If it's warm weather then it's time for

my annual 'How American are you' test. Three years ago[^] I scored 23%. Two years ago[^] I scored 27%.

Last year I managed 32%[^] so I fear I'm slipping.

You Are 31% American

America: You don't love it or want to leave it. But you wouldn't mind giving it an extreme make over. On the 4th of July, you'll fly a freak flag instead... And give Uncle Sam a sucker punch!

How American Are You?

Bright shiny things

Andrew was as happy as a dog with two dicks this evening. 'Look at this' he cried, pointing at his computer screen. Needless to say the screen was displaying World of Warcraft. I peered and beheld something resembling a sceptre. 'That's mine. See how shiny it is?' he said.

Uh huh. 'Andrew' I said, 'I'm not sure how to tell you this but it's just a bunch of pixels on the screen.'

Well he wasn't going to let *me* rain on his parade; no sirree. He launched into a description of the heroic battle he'd fought against thousands of basement dwellers all over the world to win his spoils. I could feel my eyes glazing over!

Description over and the will to live slowly returning I went into the kitchen, grabbed some tinfoil and a handy pen, wrapped the latter in the former and returned to Andrew.

'Hey Andrew' I said. 'See this? Mmmmm, nice and shiny!' as I handed it over.

At least Sonya had the grace to laugh!

Woodmen

Sonya was bored on Sunday so we went to visit a cemetery. Isn't that what everyone does when bored? As it happened I wasn't averse to the idea; I enjoy a good cemetery. We're gradually 'doing' all the Phoenix cemeteries.

I have to admit that I don't enjoy them here as much as I should, due entirely to the climate. There's not much chance of them becoming overgrown and 'romantic'. Instead they're either carefully manicured grass or hard scrabble; mostly the latter.

One of the more interesting ones is down on (I think) Fifteenth Avenue, having, as it does, many monuments dating from when this was the Arizona Territory and one or two more from before the annexation. Interestingly the Mexican flag flies as prominently as does the US flag, only fitting for the graves of those buried when this was Mexico!

Just as interesting is the fact that you can't get into it! There's a little sign on the gate directing one to an address three or four miles east. It's been five and a half years since I last went there (it was the day after my arrival in the US) and I had, at that time, not much idea of the street names. When one goes to the address they hand over the key in return for a deposit. I suppose there must be a market for stolen cemetery keys!

The cemetery we visited this weekend is at Twenty Third Avenue and Van Buren and was, apparently, once four cemeteries in close proximity, since combined into the one. I can see the Jewish cemetery being separate at some time in the past but I couldn't see much rhyme or reason to the rest of it being separated into three pieces at one time. Perhaps one could argue the case for the military section but that'd be about it.

But one feature that intrigued me was the number of tombstones in the shape of a tree stump and with the following plaque attached (image shamelessly stolen from here[^] because I didn't have my camera with me).



I'd never seen this before and at first I thought perhaps I'd stumbled upon evidence of some American secret society. The close proximity of Freemasons and I.O.O.F. markers led credence to the theory but it seemed unlikely. I was closer than I thought[^]. And also see here[^].

A bloody insurance company! Yeah, I can see myself wanting a Farmers State logo on *my* grave!

Not that I'm counting

but at this moment 100 days hence I shall, with luck and continuance of life, be high above the Pacific Ocean on my way to Australia. Those fish and chips are getting closer!

He's breathing!

As I think I've mentioned once or twice before, I, with my friends, was rather fond of going to movie matinees in the mid 1960's. That was a time when ones choices on TV were somewhat less than they are now. Whether choices today are better is another question entirely. There's nothing quite like having 108 channels of TV and nothing to watch! Fortunately that doesn't happen to me; TCM run a lot of old movies and IFC and Sundance aren't too bad either. You should have heard Andrew though, before he discovered World of Warcraft. 'There's nothing on!' he'd complain. 'What about The African Queen' I'd ask. 'Oh, that? That's old!'

There is no response to that!

But I digress. Back in the 60's we'd go to the Saturday Arvo matinee. A feature film after the intermission; cartoons, a newsreel and a serial before the intermission. Intermission? I still get a chuckle watching the three hour marathons made in the 60's (Spartacus, Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, The Great Race, 2001: A space Odyssey) when the intermission placard comes up. I very much doubt todays teenagers have ever seen the word; certainly not at the movies.

I can't remember much about the serials; I think they ran Flash Gordon[^] once or twice. For the most part the serials seemed to be about cowboys fighting the injuns! We'd sit there in the dark munching on Jaffas[^] and drink in this alien culture. Whenever someone would fall with an arrow in the back we'd watch the actor. And inevitably someone (usually me) would shout 'he's breathing!'. Laughter throughout the theatre.

Good times.

I was watching In the light of the moon[^] tonight (US title is Ed Gein[^]) and couldn't help noticing, in the scene where we see his brother laid out in the coffin, that the actor was breathing. Someone sure screwed up there!

