blue F. Cross paid the above claim in full, at 100 percent. No deductions whatsoever. And no questioning of any items.

I guess I have a really, really good emergency care benefit.

And I wonder what the $70 was for. The cup of apple juice?

Holy Crap.

Literally.

I just logged onto my health insurance company's website to check up on the status of my medical claims--and saw a "pending" claim from the hospital, for last Saturday morning's four-hour extravaganza. Since the claim is pending I cannot view the itemized details, but the total amount billed?

$9,257.20.

Let's see... that would include four hours' rent on the gurney, a bevy of lab tests, one bag of IV fluid, one tablet of sublingual Zofran (anti-nausea), 1 milligram of IV Dilaudid (to make the runs stop), a CT scan, a brief examination by the ER doctor, and a cup of apple juice. The cup of coffee I had in the waiting room on the way out is not included in the bill. Neither, I expect, is the radiologist's fees for reading the CT scan.

As soon as the itemized version shows up I will post it. But gee... do you think I have finally met my annual deductible??

It Ain't Bragging If You Can Do It...

... but be sure you can do it before you brag, or you will end up looking very, very French.

If you have no idea what I am talking about, you haven't been watching the Olympics. Go look it up and figure it out for yourself. It's all over everybody else's blogs.

Picture stolen shamelessly from a certain television network's website. So there.

Go team USA!

Not How I Wanted To Spend My Saturday.

Paul, if you're reading this... now you'll know why I wasn't home to take your phone call.

It started Friday night around midnight, and got progressively worse as the night went on. I'll spare you the gory details; just picture someone crawling up and down the hall all night long.

By 7:30 Saturday morning, when I had a long enough moment away from the porcelain fixtures, I was checking WebMD and it said that if I had these symptoms, I should call my doctor.

So I did, and he said go on up to the ER, and he'd meet me there in about 20 minutes. I got myself dressed, grabbed a handy piece of Tupperware (for emergencies) and got into the car. Fortunately, the hospital is less than 2 miles away.

Four hours, a large number of blood tests, a liter of IV fluids and a CT scan later, I had been ruled out for acute appendicitis and diagnosed with acute and severe viral gastroenteritis (that's the stomach flu, to you flatlanders). Sheer coincidence that the only part of my lower abdomen that actually hurt was the exact location of my appendix.

The ER doctor said appendicitis can sometimes fool you, and it was still possible I had very early appendicitis, so if I got worse instead of better, to come back in.

My own doctor, who is also my boss, concurred, and told me to call him late in the afternoon to let him know how I was doing.

The ER nurse who pulled my IV told me no driving. I didn't bother telling her I was going to disobey.

By now I was in the throes of a galloping caffeine-withdrawal headache, so on the way out, I drank a cup of the ER waiting room coffee. Might have been a mistake; but I didn't quite have to resort to the Tupperware on the way home. Once home, I sipped some tea, and went right to sleep. That was about noon. Around 4:30 I woke up long enough to call the boss and tell him I thought I was going to be okay, and the ER doctor had told me to come back and see him again Sunday morning, unless I was doing jumping-jacks. My boss said call me first.

After another long nap and some more tea, I knew I was going to be okay. I watched the Olympics and then went right back to sleep. This morning I feel like I've been run over by two trucks--but I don't feel sick. I called the boss and told him I'm better.

So I guess it wasn't the appendix after all. Thank heaven. Emergency surgery would have really ruined my weekend.

Some Things Require No Comment.

Hat tip: Wizbang, via Free Republic

My Little Predator

Did you know a lizard could scream? I didn't.

Since Firefly seemed to want to hunt, snapping at anything that moved for some weeks now, I finally got her some crickets the other day.

I also decided to let the other lizards have a chance at them before she gobbled them all. Captain Malcolm Reynolds, as usual, was not interested in the least. When I put The Spook into the bucket, he took a halfhearted swipe at one of the bugs but that was all. So I went and got Firefly.

The mistake I made was not getting The Spook out of the bucket before Firefly got within feet of it. She took a great leap off my hand and snapped at the first thing she saw moving--which happened to be The Spook's back toes.

And the poor little guy screamed.

Not very loud, because whatever vocal cords he has can't be very big--but a scream nonetheless.

I snatched him out of harm's way--and he huddled cowering in my hand, hanging on for dear life. This is the critter that usually leaps in any direction to escape being handled. But there he sat, perfectly still, while Firefly made short work of the crickets in the bucket. After I hand-fed The Spook some gecko-goo, he perked up enough to start doing his usual leaping-lizard routine.

I am very lucky he did not throw his tail when he thought he was in mortal danger. With this species of gecko, the tail drop is a single-use defense mechanism that does not grow back; in fact, most crested geckos in the wild are missing their tails.

Hopefully the poor little Spook has gotten over his traumatic experience by now. And Firefly won't be getting near him again.

Voldemort Votes Republican.

That's what the bumper sticker says.

I beg to differ.

First... the obvious. Voldemort is not a U.S. citizen; therefore he cannot vote here. Secondly, he's dead. (Which makes him eligible to vote in Chicago, and other traditionally Democrat strongholds.)

