October 6, 2002 (7:09 p.m. CDT)
A very quick update, as the in-laws are in town. (No, that's not a bad thing.)

The Cowboys suck, but the Rangers are in a sucking holding pattern until next April.

New E2 write-up: KFS.

October 2, 2002 (11:14 p.m. CDT)
It seems that MTV has replaced MTV Jams with a new channel, MTV Hits. I can't be sure, because the MTV Web site doesn't seem to have any info regarding their minor channels. It wouldn't surprise me, as MTV pulled a similar move earlier this year, replacing MTV X (metal and hardcore) with MTV Jams (rap, hip-hop and R&B). I like the move, as many of the videos being played on MTV Jams were also played on VH1 Soul and BET, and it lets MTV2 stray more into indie and alternative music formats. Yay!

I resurrected the Epic of the Goldfish today. I wouldn't expect big things, but some activity may be seen there in the coming weeks...

And finally (for now), a few animal-related news tidbits about a very expensive pet turtle and a cow-lovin' piglet. Enjoy.

September 30, 2002 (1:07 p.m. CDT)
Someone took a shit in one of the fitting rooms today. We're not quite sure who it was, but my suspicions lie with the Mexican man who reportedly asked two of my co-workers for directions to the banjo. That's BAHN-yo (Spanish for "restroom") not BAN-jo (ie. the guitar-like instrument), for your information. And who was the lucky soul to discover this, er, nugget? (Actually, it was more like a smear. As if you wanted to know.) That's right, me. Fuck.

In case you were wondering why my Web page went unattended for four days, here's why... A power surge killed my DSL modem Thursday afternoon. It was fixed the next afternoon, but I worked late Friday night and early Saturday morning. Saturday night I went to the wedding of a rugby mate, Colin, leading me to tonight's entry.

I'm going to bed now.

September 26, 2002 (8:43 a.m. CDT)
I'm sick. Cold sweats, headaches, fatigue, no appetite. Ugh.

Jason Mewes: I'm not dead yet!

Well, it's the end of the season, and they've been eliminated from serious playoff contention since late May, so now would be perfect time for the Texas Rangers to show signs that they don't completely suck. I guess they agree with me that they'd rather see the Seattle Mariners in the playoffs before the Anaheim Angels. Something tells me that the Rangers will fail to eliminate the Angels, hence reverting to their sucking ways.

September 24, 2002 (5:04 a.m. CDT)
I just downloaded the new version of KaZaA (2.0), and I'm not sure if I like it. It has incorporated ambiguous terms like "participation level" and "file integrity" (which is completely subjective, of course). The higher your participation level is, the higher priority your downloads are. Now, I'd just like to know how to increase my participation level, lest I get left out in the cold.

In weird celebrity news, it seems that Jason Mewes is on the lam after violating his probation. Mewes, (Jay the stoner from the Kevin Smith movies, "is either dead or hiding overseas." I guess it sucks having a brilliant and talented friend who drags your carcass up the entertainment food chain. Must be tough.

I haven't done one of these for a while...a random USPTO patent! Here's the details on a multi-pronged thumbtack, which has "a plurality of tines...to assure that paper impaled on the tines will not be able to rotate..." Spiffy! Check out the stylish font the inventor used to label his diagrams on the second page of the patent application.

September 24, 2002 (4:02 a.m. CDT)
I watched the Emmys last night, and was decidedly underwhelmed. Most of my favorites lost out; I was devastated (well, almost) when Lauren Ambrose lost out to Stockard Channing and her Cher-castoff wig of a haircut. Eww. I was also rooting for Peter Krause, but he lost out as well.

I feel I should comment on a few of the more disturbing fashion trends that seem to be rearing their unwelcome heads this fall. Who decided that corduroy was going to be the fabric of choice this season? The last thing that I need to feel is the most distracting combination of the swishing noise of my pant legs rubbing together and the feel of sweaty leg hair matted against my skin. No fewer than three labels have shipped cords to our store: Ocean Pacific, Dockers and Haggar. OP has even sent us corduroy tops...the fools.