I called Sonya up to see (she and I have long since accepted that we don't like the movies the other likes). Her comment? 'I don't know how you notice things like that.'

Practice :-)

Vote Schmuck!

That's the proud slogan on some electoral signs that have sprung up in Tempe, way down south, where I work. At first glance it might look like an exhortation to the idle, uncommitted voter, to go and vote!

Not a bit of it. Nope, it's the name of the candidate. I'll give him his due, he knows the nature of his name, for the slogan goes on to read 'Schmuck... that's right!'. Full points for a sense of humour. Of course, I could wish he represented a different party.

Yeah, I know I shouldn't make fun of peoples names, but if he can do it I can certainly join in.

Link[^]

Another year, another birthday

But not mine, not just yet.

It's June 3[^] again and I spent most of the day racking my brains trying to remember an interesting story, or even any story, to tell about Robin.

I came up blank!

The combination lock

In something of a minor miracle Morgan's managed to keep a job for an entire week.

She announced on Saturday that she needed a lock for her locker, that others might not pinch her stuff while she was out on the sales floor. Yep, she's working at a local department store though which department I couldn't say.

Andrew thought a moment and announced that he had a spare combination lock. Sounded reasonable given that his most precious asset at the moment is protected by his World of Warcraft password! So up the stairs he went and down came a padlock of the sort that has four little wheels, each numbered 0 to 9.

Of course he'd forgotten the combination! So Morgan played with it for 30 seconds or so and gave up. There are, after all, only 10,000 possible combinations. She handed it to Mom and she, Mom, handed it straight on to me. Uh huh, that'd be right.

I immediately turned the wheels to 0000 and 'click' it was open! Amazed looks! 'How did you do that?' they chorused.

'Well', I replied, 'it was easy.' Dad (their dad not mine) bought it and gave it to Andrew. And they're both so lazy they wouldn't have read the instructions on how to set the combination. Therefore it had to be still set at the factory default!

Perhaps I ought to have played the role of Houdini rather than that of Sherlock Holmes; now they know how it was done they're not half as impressed. But I bet you are!

Welcome back

When Andrew got home this morning (I presume it was morning though I was at the office at the time) he found the following taped to his monitor.

Welcome back Andrew!

I missed you!

Put there by yours truly of course. For, you see, last night was the first time in ages, possibly a year, that he'd been able to drag himself away from the computer, World of Warcraft and his own bed. His story is that he spent the night over at Austins. Which is probably true; the nearest thing we've seen to a girl is the bathing suit beauty draped over his computer desktop; a girl we don't get to see all that often due to the World of Warcraft aforesaid. Forty years ago that shot would have seemed racy but these days it's very tame. Which is just as well.

Apparently he laughed. I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't think of the idea myself. Nope, my first wife came up with just such a greeting waiting on *my* computer monitor back in August of 1986 when I returned from my second trip to the US.

Sad to say I didn't get the point at the time.

No kidding

Going through the EPG (Electronic Program Guide) thoughtfully provided by Microsoft here in the US for Media Centre PC's I noticed a movie precis a few days ago. No, I can't for the life of me remember just *what* the movie title was apart from having the word 'Calendar' in there, and it's been and gone. Methinks I didn't miss much.

The precis went thus; 'After Miss January and Miss February are killed a detective suspects Miss March may be next'.

You reckon???

Jury Service

Yesterday was my big day on Jury service. I wasn't too displeased when, ringing them after 4:30 the previous business day, I learned that I was indeed expected to appear this time. The only down side was the uncivilised hour they wanted to start. As originally indicated in the notice from the Maricopa County Superior Court, I expected to have to front up at 8:00. How fortunate they pushed the call back to 8:45. Still earlier than I'd have liked given that this is downtown but one does what one must.

Actually I cased it out last Sunday. Getting to downtown is no problem in itself; it's once you get to the maze of one way streets and streets that don't go through that it gets worrisome. The free parking is on 5th Ave but there's a bloody great court house in the way! That's the Sandra Day O'Connor Federal Court building, where I took my naturalisation oath.

So I felt it wiser to check it out at leisure Sunday afternoon. That done, I knew exactly where to turn without getting lost; so well in fact that I got there half an hour early! Plenty of time for a smoke or two.

Then inside, through the inevitable, these days, security checks. At least they let you keep your shoes on. Thus to a not so long wait, punctuated by the equally inevitable 'civic duty' speech. Complete with the homily that we're fortunate as citizens of this great land to have the unique privilege of jury service. I don't remember the exact wording but it was phrased such as to leave the impression that the USA is the *only* place on the planet with juries and such. Hmmm, that'll be news to the British! As it was to me!

A few minutes pass and they called for the first lot; 60 potential jurors. A big trial for that many I thought. They got to the sixtieth name and I relaxed back into my book. An interesting detail I noticed was that very very few indeed had brought a book with them; did they know something or do they simply not read?

A few more minutes pass and this time they're calling for 120! Wow! And, you guessed it, mine was one of the names called out. Now you'll understand that I'm not going to say anything at all about the case, even though I was excused later in the day. All I'll say is that it was a criminal trial with multiple defendants, expected to run multiple weeks!