But... had Voldemort not assumed room temperature in the last book, and were he eligible to vote in the U.S., I would submit to you that he would not vote Republican.

Come to think of it, he wouldn't bother to vote at all. He'd just kill off all the candidates and declare himself absolute dictator of all, for all eternity.

But seriously... anyone who prefers their power concentrated in one place, be it Washington or one's own hands, is not real likely to vote Republican.

Discuss amongst yourselves. I have work to do.

But before I go... one final thought. Ever notice how Republicans think Democrats are misguided, whereas Democrats think Republicans are evil? A friend of Ith's summed it up best when she said, "How could you be a Republican? You're so nice!"

Just For Perspective...

... this satellite view shows where I live in relation to the recent mountain lion sightings. I left in the yardage marker so you can see how relatively close it is:

One of my walking routes took me right past the park--and often into it, if I needed a drink of water.

For you locals... the mall is in the lower right corner, with the freeway running past it.

Oww.

Had a date with the squisher machine this afternoon. I am in pain. I expect there will be bruises.

The ladies in the crowd will understand exactly what I am talking about.

For those who have no idea... be glad. Be very glad.

And for those who consider this too much information?

Bite me. It's my blog and I'll whine if I want to.

Nope.

Okay, I know I said I love big kitties.

Let me re-phrase that. I love big kitties... when they're behind glass or behind bars. I do not love them up close and personal, thankyouverymuch.

Yesterday's newspaper announced that a mountain lion had been spotted in the gully next to the softball field of one of the city parks. And unlike the last mountain lion I saw, this one was very much alive.

That park is right along one of the routes I've been known to walk.

I don't believe I'll be walking that route again any time soon.

I think I'll go do my walking down at the mall....

Awww-Inspiring

I love my lizards--but I also love kitties. Even big kitties.

Here is the true story of a lion cub who lived with a couple of guys in London for a while, but when he got too big, he was taken to Africa and rehabilitated into the wild by George Adamson.

A few years later, the guys went back to Africa to visit their pal one last time.

Amazingly, after not having been seen for 9 months, the lion showed up near the camp the night before the two guys showed up, and waited for them. Apparently lions have some mysterious ways of knowing things.The story includes video of the final reunion between the two guys and their former housemate.

Definitely a three-hanky moment.

Profound Wisdom

In a children's book first published 51 years ago, no less.

Anyone over a certain age probably remembers those paperback books we used to order from school for about 35 cents each. Between us my sister and I had quite a collection. (Click here for a trip down memory lane, if you're one of those long-ago readers.)

Something said by a character in "Follow My Leader" has stayed with me ever since I read the book long, long ago, and I have found myself quoting it more and more often these days.

The protagonist is an 11 year old boy who is blinded in a freak accident, and while at guide dog training school, he asks one of the instructors why a protruding sharp corner has not been padded, considering there are a lot of blind people around who could bump into it and get hurt.

The instructor's answer? (I may be paraphrasing; I don't have the book on hand to check the quote for accuracy.)

"You cannot expect the world to pad its corners for you."

Doesn't that just say it all?

Spam Sushi

You think I'm kidding, right?

Think again:

To explain... I signed up for a brief garde manger class at the community college. Most of my classmates are budding wanna-be chefs; I am the oldest person in the class and apparently the only one taking it strictly for my own amusement.

(Garde manger is fancy foodie-talk for cold food; salads, appetizers, that sort of thing. No, I never knew that until I signed up for this class.)

Last week we learned how to roll sushi. The chef/professor said spam sushi was surprisingly good--and he was right. I don't do seafood in any form, raw or cooked, so I went for the spam, which the chef fried up for our use in a process that involved a lot of uninvited fire. He nearly burned down the kitchen.... In all the excitement I forgot to ask him what he fried it in; but I believe if I do it myself at home, I'll use sesame oil. Good stuff.

My sushi included also cucumber, carrots and avocado slivers--and it's rolled in colorful soy covers instead of that seaweed stuff. Okay, they were a little lopsided... but not bad for a very first attempt ever, and they tasted pretty good.



I do not take credit for the fancy little vegetable garnishes; those were made by our youngest classmate, who is only 13 but loves to cook.

You can look here if you want to see some of the other classroom creations, as well as a picture of our 13 year old budding chef with her own sushi platter.

Tomorrow afternoon is the last class, and I expect I'll be posting a few more pictures then.

Does Firefly Need Glasses??

My poor little gecko. In the last couple of weeks, after I mist down her cage at night, she has started attacking the water droplets that run down the walls. She must think they're prey, because she dives right into the glass and bonks her poor little snout. And all she gets for her trouble is a drop of water. Explaining that if she wants water she can get it from her fountain without smacking herself in the face is useless, since she pretends not to understand English.

Memo to self: Got to get that poor girl some bugs to hunt.

Separated at birth??

We report, you decide.

Prayers, Please

UPDATE: Suzanne's home is safe for now. She says the fire was never closer than 6000 feet; but things were very, very smoky for a while there. Thanks for all your prayers and thoughts.