Friends of ours returned from a weekend trip to Martha's Vineyard. No, we're not rich socialites, nor are our friends. Rich friends of theirs were married there over the weekend, and they flew out for the ceremony. One thing that they commented on was the general uncivilness of people from Martha's Vineyard. I learned quickly that the concept of "southern hospitality" isn't a myth, as people are more polite and friendly in the South. Caramelhead took a trip to New England two summers ago, and confirmed that people in the larger cities on the East Coast seem more brusque. Down East Maine seemed friendly enough, but the area's far enough removed from the metropolises of Hartford and Boston to reduce the "Eastern Seaboard Asshole" effect.

I uploaded a new Toban article: Retooled MBA program to offer more for less. I also completed a new E2 w/u: Adhesions to Treaty No. 5. I've been a busy boy.

September 23, 2002 (6:46 a.m. CDT)
I've come to the conclusion that I don't write anywhere enough about my dog, Cassie. I just took her for a short walk about ten minutes ago, over to a small grassy area directly across the parking lot from my apartment building (one of twelve in the complex). She found herself an acceptable spot in the dewey grass and began to relieve herself when one of my neighbors came walking toward us. I bade her a "good morning," which she ignored, only to deactivate her car alarm. The alarm barked out a brief 'yip' and Cassie, thinking she was being scolded by some nearby, unseen dog barked back. Our dog rarely barks, being the timid thing that she is. Hell, she's afraid of her own farts, let alone her own voice.

This picture was found during another random GIS. I'm debating what's more disturbing: the fact that this image was seemingly made with MSPaint, that the "artist" decided that his demonstrator needed hands resembling the foreclaws of lobsters, that he/she made the effort to draw two individual hands (one left and one right) instead of cutting and pasting or that this image is being distributed to elementary schools for use in classrooms by a major, reputable university (UCLA). Anyways, here's Lobstergirl and her rubber bands (or, if you're Canadian or British, elastic bands):

September 23, 2002 (3:19 a.m. CDT)
After teasing us last week, the Dallas Cowboys reaffirmed the faith in this blog that they suck. After jumping to an early lead, they let themselves be blown out by the Philadelpha Eagles. Only one touchdown, and that came courtesy of a kickoff return and not the offense. Bah!

Keeping with the football theme, it seems that Ty Willingham is looking less and less like Notre Dame's first black football coach. It's not that Willingham has been struck with some Michael Jackson-esque melanin deficiency; it's just that Willingham (and his players, of course) are turning around a troubled program. Thus, Willingham may be better known not for breaking down the color barrier at the storied school, but for restoring the Fighting Irish to the upper echelons of collegiate football. Oh yeah, the Irish beat the Michigan State Spartans 21-17 in a real barnburner on Saturday afternoon.

Fungushead has been getting on my case about my eyebrows lately. It's not like they're bushier than usual (well, maybe), or that they're particularly scraggly (nope). And I haven't even shaved strips in them like Vanilla Ice...yet.

Finally, here's a few of my most recent E2 write-ups: Treaty No. 5, Yambo and Medicine Hat Tigers.

September 22, 2002 (4:18 a.m. CDT)
I'm watching MTV2's 24 Hours of Love. I may not always agree with Courtney Love's opinions, but she does have good taste in music. I'm hearing a ton of good songs that I haven't heard in ages (and tons more that I've never heard until now), leading me to a bunch of downloads. Yay p2p!

Time for a random GIS result: a weathervane shaped like Canada geese...

September 19, 2002 (2:09 a.m. CDT)
I have to thank Spanky for some recent news from home. My grandmother returned home from the hospital today, and I bet her neighborhood stunk like human excrement. Y'see, a valve broke at a sewage plant in north Winnipeg, spilling tons of untreated waste into the Red River. My grandmother lives in Selkirk (downstream from Winnipeg), only a few hundred metres away from the riverbank. Mmm...feculent.

CBS has started running promos for Survivor Thailand, promising that the rules will be vastly different from what we expect. Such exaggeratory statements don't do much for me, as anybody who has followed the show knows that the rules needed to be changed to prevent a single alliance from dominating the final six weeks of the show, as with the previous four seasons. The best suggestion I've seen to date is to have the contestants split into three tribes instead of two, which would change the allaince dynamics. Another idea would be to make the first challenge of the show be the immunity challenge, with the second challenge deciding who casts the ballots.