And at about this point it all departed from what I'm used to back in Australia. The first thing is that we were numbered! For the sake of this exposition let's say I was number 141. For the rest of the day whenever anyone in an official capacity addressed me I was Mr. 141. And how did they know my number? Simple. I had a large sheet of paper with the number printed on it!

So we were herded upward to the court room, after instructions to line up in numeric order. You might remember my Naturalisation Ceremony[^]. There we also had to line up in a precise order. They sure like numbering people! Thence into the courtroom itself, in numerical order.

Suprise the second. We (potential jurors) were seated in the public gallery area, separated from the business part of the court by a waist high wooden barrier. On the other side of the barrier was the judge, the prosecution and the defense attorneys. I thought there seemed a lot of defense attorneys. It turns out that half of em were the defendants; the better dressed half! Indeed, some of the lawyers looked shiftier than their clients. There, I've got the lawyer joke out of the way!

Then the serious side of the business got under way. After a group swearing in we were given a precis of the crime, some names etc and the usual question; did any of us know anyone on the other side of the barrier? So far so familiar. But after that it all became quite different.

The judge went through the longest set of questions I've ever heard asked of a jury. She'd ask a question and if your answer was 'yes' you held your number up. When she gave you the nod you stood up and said your piece.

It took all day and at the end of it they'd whittled us down to about 60. You understand that by the end of the first day they hadn't selected a single juror, they were simply eliminating us one by one. The questions themselves seemed reasonable; what struck me as unreasonable was the lengths people would go through to avoid service. One person volunteered the information that a distant relative in law enforcement had been killed in the line of duty, in 1915! A long litany of recitations of burglaries committed against the good people of the jury in the 1970's.

One wag intimated that she couldn't easily attend court on Mondays and Tuesdays but could make the other days; would that be good enough? Uh huh. What part of being a juror did that person not understand?

Throughout it all the judge maintained a cheery good humour. In contrast, every time I've been called for jury service in Australia the judge has seemed to regard anyone trying to avoid serving as not much more than a criminal himself. Methinks this is a normal occurrence and they budget a week to whittle it down to the dozen, plus alternates.

I won't go into why I was excused.

Another election

Today we had another election. Not a very big one as it happened and there wasn't anyone actually standing for office. Not even for the post of dog-catcher!

Well that was here in Phoenix; apparently there were a couple of mayors elected around the state. Nope, todays poll was to approve (or not) an extension of a 0.1% sales tax for another 30 years to pay for parks. Now there's a motherhood and apple pie kinda issue for you! Voting against that is like voting against peace! And, as it happens, I voted in favour of the extension. I like parks and open spaces as much as the next man and a lot more than Andrew does.

The subject came up over dinner and when he heard that I'd actually voted in favour of a tax he expressed incredulity. Thus to the purpose of the tax at which point I went for the kill 'well, Andrew, you wouldn't have any use for a park would you?' To which the smartarse replied; 'of course I do, amusement parks'.

Uh huh.

The polling place was as empty as it was last time[^]. You know, for folk that blather on so much about freedom and democracy my fellow citizens take an amazingly lax attitude to the process of actually bothering to line up and cast the vote they're so proud of having! Well, maybe this wasn't one of the more important votes but my point still stands.

This time I had a bit of fun with the accent; when the bloke at the left end of the table handed me the little coupon for the ballot paper and instructed me to hand it to the 'gentleman at the other end' I couldn't resist saying 'oh, you mean that bloke!'. Sure enough, that bloke handed me the ballot and I filled out my vote. It took all of 12 seconds! As I turned to put the ballot into the box the 'bloke' at the end piped up 'what took you so long?'. 'Oh, I had to think about it' was my reply. Laughter all round. Perhaps you had to be there. Personally I reckon they were bored to death waiting for something to do.

I now have three I voted today[^] stickers on my computer monitor!

When does it end???

It seems like only a month[^] or so ago that I wrote about our fifth cat. And you guessed it; there's now a sixth!

I am not happy about this. I'm a big fan of cats, as you well know by now, but where does it end? This one was brought in by one of Morgans idiot* boyfriends. I happened to be on the phone with Heino at the moment he arrived and as Heino will testify, I said something along the lines of 'oh no, not another bloody one!'

Of course they know I'll relent and let him stay; I always do. Can't see why a kitten who has no say in the matter should suffer because of the stupidity of others.

I just hope the news doesn't get around amongst the feline population that they have only to enter the house to be reprieved. As much as I might like to, I can't help every stray cat in existence.

The interesting thing about this 'stray' is that he's completely house trained and obviously used to having people around. Methinks we have yet another example of the thoughtless who tire of a pet and just abandon it. Whilst not normally an advocate of capital punishment I'm thinking that mandatory strapping to a gurney might be an appropriate punishment for such people.