Good friend Suzanne's house is in the line of the latest fires. She says their bags are packed and they're ready to evacuate.

You know what to do.

Boo. Freaking. Hoo.

Russian Communist Party members condemned the new "Indiana Jones" film . . . as crude, anti-Soviet propaganda that distorts history and called for it to be banned from Russian screens.

Nope, No Fire Here

For those who may have heard that half of California is up in flames... the nearest fire is over 30 miles from me, and the wind is blowing the other way, so no chance that one's going to get me.

So far, 3000 acres have burned, and they have it only 15 percent contained. Several homes have been lost--but no injuries have been reported.

Good friends Caro and Suzanne are nowhere near the path of the fire, for those who might be wondering. To get to them, it would have to travel several more miles, take a sharp turn to the west, and jump across at least one major highway. So I think they'll be fine. At least, this time....

Earlier this evening I was at a dinner. The man sitting next to me took a phone call from his elderly mother, who lives 7 miles from where the fire began--upwind, thank heaven. She wanted to clear some brush around the house--but he had to admonish her not to try to start up the chainsaw on her own. In fact, he left the dinner early so he could go wrestle the chainsaw out of her hands.

Ah... life in rural America. Nothing quite like it.

Geekery Wins Out Every Time.

I'm a geek. I admit it. And I like gadgets.

Which is why it's a bit surprising that I bought my very first Palm Pilot (gasp) yesterday.

What finally pushed me over the edge?

Well... of all things, it was the search for an e-book reading device.

Just a few months ago I discovered that my local public library is plugged into a network of regional libraries with the capability of "checking out" e-books. For a while there, I had fun downloading and reading e-books on my laptop, lounging around in my bedroom. I can check out 8 books at a time, and they expire after 2 weeks, much like regular library books.

Then I got sick of schlepping the laptop around the house; plus, it gets HOT, so I kind of gave it up.

I did some research, and finally figured out my best (and cheapest!) bet for a reader would be a Palm Pilot Z22. It was in stock at the local Great Big Electronics Superstore, so I brought one home.

Then I found out that only one of the two e-book download formats available through the library would work--and that was, of course, the one with far fewer titles than the Adobe PDF versions. Supposedly, the latest (and allegedly greatest) version of Adobe Acrobat Reader (8.0) does not support transferring e-books to a Palm. Why, in heaven's name, I have no idea.

I got out my big shovel and after a whole lot of digging, found out that version 6.0 WILL support transferring to the Palm. The only catch is, you can no longer download version 6.0.

Here is where my famous pack-rat tendencies come in handy. I have gazillions of old files stashed on my computer... and among them, in my software download directory, is the install file for 6.0.

Since you can't run more than one version of Acrobat Reader at once... I uninstalled version 8.0, and then installed 6.0. Then I ordered it not to look for automatic updates.

And now I have two books in PDF format stashed on the Palm, as well as three in the Mobipocket Reader format. I'm partway through reading one book already. My only gripe is that the Adobe Reader on the Palm does not allow you to choose your screen colors so I am stuck with black text on a white background. In the other reader, I've got palest gray text on a black background, which is very easy to read and easy on the eyes.

And now, when I go traveling, I won't have to lug actual physical books with me. Yee haw!

Meanwhile... I have, of course, uploaded a Moody Blues concert photo into the Palm to serve as my "wallpaper." You knew I would. Admit it.

I have also figured out that I can actually make notes on the Palm much faster tapping the little on-screen keyboard than I can trying to use the Graffiti handwriting program. It's not bad but it's just a little fussier than I like, so it's the keyboard.

I also discovered it's really, really easy to misplace a black stylus when you set it down on your black computer keyboard, just above the function keys... so my stylus now sports two bands of magenta nail polish, and a white stripe made from wrapping a tiny sliver cut off the edge of a label. Now I can see the darn thing a lot easier.

It's been an expensive month so far, because only a week ago I brought home a new faux-pod to play with. The week before that, it was a new portable hard drive because traveling or not, the work never stops.

They talk about boys and their toys. What about girls and their toys??

Bungle In The Jungle-Updated

Question: What's it like living with a sexually confused (and frustrated) gecko?

Answer: You never know what you're going to get when you put your hand into his cage....

Poor Geico. He's not getting any, and it's highly unlikely he ever WILL get any, because my house is already too crowded with five cages, and I just don't have what it takes to add babies to the mix; even if I did raise them only to sell. They have to be housed in the meantime. Besides... my girls still are not big enough, by a long shot, to breed.

A few months back Geico got aggressive, but the best guess at the time was a territorial dispute. Back then, he bit me a couple of times, hard enough to actually draw blood.

In the last couple of weeks, he has shown an inordinate interest in my hand--complete with tiny little squeaking noises. The first time he started squeaking while I was holding him, he very gently latched onto the side of my finger.

Uh oh.

I sprayed him in the face to try to get him to let go, and he just looked at me as if to say, what do you think you're doing, I'm trying to get busy here and you're spraying me with water! So now, if he lets out the slightest little squeak, he doesn't get anywhere near my hand. I've explained to him over and over that I don't date outside my species, but he persists in pretending not to understand English.