While I'm on the subject, four of the survivors are from Texas, with another two being Louisianans and yet another hailing from Arkansas; both Louisiana and Arkansas are close enough to Texas to bring the total number of Texans to seven. Of the four/seven, three are from the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Add these four/seven to Survivor the Australian Outback runner-up Colby DOnaldson (from Dallas) and American Idol winner Kelly Clarkson (Burleson) and finalist Nikki McKibbin (Grand Prairie), and it seems like Texas (especially DFW) is a reality TV hotspot. Lucky us.

I've written another E2 write-up: Yambo. I want to be one of life's winners...

September 17, 2002 (4:41 a.m. CDT)
Just when I though I was going to bed, I come across an interesting story. The Vinland Map may be a forgery dating to the 1940s reports one scholar. Apparently, a Catholic priest forged the map on a 14th century blank page of manuscript paper in order to lead Nazi historians on a wild goose chase. Clever, but useless, considering that the Nazis failed to even find the map. I guess they were to busy looking for the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail. Yes, I know... we named the dog "Indiana."

Allow me to wax melodramatic for a second or two. Setting me loose on the professional world should be an interesting spectacle. Much like Pandora opening her box (hehehe...she has a box), the veritable can of annelids will be dumped on petroleum companies. This means that I will change the way of thinking for many crusty geologists or, in a more likely scenario, I will be banished to well log analysis in a shack at some dusty west Texas drilling site. And then, after a week or two of exile, I will return home as the scruffiest substitute teacher in Fort Worth. Maybe.

September 17, 2002 (3:43 a.m. CDT)
I'm really not in the mood to write at this moment. I composed two more E2 nodes: Mr. Deeds and Violence Fight. I'll try to write a justifiable entry tomorrow afternoon.

I wonder what it would be like to work at a fat camp. I'd certainly have to lose a bit of weight myself, unless I was a groundskeeper (or had some menial job like that). Perhaps having to stare at all the butterballs going through their sufferings would entrench the desire to raise my own children well; to foster willpower and self-control in my progeny. Also, it would be a good summer of sadistic fun forcing the little fatties to hike up yet another hill. "Pudding is verboten in all senses of the word, you glutton! Shut up and eat your wheat germ!"

Finally, the folks at retroCRUSH bring you some kooky album covers. Go nuts.

September 16, 2002 (5:21 p.m. CDT)
Absent for two days, hmm? I should feel guilty for leaving my readers blogless, considering that I now know that there are people out there reading my weblog who I haven't lived with at some point in time. I should feel guilty, but I don't.

It seems that the Cowboys don't suck quite as much as I originally thought. Quincy Carter got his shit together, and the defence held Eddie George to 65 yards and rang Steve McNair's bell a few times (with an assist going to the sideline bench and equipment chests). Although ESPN gave the game ball to Carter, my vote goes to defensive end Greg Ellis, who contributed two clutch sacks and five tackles. Never fear, blog-readers, because the Texas Rangers continue to suck.

Just to add some "hard news," here's a story from the National Post about Canadians' misconceptions about how energy is produced and conserved. The link probably will die relatively quickly, but I've posted it anyways.

September 13, 2002 (4:50 p.m. CDT)
I'm beginning to hate Arlington. Well, not al of it, just most of it. Road construction closed the intersection of Division & Cooper today, blocking my route onto campus, and forcing me to take a short detour. They've been working on the Cooper St. construction since April, so you'd think that they'd try to finish by September...seeing how UTA, primarily a commuter campus, is a few blocks south of the construction zone. But that would make too much sense. Don't even get me started on the perpendicular parking on some streets, or the city's abject denial to fund a public transit system.

I tried finding a downloadable version of the old computer RPG Darklands today, only to find that most of the download sites have disappeared. I still haven't tried KaZaA or LimeWire, so I'm still hopeful. Wish me luck.