Of course, not wanting to be such a person, there are follow on consequences. Such as yet another two or three hundred bucks for the shots we don't know if he's had. Then the neutering. As I pointed out to the idiot boyfriend aforesaid, 'great, you get the virtuous feeling. We get the bills!'

* He must be an idiot, he's hanging around with Morgan ain't he?

'taint Lorraine, 'taint Lisa

nor is it Beatrice!

I really try and avoid the role of 'system administrator' at work. It's not my field though the boss stubbornly refuses to believe it. He sees a software developer, ergo he sees a computer expert and all computer experts are expert at everything about computers, right? Uh huh.

Nonetheless, as the only 'computer expert' at work, I'm called upon to do many admin tasks. Thankfully I've managed to keep it simple though I will never understand why the guy who set our network up decided to call the fileshare 'data-drum_2003' (not the real name but syntactically indentical). Since it's the only fileshare everyone uses why not simply call it 'data'? Likewise with the single shared printer in the office. Why not call it 'printer1', thus allowing for the possibility of a second or perhaps even a third printer? But nope, he decided to call it 'KyoceraM'. From which you could guess that it's a Kyocera printer. Well and good but there's a reason Windows allows arbitrary names. And the reason isn't to be obscure!

As I say, I try to keep it simple. I could change the share name or the printer name but then I'd have to update everyones computers. And users being users I could email them about the change with complete confidence that I was wasting my time and theirs. So we live with it.

Recently, as I wrote[^] a couple of weeks ago, I had to change our source code server. That server also happened to be our FTP server. Fortunately we don't have a lot of FTP activity going on and it was, frankly, far more important to me that I get our source code and history migrated than to get FTP services going again.

Having finally got the new subversion server set up and convinced myself that all the old sourcesafe history was still, well, safe, it was time to put the new machine on the public side of the network. Fortunately it's a Windows 2003 server machine with all the latest patches applied and it seems to be pretty well secured. Now go read the second paragraph of this entry. I'm NOT a network administrator (some would say I'm not a network administrators arsehole and they'd be right) but I've done what I know. I've run port scans against the public internet address and the only ports it finds open are the ports I expect (FTP, HTTPS and Remote Desktop).

I'm sure you've heard anecdotally what happens to a new machine exposed on the internet. One of the stats I've seen (whether I believe it is another matter) is that an unpatched Windows XP SP1 machine is supposedly completely compromised within 20 minutes of first exposure. Considering that it takes at least an hour, even on broadband, to download and install all the patches, you can see the problem. Thus daily malware, trojan horse, virus and rootkit scans on my new server.

On the inside I check the logs daily (though how long I'll do that is another matter). So far the only log showing any activity is the FTP log. Fascinating stuff. There's one persistent bastard, based in Japan going by the whois results on his IP, who's been trying for about 2 days to break in. His attempts are neither regular or fast enough to indicate a software based attack; he seems to be sitting at his computer typing password after password. Poor bastard will never succeed until he realises that I've renamed the system admin account AND the FTP user name list does not include Administrator. I reckon he must have a dictionary of western girls names because that's what he's been trying.

USER Administrator
PASS Lorraine
530 Login or password incorrect!
Disconnected

USER Administrator
PASS Lisa
530 Login or password incorrect!
Disconnected

I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. But only almost; I've turned on autoban - 10 failed attempts and the IP is ignored for an hour. We shall see if he returns.

Suspending disbelief

Until recently I'd never seen any of the 'Airport' movies. You might think that was a good thing. I'm beginning to believe it was.

Actually I haven't seen Airport '75 yet; it's running this weekend and I've set the HTPC to record.

The original cropped up a few weeks back and I watched it a week or two later. That's one of the nice things about the HTPC/PVR revolution. Just set it to record and it sits there on the hard disk until you're ready. So much easier than the bad old days of grubbing around for a spare videotape, to say nothing of making sure it was loaded and programmed for the right channel/time. Then labelling the tape so one could find it again; that or go through a pile of tapes looking for the right one. Though it was a mere quarter of a century ago the old way of doing things seems so antediluvian! And there we were, happier than a dog with two dicks, because we could actually record movies off TV!

It's about this time I can imagine you dusting off a walking frame for me!

Anyway, I thoroughly agreed with the reviewer who named Airport (made in 1969) as the 'Best movie of 1944'!. A pot boiler if ever I saw one. Actually that's a trifle unfair, it was quite watchable if somewhat predictable. Now I can say I've seen it without ever feeling the need to see it again.

Thus to 'The Concorde... Airport '79'[^]. An unforgettable two hours of comedy. I understand, incidentally, that one was not supposed to refer to the real Concorde as 'The Concorde' but simply as 'Concorde'.

If the real Concorde had been able to pull off all the stunts we see in the movie it'd be one formidable plane, if somewhat uncomfortable for the passengers. I laughed out loud at the scene where the pilots put their oxygen masks on, open the cockpit window and fire a starting pistol out to distract the heat seeking missile!

