Tumbleweeds.

Worry not, gentle reader, everything is fine. No one in my family has been shot by the sniper, and no one I know has been shipped to Iraq, either. Things have been quiet simply because I've discovered a new hobby.

Yes, Squelch the lapsed computer science minor has re-discovered programming! And it's so much easier in Mac OS X. I love it! I'm currently, as an exercise, working on an implementation of John Conway's Game of Life. Remember that one from computer camp? (Yes, I went to computer camp.)

Excuse me, Squelch, your geek is showing. Whoops! How embarassing.

This actually happened to me. K doesn't believe me, though.

I'm glad, don't get me wrong. But I wonder why Rooster Spice is cool. (Check the left side of the page.)

Hey, I'll take it! Thanks for noticing.

Why don't they love me? There was another shooting last night in Northern Virginia. That's where I was for band practice. Technically, I was in a different place altogether, but when the police are looking for a white minivan that the shooters allegedly drove, and you're driving a white minivan, Northern Virginia suddenly seems like a very tiny area.

Several cops passed as I was driving home, most slowing down to examine my Chevy Venture closer. I saw one white van pulled over. But they never stopped me.

I was slightly hurt.

Heard at the library.

Squelch: Hi, I'd like to renew a book, please.
Clerk: Do you have it with you?
Squelch: I'm afraid not. I was just passing by.
Clerk: We need the book in order to renew it. Sorry.
Squelch: Ah. That's okay. (Starts to go.)
Clerk: You can renew them over the internet.
Squelch: Yes, I know. That's why I figured you wouldn't need the book--
Clerk: If you renew it over the internet you don't need the book.
Squelch: But you do if you bring it to the counter?
Clerk: Yes.
Squelch: (Pause.) You know that there are internet terminals right here in the library, right?
Clerk: Yes.
Squelch: And, in fact, you don't even have a card catalog anymore, just computers that access the catalog online?
Clerk: Yes.
Squelch: And I could log into one of those computers and renew my books myself, right here?
Clerk: Yes...
Squelch: But you can't do it at the counter unless I have the book with me.
Clerk: No.
Squelch: (Nods.) Well. Glad we cleared that up.
Clerk: Have a nice day, sir.
Squelch: You too.

Screw the statistics!

I pride myself on having rational responses to crises--or at least knowing when my responses aren't rational. For instance (though it didn't stop me from running to Silver Spring to rescue K), I knew that even after 9/11, the chances of being killed by terrorists was far less than being killed in a car accident.

Nevertheless, with these shootings happening in my proverbial backyard, a little paranoia is probably healthy.

I'm scared. There are no leads on this bastard. How can we get any? I hope, at least, it's just one nut. If it's two, as some of the early reports had it, then it's a conspiracy, and anyone who could convince someone else to join him in shooting innocent people is twice as dangerous.

D's afternoon preschool is cancelled. I hope we're safe in our home.

Out Parading.

K and I watched A Hard Day's Night last night in a "very clean" DVD copy (I had bought it on Friday--there was no way I could resist once I saw it). K had never seen it before, and I was a little nervous that maybe she wouldn't like it, or wouldn't get it... she likes the Beatles, but not nearly as much as me. (My admiration of the Beatles is about on par with my lack of admiration of myself, so you get the idea.)

To my surprise, she was laughing out loud, and more often than I was the first time I saw it. So I guess I'll keep her.

It's somewhat embarrassing for such a rabid Beatles fan as myself, but I actually didn't see the movie 'til last year when it was re-released. I got a lot of grief about that from an old friend (you know who you are). But that does mean I'm one of the few people of my generation who saw it first in a theater.

Beatles trivia question for the day: what is the last Beatles song that features harmonica? (Turn this blog upside down for the answer.)

How the tree got into outer space is left as an exercise for the reader.

I'm happy! What the hell happened? It's such a strange, unnerving feeling. I don't quite know what to do when I'm actually in a Good Mood. Suggestions?

No one can hear you scream... or laugh, or hiccup, or...

Usually on Friday nights I have band practice (rock 'n' marching, baby!) but yesterday it was a no-go, and so K sucked me into the new show from Joss Whedon (creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer), Firefly. It's a science fiction adventure story, in a far future where people zip from planet to planet, kind of an anti-Star Trek.

It has potential as a series, but for me, the most interesting and satisfying thing about it is that when you're out in space there are no sound effects. This is the only television series I've seen that handles the lack of sound in outer space accurately! Sound waves cannot be transmitted through the vacuum of space. If something explodes you wouldn't hear a bang. (If a tree falls in outer space, it doesn't make a sound.)