When I read Entertainment Weekly's Fall Movie Preview, a few things struck me as odd. First, how did Warner Brothers greenlight a movie with a cumbersome title like Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever? (Kudos to the studio for giving the movie a sweet-lookin' Web site, though.) How long into 8 Mile will we get before Eminem's life story unknowingly turns into a parody of itself? And will confused moviegoers mistake 8 Mile for the animated Channukah flick Adam Sandler's 8 Crazy Nights? Will 8 Crazy Nights beat out The Santa Clause II? My guesses: Warner Bros. figured the titles of the porno knock-offs would generate additional buzz, about 18 minutes, they'd better not and it certainly will.

Mmm... "Tantalizing ball-action!" Yet another semi-random GIS search yielded this:

September 12, 2002 (4:34 a.m. CDT)
I really, really should be asleep right now. But I'm not.

Another E2 node: Cordelia , the song by The Hip. I try to space out my lyrics nodes, lest I drive me aggregate reputation statistics into the ground.

I promised myself that this blog entry would be a happier one than its predecessor. It will be...I think. Certinly this will be a shorter entry. That I can guarantee.

No updates on Le Ha and Kelly's Cross-Continent Tour of Flatulence yet. We have a couple of minty-fresh rolls of film to develop. When we do, I willpost another pic or two. Minty? Yes, minty. Y'see, Fungushead left a half-eaten package of Junior Mints in her purse after we watched Blue Crush last weekend. A few days and a stint or two on the floor of a hot car later, everything in the main compartment of her purse was covered with a chocolate and peppermint residue. The camera was in its case, so it suffered very little. But it does smell splendid now.

September 12, 2002 (2:25 a.m. CDT)
Oh, the things that happen at my work! Before I tell you about my freaky co-workers, let me muse a bit about the mannequins. For the Hunt Club (think of clothing for blind men who have no self-esteem) displays, the marketing people decided to go with a certain color scheme: purple, yellow, black and emerald green. Yes, Hunt Club makes emerald green corduroy pants, and they DO NOT go well with yellow- and black-striped rugby shirts. On to my wacky co-workers...I just received my 30-day review (I did very well, thank you), so I have put a month of retail work behind me. In that time, the store has hired eight additional employees in my part of the store. The most recent addition to my department was hired yesterday. He seems competent, friendly, willing to learn. He also is black, which doesn't sit well with another one of my co-workers, who is quite frankly, a racist old woman. Before I arrived at work, she spent the afternoon berating the poor new hiree, complaining about him behind his back and questioning his every move. To illustrate how this biddy thinks, here is a sample conversation that we had a couple of weeks ago:

Her: "What is it with those Greek people? Don't they know how to use deodorant?"
Me: "Um...I don't know..."
Her: "Them and those Indians, everything they eat goes right through them..."
Me: "To be honest, I'm the same way."
Her: "No! Don't say that!"
Me: (walking away) "No, it's true. I'm the same way..."

Because nobody heard that exchange, I was willing to put it behind me. I'm wasn't willing to rob a senior citizen of her job by starting a "your word vs. mine" controversy. But now, it has occurred to me that this mode of thought is endemic to many middle- and upper-class white women who grew up in the South prior to the Civil Rights movement. Now that her behaviour with our new colleague has revealed her true colors, I don't think that I can ignore her blatant prejudice -- or her incompetence, but that's a completely different story. I'm going to file a protest tomorrow. I don't think that she'll be fired, and I doubt that this will rid her of her ignorance. At least she'll have to think twice before she opens her self-satisfied, ugly maw.

For today's random GIS image, here's a chart comparing the effectiveness of various types and brands of antacids. Whee!

September 11, 2002 (1:34 a.m. CDT)
Recently Caramelhead has been pressuring me to get a cat from Little Orphan Angels Animal Rescue. I'm not sure...I'm allergic to cats. Not "break out into welts and choke on your own tongue" allergic, just "sneezy, runny nose, wheezy" allergic. I'm lobbying for a more inexpensive and less allergenic pet; I want a goldfish. Me and goldfish have a history, dontcha know?.

Two months or so ago, our free HBO started popping in and out. Then it stopped popping, and remained out. For good. Now I can't rub my nuts while watching Lauren Ambrose mope her way through episodes of Six Feet Under. I won't know who Tony Soprano whacks next (but my money's on Uncle Junior). I won't be able to watch Kristin Davis' breast pop out of her blouse on Sex and the City. Gads.