This morning, because it's supposed to be very hot today, I went to mist all the cages an extra time. Geico was up and around, way past his bedtime (at 11 o'clock in the morning, no less), front feet in his food dish--and the squeaking started the moment I unzipped his cage.

Very, very confused. The poor boy.

Update: At 2:15 in the afternoon I did nothing more than walk past his cage--and he poked his head out of his hidey-hole, a glint in his eye, and started across the cage toward me.

I told him to go back to bed.

I wonder if they make teeth-proof girl gecko blow-up dolls??

Nice "Solution."

Some time back I blogged about a person of my acquaintance who used to send me every urban legend that made the rounds of the in-boxes. After numerous return e-mail spankings admonishing the person to for cryin' out loud CHECK on things before "sending this to everyone you know" I was informed I am now off the list, meaning the spamming would go on; I just would not receive it anymore. Thanks... I think.

Fast forward to today. This person is a musician, and I thought the Station Inn audio files might be interesting. So I sent off a message, explaining what the gig was all about, along with links to the files.

The e-mail bounced, with the message that this user is not accepting mail from my address.

So, because I am a compassionate CrankyBeach and wanted this person to have the opportunity to hear some great music, I re-sent it from another address, and it hasn't bounced yet.

What a total moron.

Meanwhile... if any of my faithful readers would like to hear the entire gig (and it's well worth it), links to the files are posted below. You want to RIGHT click on them and save the target/file on your computer. (Mac users, you're on your own.) Thanks to Bob in Texas, whose audio it is. I recorded it myself, but the quality of his recording is better, especially on the chit-chat parts, which are just as much fun to listen to as the music. In my not so humble opinion.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

And for good measure... a photo of Justin Hayward singing "Nights in White Satin" for the how-many-bazillionth time since 1967, and still pouring just as much passion into it as he did 40 years ago. Amazing.



And let's not forget his sidekick... the fabulous Norda Mullen!

Share The Laughs!

No, I don't actually have permission to reproduce this here... but I rather doubt its author would mind. The author is someone known only as "Leslee." This appeared on a members-only board, and the discussion concerned Justin Hayward's desire to keep his private life private, and the fact that he has moved several times in the last few years.

Do swallow your beverage before reading further.

I'm here to report that Justin and Marie are well and good. Awhile back, as I was gazing through their kitchen window, Justin spotted me. I put my arms out, and said, "I'm an elm!" in the hopes he would mistake me for the landscaping. The Haywards closed the curtains after that, and moved in a couple days.

It took a week before I stalked out the new place. It had a chimney, so I slid down and watched when they weren't looking. They were fine here, too. Winter came around, and I'd occasionally shriek and go, "Oooo!" when they would light a fire. That was when Justin wrote, "Haunted." Fortunately for me, they moved before December rolled around.

I hid in the plumbing of their next flat. Yes, they were getting along famously here, too. I can report that the rumors that Justin does those foul human things that the rest of us do are totally untrue. In four months of hiding in the toilet, not a single time did anybody use it.

At another place, I hid under a coffee table. I put a skirt around the bottom so they couldn't see me, I sawed a hole in the top, and I put a hollowed-out TV over the hole so I could look through at them. I figured they would think I was a talking head. Clever, huh? Marie walked in, and I started my first political analysis. She ran for Justin, and they moved out in less than an hour.

Another place, I came in through the bathroom window protected by a silver spoon. Sunday was on the phone to Monday, Tuesday was on the phone to me. The little dog laughed to see such fun, and the dish ran away with the spoon. Eek! The Haywards were getting along swimmingly, though.

The list goes on and on. I'm not sure why they keep moving, but yes, they are well.

Curious.

One week ago today, I rented a car at the Nashville airport and drove off to explore the countryside a little. Being of a pathologically Scottish bent all my life, I had requested the cheapest skateboard in the Avis stable of cars. (I chose Avis because they opened the earliest the next morning, and returning the car as soon as they opened gave me plenty of time to get checked in and make my flight home.) Apparently they had no skateboards available, so they gave me quite an upgrade (at no extra charge, of course) and I found myself tooling around Nashville in a silver Mitsubishi Eclipse. Fun little car, if you like climbing into what feels like a hole in the ground. You barely touch the gas and it takes off like a bat out of hell.

Anyone who has read this blog for a while knows I enjoy chasing wildflowers. Being in Tennessee (a new state for me) I took the opportunity to see what grew locally, and found my way to the lovely Radnor Lake, which is not far outside Nashville. The nice lady at the visitor center desk asked me how strenuous a hike I wanted to take, and when I admitted I had only had about two hours of sleep, she suggested the lake trail, which is a little over 2 miles and circumnavigates the lake on level ground.

I got a few good pictures, which I will post a bit later.

Now to the curious part. On the way back into town, I took all surface roads because one can drive on a freeway anywhere. A wide spot in the road on the outskirts of the city boasted a used bookstore, so I stopped, in search of a book about local wildflowers so I could identify what I'd seen. Go figure. The store owner was only able to find me a nice book of ... California wildflowers. I actually bought it because it has some nice pictures in it. She asked me how I was enjoying Nashville, and I said everyone in town is very friendly, but out on the hiking trails, nobody looks at you and nobody says hello. In California, it's the opposite. People are not terribly friendly in town; but on the trail, everyone says hi, beautiful day, enjoy your hike, etc.