If you haven't seen the movie, this is toward the start; just after they've departed from Washington DC. We, the audience, are asked to believe that after being pursued by a missile, which they handily defeat, they continue across the Atlantic to France as though nothing had happened. No obnoxious passenger loudly demanding to know what happened. More to the point, no FAA order to return to Washington and no military escort. Or perhaps I'm just seeing 1979 from a 2008 perspective? I think not. If this had happened in real life I'm sure all of the above would have happened, even in the innocent days of 1979.

So they fly across the Atlantic and are attacked by a Phantom Jet! Four missiles plus ack ack. More aerial gyrations. A supposedly nail-biting scene where they hurtle down the runway at landing and stop with the nose wheel a couple of metres short of the end of the runway.

Does the French equivalent of the FAA impound the plane, the pilots and the passengers? Does the US government get involved in an investigation into the origins of this mysterious Phantom, handily crashed into an ocean? No sir, they do not! An evening of repairs and the plane is ready to resume flight the next morning, to finish it's journey to Moscow! And every single passenger gets back on! No close ups of passengers agonising over whether to board.

Now during the repair phase one of the mechanics put some kind of booby trap on the cargo door. As they're taxiing out for the Moscow departure this mechanic, for reasons I didn't quite catch, starts running around and ends up on the runway with the Concorde bearing down on him during it's takeoff. I have to admit that by this point I was beyond caring what motivated any of the plot and I couldn't be bothered going back to try and catch up. Sufficient that he ducks and runs across just in front of the landing gear as Concorde leaves the ground!

By this time I'm just about going through the roof wondering at the total lack of curiousity shown by everyone involved (up on the screen). Let's see. On a single flight the crew and passengers have been involved in a near miss with a heat seeking missile AND almost been shot down by a Phantom. On the very next take off someone runs in front of the plane as it's taking off. And no one stops to wonder if there's something strange happening!

After that the sight of the plane making a crash landing on an Alpine slope down a ski run was quite incapable of surprising me!

Interesting movie!

Chicken Cordon Bleu

Tonights dinner was Chicken Cordon Bleu. Methinks you might have guesssed that from the title.

Being Tuesday I'm already inured to the idea that I get home late from the office; those weekly phone conferences to The Philippines are *still* taking place; nearly four years of them! Thus I'm used to dinner being somewhat later than usual on Tuesday. Nonetheless, dinner seemed to be even later than expected tonight.

It turns out that Sonya, after following the instructions and cooking the Chicken Cordon Bleu aforesaid for the 30 minutes suggested on the packet, had cut into one and concluded from the red that it needed a little longer.

Ten minutes later she cut into a second one, saw some red and decided to cook it a little longer. How fortunate there were only four! By the time the fourth had revealed red she finally realised that Chicken Cordon Bleu consists of chicken wrapped around ham and cheese and rolled in bread crumbs!

I laughed heartily as I sawed through some very dry chicken! It was, somehow, partly my fault. I knew what we were having and I should have realised that some red was to be expected. But I'm so used to foods bearing familiar names not really being what I expect that the penny didn't drop.

Subversion

I don't often write about programming matters. I used to, back in the early days of this blog, but even then I didn't write much about the act of programming so much as some of my thoughts about doing the job right. It's one thing to be able to write a correct for loop; it's another thing entirely to know when to!

Which isn't to say that I think I'm the be-all and end-all of software development; far from it. I still haven't embraced the .NET framework in the way that Microsoft would prefer. I still think in MFC terms though I'm trying to break out of that mould.

Until very recently we used Visual Source Safe (VSS from now on) at work. We had the necessary plumbing (written in .NET forsooth) to access it across the internet; a necessity at the time we installed it when I was shuttling back and forth between France, Dallas, The Philippines and Phoenix.

I've been using source code control in one form or another for more than 20 years, starting with RCS on Unix, PVCS on the PC and settling on VSS because it was effectively free (included with MSDN). I even wrote my own incarnation of RCS back in 1988, using a bunch of command line utilities and PKZip. It worked well if somewhat slowly. Then again, back in 1988 everything worked somewhat slowly!

Anyone who claims to be a software professional and who doesn't use *some* form of source code control is claiming above their station!

To be honest, my experience with VSS wasn't nearly as bad as most users claim. I've never lost a file; nor have I ever experienced datastore corruption. This could be because I've always worked either alone or in relatively small teams; it's entirely possible that I'd have hated VSS with a passion had I been working on a large team.

But recently we've had a few new projects crop up that, whilst based on our current codebase, are sufficiently different that it made sense to create branches. Up until then it was sufficient to label each release in the database.

VSS makes it harder than it needs to to do the branching thing. Creating a branch is easy enough, but merging the changes back into the trunk some time later is a real pain!

Cue Coding Horror[^] and an article on Subversion. I'd heard of it; maybe now it was time to suck it and see. While I thought about it our VSS server at the office died. Server is a grand title for the machine; at 9 years old it was getting more than long in the tooth and it was only a desktop machine anyway!

So I scrounged a three year old Dell Xeon server with RAID. I managed to resurrect our old server long enough to import the VSS database using a freeware tool found here[^]. This was very important to me; I wanted to have our entire history available, not just the source to the last full release we did.