Sometime this weekend, I plan to scan in a few more articles from my stint at the Manitoban. I've scanned in almost all of the articles written during the 1995-96 school year, with another full year (much fuller, in fact) to go in 1996-97. There's a handful of articles from late 1997 to complete my oeuvre, but it may be more difficult to get these transcribed, as I lack hard copies of the stories. I beat a hasty departure from the Toban in December 1997, and didn't think to save copies of the editions in which my stories ran that fall. Unless I find archived versions online, I may have to wait until I return to Winnipeg before any of these articles find their way onto this page. Then again, I haven't been clogging the network backbones with my uploads, so there's not much urgency to the situation.

Do you have a Cornish game hen, but no oven in which to cook it? Do you live near an active volcano? Does your neighbor have a shovel that you can "borrow"? Well then, you're in luck.

September 10, 2002 (12:56 p.m. CDT)
Another one of my articles was posted to FARK (finally!), this one about an unsupervised 3-year-old who drove her parents' jet ski into a neighbor's porch. Nobody was seriously hurt, but the parents should be shooting themselves.

I certainly do not feel like going to work today. Granted, it is a Tuesday, which usually is a slow day at the store. I'm just not thrilled about having to work, period. That and the coworker I usually spend Tuesday nights with has cut back her hours, meaning that I may have to supervise one of the moronic high school tots tonight. Joy.

Another random GIS image -- a boy, his tuba, his friend and his friend's sousaphone:

There's one last thing before I walk the Stinky Dog, put my tie on and leave for work. Here's my latest E2 write-up: Marlo Smefner. Enjoy.

September 10, 2002 (1:12 a.m. CDT)
Snoop Dogg was on The Late Late Show with Craig Kilborn tonight. I don't think a human being could be any cooler than Snoop. He handles interviews like a boxer; he sits back and lets the interviewer dictate the pace of the conversation, and waits for his openings. He's smarter than most people give him credit for, and seems to be genuinely nice (not that I've met him, though). Most importantly, Snoop does exactly what Snoop wants to do -- if he wants to produce a series of porn flicks, he does. If he wants to establish himself as the star of a horror movie franchise, he does. If he wants to spend a weekend smoking bowls, he does. And he looks cool doing it.

Caramelhead asked me what Denver, Colorado is like. To be honest, I have little idea. All I can do is extrapolate from my experiences from similar cities (like Calgary), and do a little research online. Judging from the tortuousness of the streets (particularly in the western suburbs), I can imagine that Kelly and Le Ha will have a bitch of a time driving there tomorrow.

While on the topic of those two -- we interrupt this regularly scheduled blog to bring you another installment of Le Ha and Kelly's Cross-Continent Tour of Flatulence -- here's a picture of them enjoying themselves at the Stock Yards:

September 9, 2002 (4:44 p.m. CDT)
Since I told you about my weekend with my last post, I'll use this post to fill you in on some of the weird shit I've been finding online. Let's start with an article in which my friend Kristin has a special interest: September 19 is 'Talk Like A Pirate Day' according to columnist Dave Barry. To celebrate this day, FARK is urging us to listen to The Scurvy Pirates. I have no idea what their music sounds like (I can't imagine it's very good), but it's only for one day.

Today marks the beginning of a new recurring blog theme: The Dallas Cowboys suck. In related news, the Texas Rangers still suck ( despite their ability to hit the long ball).

September 9, 2002 (1:06 p.m. CDT)
What did I tell you? twelve hours? How about eleven then? Yes, this does mean that I love you, whoever you seven people are.

Kelly and Le Ha left this morning. I already miss them, as they were excellent guests: gracious, adventurous, not too-farty. We many of the DFW-area touristy things, most of which I wrote about earlier (see one of my Sept. 3 entries for details). After Dealey Plaza and Reunion Tower, we went to the State Fairgrounds to check things out there. After an abortive attempt to go to the Discovery Center, we played on the chromosaurs (life-sized versions of a triceratops, tyrannosaurus rex and stegosaurus built from welded-together car bumpers), played with the turtles in the man-made lagoon and went to the Dallas Aquarium at Fair Park. The Aquarium was a blast -- a cheap one, as the staff let us in for free. They had a themed exhibit on the various poisonous sea creatures: stonefish, lionfish, anemones, stinging jellyfish, stingrays and aquatic snakes. I was molested by a rubber octopus, and I have the photographic evidence to prove it!