Tomorrow is the Big Sur Marathon, and as usual the girls and I are doing the 10.6 mile walk. I'm meeting them in 10 minutes at the expo where we pick up our bib numbers, T-shirts and bus tickets, so I'd best dash on down the hill now.

Not A Dry Eye In The House

UPDATE: For some reason these videos were not available for a time; apparently their URLs changed. But they're back and good to go now. Watch. Do it.

Someone caught Emma's performance of "Voices in the Sky" and posted it on Youtube. A couple of times they pan the camera over to Justin. I believe the person with the video camera was leaning against the post just across the table from where I was sitting. When it was over, Justin said, "I hope somebody got that!" Indeed they did.

Watch this. You will not regret it. Do it now.



After Emma was finished and left the stage, Justin and Norda did "Nights in White Satin" for their closing number. Amazing. After 40+ years of performing that song, he still gives it his all.

Adventures In Fandom

For those who care...

... the Nashville adventure is nearly over. All that's left is the plane trip home tomorrow.

It started off badly enough when my alarm went off at 4:30 Thursday morning. I looked at the clock, said a swear word, and then the phone rang. "Ma'am, your taxi is waiting downstairs." I had somehow set the alarm for the same time as I'd requested the taxi. "Tell him I'll be down in five minutes," I told the dispatcher--and I made it in seven minutes. That's got to be a record. Naturally I forgot a couple of things on the way out the door, but nothing fatal.

The next fun thing happened when the middle flight of the three was delayed--and by the time we landed in Charlotte, I had just 15 minutes to make my connection to Nashville. Lucky for me, the two gates were in the same concourse, albeit at opposite ends. I ran most of the way--and ran myself right into an allergy attack. As I huffed and puffed my way around the corner, the agents at the podium called me by name and said they were waiting for me. They just about shut the plane door on my heels, and we took off on time. I coughed uncontrollably most of the way to Nashville, and apologized to the soldier in the next seat; told him I wasn't sick, just allergic to something. I had some tea, and it finally calmed down.

I'd have been willing to bet money my checked suitcase wouldn't make the flight with me--and I was right. But it was actually a good thing, because I was going straight to a club from the airport, and that meant I had one less thing to haul with me.

Now, about that club thing... (Jill, if you're reading this, take a deep breath and put down your beverage.) I got a heads-up from an online friend (who has mysterious but impeccable sources) that Justin was going to be playing a small informal gig Thursday night at a club. In order to get there on time, I had to go straight from the airport, luggage and all. I met up with some of those online folks in the (short) line to get into the club. We got very good seats--I was maybe 8 feet from Norda, the flutist (who came along with Justin) and 10 feet from Justin himself. But before they went onstage... I bumped into them back near the restrooms. I asked Justin if I could shake his hand, and he said certainly, though he had just put cream on his hands. I said, oh, good, that means I get some too! He was very relaxed, personable, and put everyone at ease. Then Norda came along so I asked if I could shake her hand too. She freed up a hand and shook mine.

Some folks described this gig as a "jam" but it was more of a "round-robin" format, as I understand the term. Justin played a song, then the next guy in line played a song, and then a brother and sister duo played a song. And so forth. Justin and the next guy were joking around and trading mock-insults and banter. It was very entertaining. One of the highlights was when a couple of members of the "Moody Bluegrass" tribute band brought their 8 year old daughter onstage and accompanied her performance of "Voices in the Sky." I don't think there was a dry eye in the place. Even Justin (who wrote the song, for those of you heathens who don't know) wiped away a tear or two. This portion of the evening ended with Justin and Norda performing "Nights in White Satin."

After a break, another group went onstage to perform. Justin and Norda hung around to listen. During a lull I went by their table and thanked them for such a marvelous performance. Then Norda and I did a couple of minutes of flute-geek talk--right across Justin. He probably enjoyed the fact that for once, someone wasn't trying to get HIS attention. Norda is very friendly and down to earth. A little bit later I went back and got each of them to autograph one of the pictures I had come prepared with just in case. They both obliged and were very nice about it. Justin said, "Oh, I haven't seen this picture! Where's it from?" "San Francisco, opening night of this tour," I told him. Norda didn't think the picture of her was so great, but she signed it anyway. I told her I'd see her from the third row the following night.

The Ryman Auditorium seats are just like old wooden church pews. I was actually in the first row of regular seats, behind two rows of folding chairs in the "pit." So when it came time to rush the stage, as tradition demands, all I had to do was stand up. The show was fantastic, of course, as usual, and during both of the group bows (the ones before and after the "encore") I waved at Norda and she waved back and mouthed "thank you" at me. So that was pretty cool.