It was somewhat disconcerting at first, but boy, was it refreshing. I can only think of one other work of science fiction that did this, and that's 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Oh, shit! Someone went searching on Google for my father's name and wound up here. I'm suddenly hoping I never wrote about those parties I threw when he was away on business.

Everyone should use the word "Ahoy" in normal conversation. Did you know that Alexander Graham Bell suggested "Ahoy" as the preferred word with which to answer the telephone?

Why do only the entries where I lay bare my depression in the worst possible way get responses from people?

(Nonetheless, thank you, Jen.)

I'd institute a comment system, but facing the zeros every day would be even more depressing than my entries.

The horror, the horror! (Laugh track.) Ahoy. So today there was a major tragedy here at chez Squelch. It sent us into paroxysms of fear, pain, weeping and wailing and so forth and so on. In fact, it may destroy our marriage, drive K to suicide, and send me to the loony bin (I hear St. Elizabeth's has nice beds and damn could I use a new pillow).

The tragedy? The new baby in the television show Friends is named "E."

But please know that we thought of the name before this fictional baby was born! And we don't even watch Friends! K had simply turned it on while I was out buying diapers! I mean, sure, back when we lived in Hyattsville with Doug our life seemed like a sitcom (and we would joke that people who came to visit were "crossovers" to boost our ratings), but today, we're strictly a costume drama on Masterpiece Theatre! (Excuse me, that's Exxon-Mobil Masterpiece Theatre now.)

Today my adventures included fixing the dryer hose, cleaning dog shit off my shoes, figuring out whether to give D lunch or trust that he had a huge snack at nursery school. Not necessarily in that order.

And now, I sit here with a very awake E in my arms, typing this blog.

Wouldn't it be neat if I could use this blog to describe everything that I'm doing in real time? Of course, I don't have a laptop, so it would go something like this: "I'm sitting at my desk, typing this blog. Now, I'm sitting at my desk typing this blog. I wonder why nothing interesting is happening? Now I'm still sitting at my desk, typing this blog..."

E smiles far more than D did at this age. I wonder if D would have smiled more if he had been able to see. Or maybe it's just temperament. She has a wonderful smile, though. D has K's smile, and while that's a wonderful smile, too, I think E has mine. Which is nice. Of all the physical things about me, my smile may be the only thing I actually like.

Wow! A blog on the Supreme Court of the United States. I may well be checking there a bit.

About twenty minutes ago.

So, I'm watering K's plants in the back yard, one of which is a hanging spider plant type thing in a pot about six inches in diameter. I'm about to pour when I notice something furry inside the plant.

Being a coward, I call K over. We gawk for a moment, and K tips the plant toward her for a better look.

The furball moves. "Oh, shit!" I cry.

"Hello, little guy," says K; the furball was in fact a featherball, a small bird who is now poking his head up, blinking like an infant awoken from a pleasant nap.

Suddenly present of mind, I say, "Camera." And immediately (I guess it was shutter-shy) the bird disappears, flapping away into the trees.

God, that would have been a beautiful shot. What a great way to end the day.

Clarence, you're a very wise man, you fucker. :)

Ack, it's time to cry again. What a worthless, talentless, piece-of-junk asshole I am. What a motherfucking dickhead I have become and what an incredible number of dreams have wound up discarded around me on the trash heap of life. What is wrong with me that I need this affirmation? Why am I so envious? When will I love myself as much as (I assume, I hope) others love me, and indeed I love others? No, screw all that; why haven't I achieved what I set out to do in life? What happened to the eighth grader who, the night after he acted in his first play, lay in bed and said "This is what I want to do with my life."

(Are you wondering what brought all this on? Take a guess.)

Happy October, if there are any of you left reading.

Yesterday was a bad day, but then Mondays always are. As I've explained before, D goes to two different schools on Mondays, and is usually pretty grumpy by the time he gets home. Yesterday, however, E was, too, so for at least an hour (I think) life was screaming and whining and throwing things...

Today was better. D's napping now (not a surprise since he awoke at 5 A.M.) and E napped most of the day. Now I just have to make dinner.

What a bore this must be to all of you. Sorry. If you want entertainment, go watch Buffy tonight.

This blog is just therapy for me anyway, but at the moment, the therapist is yawning and dropping its notebook, saying "I don't have time for you; take two Zoloft and call me in the morning."