The migration wasn't a smooth process; there were one or two projects that refused to migrate. How fortunate that both were so out of date that no one, including myself, knows what they were for! I haven't been here forever you know!

In the end I decided to keep a copy of the VSS database on the new machine as well, 'just in case'. I doubt I'll ever refer to it but it's only a couple of gigs.

On the client side I use TortoiseSVN[^]. Wow is all I can say.

Bloody hell, again???

It seems like only yesterday[^] that I got my first jury summons here in the US. I expressed, at the time, some doubt about whether to claim an inability to serve on the grounds that I wasn't, at the time of the summons, a US citizen. I would, however, be one on the date for which I was summoned, and eventually I waited until *after* my oath ceremony to return the form with a tick in the box stating that I could serve.

I remember Vern expressing surprise that I hadn't taken the opportunity to duck out; all I had to do was return the form *before* my oath ceremony, with a photocopy of my green card, and I would have been home and free. Well maybe. But I really didn't want to start my career as a US citizen by playing with strict interpretations of the law.

As it happened, when I rang the supplied number the night before the big day I was informed that my panel wasn't required so I didn't actually get to front up and sit patiently through a day of 'will I be picked or won't I?'.

That was a year and a half ago. My experience in Australia is that one is pinged for Jury Service maybe once a decade. Lemme see, I was called up in 1978, 1986 and a third time in 2001. I've already written[^] (a trifle egotistically it seems upon a reread) about what happened during the 2001 call up.

Well, I've been pinged again! Quite by coincidence, exactly 7 years to the day from my 2001 call. I fear I won't be able to pull the same excuse off a second time. So who knows, I might yet find myself sitting on a jury. Let's just hope it's not a long trial; here in Arizona there's no obligation on one's employer to make up the difference between what the state pays and what one would ordinarily earn. The state pays $12 a day plus mileage! They *do* provide free parking and a bus pass.

One detail I loved; the free parking aforesaid is two blocks from the court. I'd reckon a slow walker could cover the distance in five minutes. Me? I'll cover it in two. They run a shuttle bus!

This didn't surprise me at all

and it really oughtn't to have either. Nonetheless, it was interesting comparing car rental prices. As you'll remember, I'm going to Australia in September (142 days fron now, not that I'm counting) and it's as well to have some of the more major details tied down ahead of time. Hence my checking for car rentals.

A frustrating business using the web but much more frustrating if you're hoofing it from rental company to rental company on the day. A most apposite article appeared on this very subject over at Upgrade Travel Better[^] today.

Long story short, it came down to National Car Rentals if a search was the guide. So I checked em out for a 12 day rental at A$641 for a 3 door automatic. I can drive manuals but the last time I had to was in 1980; I suspect I've lost the skill required for a 'heel toe' takeoff. So I made the booking and received the obligatory email confirmation. Buried in said confirmation was the news that the rental is actually from Europcar and they advise to look for those signs rather than the National signs. Uh huh, I already knew that; I rented a car from the same location last time I was in Australia.

So then I bethought to myself; let's see what the Europcar rate is. And of course it's less; A$550 for the same class car and the same pickup and drop off times at, of course, the same location.

So it really does pay to shop around; more, it pays to read the fine print. Of course, the proof of this particular pudding will be in the eating; when I front up at their office in September what do you wanna bet they'll have the car they claim to have at the price I booked?

It's the small victories

You know how manufacturers will package some foodstuffs in cardboard and print a 'tear here' notice, complete with perforations and tongue and tab for resealing? Presumably to give the thrifty shopper the illusion that the package really is resealable and the contents will retain their freshness.

Today I managed, I think for the first time ever, to pull the tab along the perforations and it actually tore as it was designed to. Now there's a first! Nearly fifty four years on the planet and I've finally pulled it off! Let's see if the bacon contained within maintains its freshness. I doubt it. Fortunately, I also doubt I'll leave the bacon long enough anyway.

It's the small victories!

Finally made an offer

So much for optimism. I mentioned[^], two weeks ago, that we might be making an offer on a house the following day.

Naturally it wasn't that easy, was it? Never is. I'll spare you the details but the refinance we signed three weeks ago has been refinanced again! Fortunately we were able to claw back most of the original closing costs and there are other costs not required this close to a re-refinance (property appraisal for one).

So, after doing our sums yet again, we finally made an offer on the house today. We're still waiting for a response beyond the acknowledgement that an offer has been made but I quite understand the need to think it over. While we're waiting, here are a couple of shots of the backyard.



and



If you imagine those photos are accurate regarding size and scale I have a plastic model of a Rolls Royce you might want to drive away in! They're from the vendor website and shot in that style peculiar to Real Estate photographers.