A bunch of other stuff happened, including Kerry flying down from Wisconsin to join me, a Maalox moment at the will-call ticket window when they had no idea who I was, and a trip this morning out to the countryside in a rental car to photograph a few wildflowers... but those things will have to wait. I'll try to report more later (and there may be pictures too) but I only manged about 2 hours of sleep last night, and I'm running on fumes. So I am going to take a nap. I have to be out of here at (gasp) 4:30 a.m. to get to the airport on time tomorrow. So ta-ta for now!

Call Off The Posse

No, I haven't been kidnapped by aliens.

I've just been working CRAZY hours, trying to get caught up with everything. Plus, one of our doctors just had her baby, so I needed to get all of her dictation caught up so when the other docs see her patients, they'll have all of her notes.

I'm not writing about politics because I am in total political fatigue--and it's only April. Many, many moons to go before they all SHUT UP.

Other than that... I've been watching an online "flame war" unfold with utter fascination. No, I'm not telling where it is or what it's about. But it has spilled across three bulletin boards and e-mail lists, and it's like watching a multi-car pile-up on a foggy freeway, in some ways. I have not publicly taken sides... but let's just say it's not too hard to see who's been drinking the nastyjuice for breakfast, and I have no time for nasty people.

In other news... long story a whole lot shorter, I actually won tickets to see (can you guess) the Moody Blues--in Nashville. So I'm using my frequent flyer miles to get there, and Kerry is flying in to meet me. We're meeting up with some other fans there, and should have a jolly good time. Kerry likes the Moody Blues but has never been to one of their concerts. She is for a treat.

And for any of you Moody fans who are watching... a few more pretty pictures. Enjoy!

  

And The Car She Drove In With

It's been another expensive day.

Yesterday my desktop 'pooter had to go to the hospital because I had just ejected a CD, the phone rang, I yanked off my headset and went for the phone--and joggled the CD drawer with my elbow. And then it would not retract.

To fix it, they have to take the entire drive apart and tweak something inside of it.

Then, this morning my car went in for a minor servicing. Uh huh. Turned out my tires were within about a millimeter of killing me, plus the alignment was off. So by the time I got out of there, my credit card was bleeding profusely.

But I got into an interesting discussion with the service manager about the loaner car they gave me. The last two times, I've had a loaner with the keyless thingamajig where you simply have the remote nearby and push a button on the dash to start the car. When I saw them bringing over a genuine KEY, I was ecstatic. I explained that with a real key, you put it in the ignition and you have a nice convenient place to hang the rest of your keys. With the keyless thing, what are you supposed to do with your keys? The service manager said most people just put 'em in their pocket. Then he looked over at me, in my pocket-less sweat pants, and said, "Uh huh. Obviously when they designed it, they didn't think about a good percentage of the population not having pockets!" Then I cracked him up by saying I had left my keys sitting in my lap, and at the end of the trip when I went to get them, well, let's just say they had shifted position such that I looked like I was doing a Pee-Wee Herman to retrieve them.

Now me, my car and my computer are all safely back home, and I am going to try very, very hard not to spend any more money today.

Thank You, Justin Hayward

I went back and read the news archives at Justin's website. Here is part of what he said in September 2001. Emphasis mine:

As you know, the people of Great Britain and London, my home for most of my life so far, have experienced acts of terrorism many times in the last thirty years. But now nothing on the scale of the USA. I feel as if someone I love has been mortally wounded. But America will always be the greatest nation on Earth (and I've seen the rest of the World). I pray there can be peace on Earth.

Take note, you America-hating Americans. Even an old British rock 'n' roller recognizes the greatness of our country. So there.

Glory Be... The Man Can Smile!

Maaahvelous concert again last night. Here is part of the concert report I posted late last night on a couple of fan boards:

First off... I got busted at intermission for the camera, but the security guy was nice about it. He said put it away and we'll call it square. So I did. But then during "Question" there was no WAY a security person was going to see me, because everybody was up out of their seats, dancing, some in the aisles. So I ripped off a bunch more frames.

Something went haywire with the projector at the start of the second half, so there were no background pictures for the entire second half. I hope they get that fixed.

Justin smiled just a little more tonight than he did Tuesday. But he still looks a bit tired. Nonetheless... he did not "phone in" his performance. He was magnificent. As were the rest.

Graeme announced that it was Julie's birthday. He then went on to say they had recorded "higher and Higher" "before you were born, love." After he went back to his place at the drums after the song, I saw her flip him the bird!

Oh, and when I first sat down (in the 4th row) there was a guy one row ahead and a few seats over. I guess I must have said I'd gone to San Francisco--because he said, "Oh, are you CrankyBeach?" Geez! My reputation precedes me!

I actually took over 500 pictures last night, despite the alleged camera ban. Many are blurry, and most have problems such as microphones in front of faces, shadows on faces, waving arms between me and the stage... but I did get a few really decent ones. Here's a nice one of Justin and John rockin' out:

I'm still in Santa Rosa. I went skating this morning--the young lady in the rink box office was at the concert last night too--and planned to go wildflower-chasing this afternoon, but I was so tired I came back to the hotel and slept the afternoon away. And now it's time to chase down some dinner. I'll go chase flowers tomorrow, before I go home.

Life Doesn't Get Any Better Than This!