We ate a crapload, too. On Thursday, Caramelhead took them to the food court at the North East Mall (while I worked nearby), and I supped on a hamburger and tater tots from Sonic. Friday took us to CiCi's for lunch, followed by Le Ha's stirfry and marinated drumsticks for supper. On Saturday, we stopped at McDonalds for lunch (which kicked our collective asses), then went to On The Border for a late supper. Yesterday was a bit calmer, leftovers for lunch and bratwursts, corn and Le Ha's lime-diced vegetable salad. Karen made her best taco dip yet. I'm sure that I've gained ten pounds...

One last note...In a perfectly predictable, but politically necessary, move President George Bush proclaimed September 11 a national holiday. The new holiday, Patriot Day, will be commemorated much the same way that Veterans' Day is, by lowering flags to half-mast and observing a moment of silence. Honoring the dead of 9/11 is a noble sentiment, but I doubt this observance will hold up in the eyes of history. Veterans' Day is celebrated on November 11, the anniversary of the Armistice ending World War I. Over 135,000 American troops -- and over 8.5 million soldiers worldwide -- died in the war, but fewer than 3,000 died on September 11. If it takes only eighty-plus years (and three other major military conflicts) to forget a hundred thousand war dead, then I can't imagine that it would take very long to dull the memories of 9/11. I'm not trying to be a heartless cunt, just trying to put things into perspective.

September 9, 2002 (1:47 a.m. CDT)
Wow, it's been a busy weekend. My houseguests are sleeping nary twenty feet from me, so this entry will be short. A longer one will follow in, oh, twelve hours or so. Deal with it. The only reason I'm up and still typing away is that I promised I'd burn them a few CDs. Nero's chugging away, and have a few minutes to kill.

September 6, 2002 (7:03 p.m. CDT)
I sat in Larry Hagman's chair today, but stopped short of taking a dump in his toilet. Technically, it wasn't Hagman's toilet, it was that of his character J.R. Ewing. Out of the Ewing family, Bobby seemingly had the worst taste.

Le Ha's making stirfry for us tonight, which should easily trump my own efforts from last week. Caramelhead says she's taking notes...she'd better be.

September 5, 2002 (12:11 p.m. CDT)
Kelly and Le Ha arrived last night (unlike some friends who made arrangements to come visit, then decided not to go, without telling me. Okay, enough of my guilt trip...for now. Either way, they brought Grower's Cider and Molson Canadian, which'll make them a welcome guest in the home of any expatriate Canuck. Speaking of Molson, they now have a FIVE LITRE MINI-KEG available, which they gave the amusing name "Bubba." Yay bubba!

The guys at my fraternity chapter have redone their Web page, and it's looking pretty sweet. It had been under wraps for years, as we moved it from the University's student groups server (which was under tighter security than Camp X-Ray) to a private server with our own domain name. Rob's the fucking man! Yay Rob!

Awww...

September 5, 2002 (10:53 a.m. CDT)
We'll start today's post with a few notes from the sporting world. Leading off are the Oakland A's, who have extended their winning streak to 20 games, the 3rd longest in MLB history. Well done, lads. More improbable, however, is America's "Dream Team" of NBA basketball stars falling to the Argentines 87-80. Boo-fucking-hoo. My Canadians just managed their first victory of the tounament... against Lebanon. I won't be losing any sleep over this "tragedy."

I have time for one more thing...another random GIS result. Now, the search term are going to be much more random, thanks to Farker Phong, who coded a script that runs a GIS based on two random common English words. Check it out. Using Phong's toy, I came up with this picture from a law enforcement supply catalog:

Here's *MY* Bud haiku:

Nothing is better
than a cold bottle of Bud
jammed up my white ass

I really need to get some work done...