Contrary to expectation I'm not feeling in the least nervous about the whole thing. I suppose it's the fact that I no longer believe that Real Estate money is 'real' money. Think about it; I'm not far short of my 54th birthday and we're talking a 30 year mortgage. I know, about as surely as I know anything, that I won't be here when the mortgage reaches its end and, frankly, I'd be amazed if my wife was. Yet we all, we two, the mortgage broker, the lender and the seller, all solemnly pretend that sometime in 2038 we'll make the final payment and the house will be ours and ours alone. It all has such an air of unreality about it.

Say what???

I haven't mentioned it but since the last time I wrote about cats we've added two (count em, two!) to the family. That makes a total of five cats and, as much as I love cats, I think that's at least two too many. And this isn't even counting the neighbourhood strays who take advantage of the cat door to snatch a free feed.

The first to join us was Casper (I call her the Little White Bastard) or LWB for short. She came to live with us a week or so before Heino came over for his visit. The typical story 'if you don't take her we'll have to put her down'. Sonya bought it.

It's always hard to tell if the story is true or not; certainly there are enough people out there who'd think nothing of bunging half a dozen kittens in a sack with a rock and dropping em in the nearest canal. But are those the kind of people who would even bother trying to farm em out? I suspect not.

Casper took to Heino but how could she not? To know Heino is to, well, to know him!

The most recent arrival is Tiny Guy. This is his 36th day with us. You might wonder about my naming of cats; I've mentioned it before methinks but I don't go for the tame names 'Tiger', 'Casper', 'Tom' and so forth. I'd much rather give a cat a robust name like Voskoboinikov or Kafka or Katzen. But lots of luck trying that with this lot; their idea of originality is to take a pale tabby and call him Tiger! Or take a black cat and call her Shadow.

Hence the disparity of names. If they persist in having the imagination of a square of toilet paper I'll dumb it down for em; hence, Shadow is Kitten and I always call her that, Kitten and never Shadow. Tiger is 'The little guy' and since I can hardly change his name now when he knows he's 'The little guy' he remains that even though he's a big cat now. I'm sure you can now see why the latest addition is called Tiny Guy.

Tiny Guy was not house trained when he arrived. Not a big deal. How much can a kitten of six weeks pee at a time anyway? Not a lot I can tell you! He's almost house trained now but occasionally forgets himself. Hence, the other night, I espied him squatting on a cushion. Now I'm sure you know the drill here. Grab the little bastard immediately and spirit him away to the cat box. The power of association is amazing and they do quickly learn the appropriate location.

Which left a peed upon cushion. I showed it to my wife and she said 'oh, is that peepee?'. After spluttering in amazement I replied. 'Peepee? Bloody peepee? Who are you talking to? It's cat piss and don't you forget it!'. She laughed.

Perhaps you had to be there!

Is it over yet??

where 'it' is, of course, the US presidential election.

This is the second such election I've lived through whilst residing in the US. To be honest, I didn't notice the first one (2004) all that much. For one, I wasn't entitled to vote in it; for another, being unemployed for the first half of the campaign, I wasn't listening to the radio. Since I never watch TV news that left very few ways for the campaign to get at me.

Not so this time around! At first I thought it was interesting but as time wore on it becomes tiring; Obama this, McCain that, Hilary the other. And that's after the field has thinned down. When Huckabee and Romney and Edwards were still in it the cacophony from the Republicans had to be heard to be believed.

Now it's the Democrats vying for maximum attention, as though the ability to shriek the loudest will win the nomination.

Uh huh; six months or so of this and they're still deciding the nominees! How I pine for the relative sanity of a system where the party chooses its candidates out of the public eye.

Already I've offended those few US readers who still read me; how dare I criticise the system? But you know what? If you want to have a say in who stands for your party then join the damn party! Let me have none of this voter registration where I have to tick a box saying whether I want to vote in the Republican Primary, or the Democrat Primary, or am independent! Particulary not when it's an exclusive choice, as it is in Arizona. If I plump for the Dems I can't cast a vote in the Republican primaries and vice versa! And don't ask the taxpayer to foot the bills for the primaries!

But this is the way it's always been here; therefore it's the only way it can ever be. I'm just as guilty of this thought as those I criticise. The Australian system seems completely natural to me, because that's the system I grew up in. And preselection battles in Australian politics can get nasty at times. Nevertheless, an Australian election campaign is short and sharp, mercifully so. After it's done we get on with life and can forget the entire dirty business for another three years!

I still haven't decided who to vote for though it should come as no surprise that I lean toward the left. The problem is that what counts as the left in US politics is still pretty right to me! Of course, even in Australian politics, the left is pretty right these days. And yet I feel I must vote for someone; to take the easy way out and not bother to vote at all is to make no choice at all! And if that be the case, then why become a citizen?

When the lazy meets the implacable

I've hinted a few times that Morgan is living with us again. Sadly, it's true. She's been back here 6 months today. I suppose I should be glad she waited until Heino had gone back to Australia. Had I known, I'd have gone on bended knees and begged him to stay.

Of course, Mom solemnly assured me that she was 'only going to stay for a week' while she made other arrangements. And, of course, I solemnly pretended to believe.