Rolled into Santa Rosa about half an hour ago... now sipping a mocha at Bad Ass Coffee, which is literally right next door to tonight's concert venue. Saw the big equipment trucks parked behind the theatre as I came down the off-ramp.

Driving a Lexus through San Francisco and across the Golden Gate Bridge on a warm day (!), windows down and sunroof open, blasting the Moody Blues as loud as I wanted--it doesn't get any better than this. Until showtime, that is, which is less than 6 hours away, woo-hoo!

Shocking.

How, I axe you, does somebody get to be our age, did not grow up in Outer Mongolia (or on another planet, for that matter) and NOT know, offhand, any of the music of the Moody Blues??

Had coffee today with old, old friend and frequent commenter Jeff--and it came up in conversation that he would not know a Moody Blues song if it slapped him upside the head.

Needless to say... the indoctrination has begun. I e-mailed him MP3s of a few of the best (and best-known) songs. I also told him if he does not recognize "Nights in White Satin" I will clean out his ears with a toilet plunger.

Speaking of "Nights..." the friend I dragged to the concert and I were discussing on the way back how many bazillion times Justin Hayward has sung that song in the last 40 years, and he still sings it with just as much "oomph" as he did on the original recording. Just amazing.

I just love it when John meanders over to Justin's side of the stage and the two of them get down and start rockin' out. Rock on, guys!

And keep on making those funny faces, Justin. You crack me up.

More Photographic Goodness

As I upload them, I've dumped my concert images into a slide show on Photobucket. More images will appear as I upload more pictures. Enjoy!

Update: The slide show is now complete with the 30 pictures allowed when you aren't a paid member of Photobucket. And the images are now in chronological order except for the very first one.

Even Psychos Get Thirsty

Exactly What I Need

One of the big pet store chains sent me an e-mail inviting me to celebrate pet dental health month.

Uh huh.

First... I don't think Geico would sit still for me to floss his teeth.

Second... do I really want the guy who tried to bite me again to have nice strong healthy teeth??

And finally, I axe ya... is this the face of a stone-cold psychotic killer???

Once Upon A Time, In My Wildest Dreams

Got my Moody Blues concert ticket in the mail yesterday, along with some assorted swag (badge with lanyard, Moody Blues luggage tag, and Moody Blues umbrella of all things).

Looked up my seat on the venue's seating chart, and it's pretty darn fabulous, considering I came to the party just a little late:



And here is an actual shot of the theater. If you look closely, you can pick out where I will be sitting 23 days and 12 hours from now (but who's counting, anyway?):

Not Quite The Panic I Was Expecting...

By the time the guys got here, I had the kitchen and living room ready to go, but had barely begun on the disaster that is the office.

Not to worry, said the window guy. Just clear the stuff off the top of the desk; in fact, you can leave that giant shoe box-sized battery back-up unit right where it is, and we'll throw a tarp over it.

So they got my three windows set, but not trimmed. That, they will do tomorrow. So there's still cold air coming in around the edges--but it's no worse than the old 50-year-old leaky windows. And once they put in the trim and caulk the inside, I'll be snug as a bug in a rug. Or something.

Meanwhile, I had to set the computer back up so I could get some work done. Hopefully I won't have to completely tear it apart again tomorrow....

A Little More Notice Would Have Been Nice.

Way back around Halloween they measured my apartment for new windows.

I thought they'd forgotten all about it.

This afternoon the landlord called to say they will be here TOMORROW MORNING, and oh by the way I have to clear out everything that's in front of the three windows to be replaced.

If you have ever seen my computer desk, you will know why I am laughing hysterically and the little men in the white coats are knocking at my door. They're coming to take me away, ha ha, ho ho, hee hee.

Oy.

Does This Mean Those Commercials Are Over Now?

If I'd had to watch the Hildabeast or Obamaramalamading-dang on my TV one more time, somebody was going to get hurt. Thank heaven we now have a break....

Ever since November 2004, the church ladies at my polling place have been serving cookies and coffee. That election day, the line went clear across the parking lot, and it was nearly an hour wait.

Today, there was no line... but they still served cookies. Nice church ladies.

Because of all the hoo-ha about electronic voting... my county has gone back to paper ballots. And not even the old punch ballots. These ballots were sort of a fill-in-the-arrow-with-the-pen thing. Returns will be late and slow in coming. But at least there will be no arguments about chads or hacked voting machines. (I wonder if those pens in the booths had eraseable ink...?)

I held my nose and voted, and then voted "no" on all the propositions.

Then I went to the dentist, and while he stabbed me with the novocaine needle, he told me he had voted 2 weeks ago by mail, and somehow he was not at surprised when I listed some of the candidates on my ballot.

Oddly enough... I find Republicans almost everywhere I go in this town. So how come we can't field a candidate who will stay in town long enough to run against our congress-critter, that moron who has never even held a real job?

Attention, Spammers.

You did not fool me with the spoofed IP address on your lengthy and highly offensive comment, which I have deleted. You cannot hide your real origins from the CrankyBeach, who is after all the Queen of all geekdom (tm). You have been reported to your ISP, and I hope they shut you down. And then kick your asteroids all the way to the Kuiper belt. Bare nekkid with hobnailed boots.