September 4, 2002 (3:57 p.m. CDT)
I heard my first Dallas Stars promo this afternoon. I find it interesting that Jason Arnott and Bill Guerin are both on the Stars' roster this year, considering that the two were traded for each other in 1997 -- Guerin to the Edmonton Oilers and Arnott to the New Jersey Devils. I don't expect the Stars to do much this year without making a trade or two, unless a rookie steps up. When you have a battle between Kirk Muller and Brenden Morrow for the left wing spot on your top line, you can expect trouble.

Canadian potheads has won a new ally: the Senate. Today, a Senate panel recommended the legalization of marijuana.

Cannabis should be, from here on, in legal and of restricted use, so that Canadians can choose whether to consume or not in security...domestic and international experts and Canadians from every walk of life told us loud and clear that we should not be imposing criminal records on users or unduly prohibiting personal use of cannabis.

-- Pierre Claude Nolin, PC Senator, Quebec

I'm debating what the next upgrade to my computer should be. I'm torn between a microphone, an optical mouse, a new printer or a USB hub. I'm leaning toward the mike, as then I'll be able to play MW4 a bit more effectively. I'll probably get the mouse for Christmas, so that's temporarily off the list. As for the printer, theone we have is functional (for now), so I doubt I could get that past Caramelhead.

September 4, 2002 (2:13 a.m. CDT)
Not much to report, it was a relatively slow day. No really, it was boring.

I've been getting low on Good Host Iced Tea, so I've been getting worried. I asked my friend Kelly to bring some down with him this week, but I'm not sure if my e-mail got to him before he left. Failing that, I can order a big tub from Always Canadian, but the shipping charges are higher than the purchase price of the iced tea itself. I'm hitting myself for not having Kelly bring down a bag of Goodie Rings, but I just realized that the peanut butter therein may kill Kelly. Damn allergies.

Because this is my Web page (and not yours), I am able to post anything I want here... within reason. And the constraints of the law, but I digress. That introduction aside, here's a GOES image of Hurricanes Isaac and Joyce idling about in the Atlantic Ocean.

Fox has this new show this year called girls club (their capitalization, not mine), ostensibly about three hot, young, female lawyers who form their own firm (or something like that). Okay, there have been worse premises for TV shows, so I'll cut creator (and Fox whore) David E. Kelley some slack. What angers me is that actress Felicity Huffman ("Dana" from Sports Night) may or may not be appearing in the series, but I cannot find any firm evidence either way. I thought I saw her in one promo for the show, but all other promotional material (television ads, Web sites etc...) excludes any mention of her. The only other mention of girls club and Huffman together comes from another blog, Mark Coen's Blogalicious. For fear of duplicating anything that Mark wrote in his (superior) analysis of the show, I will refrain from making any other comments on girls club. Hopefully, my questions will be answered when more info on the show is released. (Like the fucking Web site. Get your shit together, Fox!)

I'm going to close with a few notes about American Idol. If Kelly Clarkson doesn't win, it'll be some freakish rupture in the fabric of all that is good and true in this world. Kelly has the rare ability to make an ordinary song sound amazing. Her competition, Justin Guarini, couldn't elevate the cheesy original songs they were given tonight beyond their cheesiness. The kid will do well for himself, but he doesn't deserve to win. While on the subject of tonight's show, what was up with that song that Pop Idol winner Will Young sang? He sounded like some cheap-assed Davy Jones imitator. That can't be a good thing...

September 3, 2002 (2:26 p.m. CDT)
It seems that this blog's prognostic abilities may be waning, as it appears that Lance Bass won't be going to the ISS after all. It seems that Bass failed to pay the Russians the $20 million needed to launch his derriere into orbit. That means no fiery death for him in the upper atmosphere as my blog predicted.

I submitted the rant from this morning's update as an E2 daylog write-up. I figured that it may resonate with a few readers, but many would downvote the bejesus out of it (either blindly or because they didn't agree with my viewpoint). How wrong could I be? It was C!'ed twice (a good thing) and has a reputation of +32 (also a good thing, especially after only 13 hours or so). Maybe I'm not a crackpot after all...

Caramelhead bought some Tootsie Roll Pops last weekend. Before that, it'd been months, maybe years, since I'd had a lollipop. I can't remember the last time I found out "how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop," but it likely has been close to ten years.