At the time of her pregnancy, a couple of years ago, it was decided (I wasn't consulted) to move her to another school to finish her high schooling. She didn't do her homework and I was given to understand that she scraped through by the skin of her teeth, having delivered her final assignment within half an hour of the third and final deadline.

She went into the workforce for a few days but found the kinds of jobs for which her education qualified her not quite to taste. It is apparently beneath her dignity to stand behind the counter at Blockbuster. I can't say she's had a lot of jobs.

As a parenthetical note, I applied for a job at Hollywood Video a few years ago; at least I can talk intelligently about movies though I fear most customers wouldn't be particularly interested in a dissertation about the merits of Edmond O'Brien[^] as an actor!

I don't have a lot of sympathy with Morgan. Did you really need me making that clear?

Half a year after moving back here Morgan has played the role of the earnest student to the extent of getting ten grand from the state to cover her living expenses. She's even, once, and with much fanfare, bestowed a hundred bucks on us. Once. Where the rest went I cannot say though I have my suspicions. As for her success as a student? Let's just say that, having been advised by her tutor that she's unlikely to pass, she's chucked school up. One might have expected a concerted effort in the two months of the academic year remaining; expected it if one did not know Morgan! Especially since she has to return the money!

So now we have a 20 year old with no job and no qualifications to speak of on our hands.

Now it's quite likely that my previous history with Morgan coloured later events. Likely? Bloody inevitable! I don't really mind if she's occupying the room above ours if she could only bring herself to be inobtrusive. Minor things like, perhaps, cleaning her plate after eating. Or even moving the damn plate from the table to the sink. Not hosting the dance of the hippotami at midnight when we're trying to sleep. Or how about cleaning up her kids toys if he's too young to do it himself? But no, not a bit of it. Nope, she eats half a meal and leaves the plate there on the table. I've been there before[^] but the previous time it was with a wife and one sometimes has to give in. This time around I feel no need to give in, particularly when she seems to have time on her hands.

As for the toys, I've gotten into the habit of kicking them out of the way, so long as Ryan isn't actually playing with them or nearby. What care I if Morgan feels outrage? If she's that outraged then she can damn well tidy up after her offspring!

Sonya, mother of the monster, is in a bind. At one level she knows Morgan is a lazy bitch, on another level she's her daughter. Thus, I've gotten into the habit, having observed in the morning as I leave for work that last nights plate is still on the table and observed when I get home in the evening that it's gone (I promise this sentence will soon end), of saying 'look me in the eye and tell me Morgan cleaned up the plate'.

Sometimes she *can* look me in the eye!

Meanwhile, I reckon my wife has done her stretch and she shouldn't have to be cleaning up after a 20 year old. As for me? Damned if I will!

Shameless

A month or so ago Cox Cable (may they rot in hell) moved Turner Classic Movies[^] out of the Analog Channel range into the Digital Tier. No warning; it just wasn't there on channel 42 one evening, replaced with a placard advising that if we wanted to continue receiving TCM we had to get a digital reciever.

Apparently they *did* advertise the change in advance, in the print media. Who do you know takes the paper on a daily basis anymore? I sure don't. Even back in the pre internet days I didn't take the paper on a daily basis (Saturday Age[^] yes, other days as the fancy took me). I still read the Age online every day but it doesn't quite compare to the pleasure of relaxing over the pages on a Saturday morning with a plate of bacon and eggs and a couple of coffees!

After a bout of swearing it was time to take stock of the options. You understand that with the kinds of films I most enjoy the loss of TCM was a major loss indeed! Long story short I ended up subscribing to the Cox Digital service, including two set top boxes, to feed Bigboy, our HTPC. We stuck with Cox because any other option meant we lost analog cable, watched by Morgan and Andrew. They want digital they can earn it!

Also, based on a mistaken assumption, I subscribed to the five bucks a month movie tier. The mistaken assumption was the result of Cox's choice of channel number for TCM; it's now on 199 and channels 190 to 198 are part of the movie tier; I assumed that not only had the bastards moved it out of analog but had added it to the extra fee subscription service. Wrong assumption but, in the event, not a bad outcome. The extra channels include Sundance and Independent Film Channel and so far it's been worth the extra five bucks.

Incidentally, when I still lived in Australia I was a subscriber to Optus Cable. They also ran (may still do for all I know) TCM. Good times.

Anyways, an unexpected pleasure from the change is the discovery of Shameless[^]. The first episode I caught was the second episode. Alas, they don't seem to have the nous to run the episodes in the original order!

I have to admit it was a bit of bastardry to suggest to my wife that she might enjoy watching with me; she can't understand a word they say though I did assure her they were speaking English. I fear I have rather more experience watching British TV than she does but some of the accents are a bit extreme even for me.

This is rather different British comedy than I'm used to. None of the gentility of the sixties and seventies, no sir, this is robust language at its best. I'm pretty sure I don't want to see it broadcast on PBS - the sound would be half bleeps! I'm being dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. But it's all good stuff! You really wouldn't be dead for quids would you?