For those who didn't see it... the comment was over 5000 words long, contained many, many misspelled words, made no sense, and included 21 instances of the F-word alone.

Who has enough time on their hands to sit down and write garbage like this--much less to disseminate it and try to hide its origins? Geeez.

Perhaps Sunny will do something about this kind of thing if she is elected President.

I Own It.

The Lexus, that is.

Paid it off a year early, too.

Which turned out to be all for the best, all things considered. I wasn't going to--I had a killer loan rate (3.75 percent, can you imagine that?), very cheap money, and I was further ahead investing anything I wasn't putting toward the car.

But something told me to go ahead and make some extra payments toward principal anyway... and now I am very glad I did. Why? Because the end of the car payments coincided perfectly with the end of my being paid off for the 6 months' worth of accrued vacation I had never had the time to take, and thus my pay cut has now kicked in. Just in time for the no-more-car-payments phase of my life.

Interesting how things work out sometimes, isn't it?

Geico's Gone Psycho

After a year of living with me, the original gecko, the one I always said was so tame he's practically comatose, has decided he is a psychotic killer.

I have two sets of teeth marks on my left index finger to prove it.

For no reason whatsoever that I could discern, he has gone after me twice, and we're not talking little love bites either. We're talking biting hard enough to draw blood, latching on and shaking his head violently like a shark trying to tear off a chunk of meat. This evening he even tried to chomp on me through the mesh cage walls.

Next time I clean his cage, I'm going to wear heavy gloves for the catch-him stage of the process.

The only thing I can figure is he must think he's a tokay gecko.

Oy. What A Job.

What with the power outages we had with the big storms a couple of weeks ago, and the promise of more nasty weather to come, I decided it was past time to invest in a battery backup box for the home computer system. At least I'll be able to shut down the system in a somewhat controlled fashion next time the power goes out. And if it's just a quick blip, I won't lose the setting on the electric clock.

Until today, I had an unbelievable amount of equipment plugged into three daisy-chained 6-outlet power strips, with the first one plugged into a surge protector that was plugged into the wall.

Now there are two daisy-chained strips plugged into the UPS, and the entire configuration had to be switched from one end of the room to the other because of distance from the phone jack, not to mention room to park the thing which is as big as a shoe box. That meant crawling under desks with flashlight and screwdriver to unscrew the three-prong adapter from one outlet and screw it into the other.

There are some mighty scary dust bunnies in the nether regions of my under-the-desk corners. But I digress.

While I was at it, I unplugged the modem line from the now-disconnected second phone line jack (seemed a bit of a waste to keep a second phone line when I send maybe one fax a month and I've long since abandoned dial-up internet) and reroute it to the remaining land line, via the new UPS/surge protector that includes telephone line protection. And I finally labeled all of the power cables, including the one with the big chunky boxes on the ends. The only one I did not label was the laser printer's power cable--because it is the sole GRAY cable. All the others are black.

Let's see. At last count, I have plugged in a desktop computer, laptop computer, monitor, laser printer, tape transcription machine, clock-radio, two external USB hard drives, two 4-port mini hubs, a DSL modem, a wireless router, and a lamp. I think that covers everything. The only thing plugged into a wall outlet all by itself is the shredder.

As soon as I plugged in the UPS, the "your building has faulty wiring" light came on.

I figured I've had all the same things (except the battery backup box) plugged into that same wiring all this time, so the building probably is not going to blow up any time soon. Besides, probably every tenant in the place has at least this much stuff plugged in. And let's not even get started on what's daisy-chained together in the living room (TV, VCRs, DVD players, audio equipment, lizard lights, lizard fountains and God only knows what else). These old buildings are extremely outlet-deficient. What do they expect us twenty-first century types to do?

The next project, since I freed up the "squid" surge protector box, will be to transfer some of the mess in the living room over to that critter, another job I am not looking forward to.

Ah, the joys of modern life.

Bum, This One's For You.

Remember that spot?

Finally got over there yesterday to shoot some pics. For the rest of the day's photos, see here.

Oh, and V, if you are reading this, you need to click over there too. Your hatchling was along for the ride and posed for a couple of pictures.

Quote Of The Day

"I hate grocery shopping! How did I ever get fat?"

--Chooses to remain anonymous

Now That's Service.

Got a telephone call at 8:15 this morning from the fraud unit of my bank's business credit card division. Apparently, they monitor activity in the accounts 24/7, and they were calling to check on possible fraudulent activity on my account.

Did I really make an online purchase of Moody Blues concert tickets?

Yes, I most certainly did. They're playing in Santa Rosa on March 9, and I'm going. So there.

I saw them live 13 or 14 years ago at the Shoreline Amphitheater in Mountain View, and have always wanted to see them again.

The fraud investigator on the phone got all excited because he's about my age and has been a fan of the Moody Blues as long as I have--ever since Days of Future Passed was released (gulp) 40 years ago.

So I am going off to see the Moody Blues in a couple of months. Shiny, eh?