Barry Bonds hit home run #613 right over my head and out of Pac Bell Park (and into San Francisco Bay) this weekend. I don't give a rat's ass about baseball, but that was still kinda cool. They soak the folks in the bleachers with a big water cannon when he hits a "splash ball." Watching all the people dive out of their kayaks to try to get the ball was even more fun.

From the instruction manual for the Winebar Jr., a hand-me-down wine dispenser/fridge/thingy I just received. (All typos sic.)

ATTENTION

Your Winebar Jr. has been tested to insure it's proper working condition. It will give you a long live of service if it is maintained properly.

However, if these instructions are disregarded you will run into trouble.

Therefore, read these instructions thoroughly and become familiar with your equipment. This will enhance your enjoyment of the Winebar Jr.

I get a lot of email, but my favorites (aside from Urgent Assistance Required! spam) are wayward messages sent by people who don't know their friends' real email addresses. This is especially a problem at cnull@yahoo.com -- my spam magnet account that I only use to sign up for newsletters/message boards/autoresponders/etc. and rarely check except to purge it of all the accumulated crap. While I usually write back to the clueless ones to explain that I'm not Cynthia Null or Coco N. Ull, I realize now there's some comedy value here. (Besides, half the time they just ignore me and keep sending crap. It is almost always from one family member to another.) So anyway, here's today's letter from "Mom."

Dear Christie,

Thanks for being Daddy's secretary, relief driver, etc. He's really glad that you are along on this trip. I'm sure you're getting oversaturated with P-FLAG stuff. Hope you're not getting bored. What a shame to miss Rebecca--but you tried.

Jennie said she has her wedding ring cushion here and that you could use it--so that Kathie wouldn't need to make anything. Do you want me to bring it back?

That's all I can think of now.

Love, Mom

Yep.

I'm starting to realize that the shower is where I get all my good ideas. I remember long-forgotten to-do-list items in the shower. Answers to nagging problems finally come to me in the shower. Maybe there's something to be said for the mental effect of water. Hydrotherapy, Chinese Water Torture... maybe it's all legit.

We're having a deck built off of the second story of our house, and any big project like this always sends me into a panic. Yesterday was the really big day, in which they were knocking a hole in the wall where the sliding glass door would go. Sure enough, I returned home near dusk to find an enormous hole and no door, and the dining room sealed off by one of those big tents of plastic sheeting. It was like the scene in E.T. when the feds descend on Elliott's house -- everything in silhouette. Much to my surprise, the hole was filled in with the door within an hour. It even opens and shuts, though there's no actual deck to walk out onto yet.

Since when did cucumbers come back into vogue as a sandwich condiment? Is this how Jared lost all that weight? Eating cucumber sammies? If you want to open up your own Subway franchise, Alaska is the place to do it. Alaska needs sandwiches!

I love Mike Lyons' Amazon.com review of Half Mast: "This book does for education what Psycho did for showers."

Hey San Francisco - my awesome TV stand is up for bid on eBay. The fun begins at $1.99 -- this was $300 new! (Note no shipping option!) Bask in the glory of the monster black TV stand!

So I went back to the periodontist and am told I need a "deep cleaning" due to crud building up under the gumline, and that maybe that would address the pain behind tooth #23 (see 8/13/02). But regardless, I need the deep cleaning anyway. The deep cleaning consists of poking around and scraping deep under the gumline with little metal tools, all under the influence of Novocain. Your whole mouth. Fine, whatever. As I schedule my appointment for two weeks, what is this dentist offering as a snack for people in the reception room? Chocolate cake. Sounds like job security to me.

There's a billboard in SF that I just don't understand. I don't know what company it's advertising but it's related to a probably long-passed trade show nearby. The billboard has the proverbial hare and tortoise sitting at a starting line. The tortoise's lane is straight and short. The hare's goes out on a long bend then comes back (oddly, the lanes intersect at the end, possibly creating a collision between the competitors). A caption reads: "Race On Over!" and urges you to come to booth # whatever. Besides the fact the track layout is poor, I don't understand at all what this is trying to get across. As the audience, am I supposed to identify with the hare? And that I should run out of my way to get to your booth? Or am I a tortoise? And you're saying I'm very slow. Tomorrow I'll try to actually note what company put up this idiotic ad (which means it isn't really doing its job anyway... I've passed it about 50 times and still don't know who it's for) and it might make sense. Or I might very well go off again.

*UPDATE* I edited this because I had the caption wrong. The company is NovoLog, which actually makes insulin products. I'm more confused than ever.

Today's Pontiac Grand Ams apparently have a new feature in their radios: As you speed up, the radio gets louder to compensate for increased road and wind noise. As you slow down, the volume goes back down. Is this common? My rental car kind of freaked me out when it did this unexpectedly, though I do appreciate the feature. I wish my home stereo would compensate by turning the volume up when my wife won't shut it ;) Just kidding.

Airline bullet points:
- I understand when an airplane needs to be taken out of service for mechanical difficulty, but how about this: If I hear you talking about the problem when I get on the plane, don't wait until everyone is seated and the door is closed to take everyone off the aircraft and remove the plane from service. Make a command decision before the plane is full.
- When you say you have a spare plane in a hangar across the runway, don't take 2 hours to drive it over to the gate.
- When you are replacing a plane, why not just cart off the old plane with the broken valve and replace it at the same gate. Don't change the gate three times. Just move the old plane and put the new one in its place. Then people wouldn't have to wander all over the airport and you wouldn't have to move the ground crew so much either.
- When you serve a meal on a plane, two spoons is not the same as a spoon and a fork.
- When your flight attendents are asked for a fork in exchange for one of said spoons, humor your passengers, don't ignore them.
- Be wary of any "beef burgundy" which can be cut with a plastic spoon.
- Hire a wine expert, or someone with taste buds at least. If your white wine (because you ran out of red wine at row 18) can give someone a headache just from the smell, it's probably not-so-good.
- Check out the video monitors from time to time: The U.S. flag is not red, yellow, and green.
- Your seatbelt Gestapo is silly. In a six hour flight, people need more than 30 minutes in which they can get up. A couple of tiny little bumps are not going to case anyone to fall to their death.
- Summary: American, yours is a poor airline.

Catching up on stuff I missed on my Jersey trip (man, loved that Jersey!) What's up with this new Real World season? I mean, the fact that it's just begging to get the cast members knockin' the boots right from the first episode is fine... but it would really be a lot more fun if they'd show some skin. Come on, people.

Joyce Slaton wrote a nice little piece taking personal blame for the dot-com bust (okay, not quite, but it's a fun read anyway). I have a small mention. Joyce said I was very quotable. Nice to see that I'm ahead of Wired founder John Battelle!

After a grueling day getting from SF to the middle of New Jersey, the first good thing of this trip occured: I got upgraded to a huge suite because there were no other non-smoking rooms available by the time I got here at 12:30am. And of course the TV doesn't work except for the "movie preview" channel. Groan.
Oh, and they really don't ask you those "two security questions" at the airport any more. Huh.

Per Slashdot, Red Hat's upcoming desktop app has an interesting code name.

On Elevator Etiquette.
I am a firm believer in not holding the elevator door for stragglers. I am especially annoyed by people who hold the door when the car is full of people waiting to go. Think about it: You're act of kindness for one person is actually slowing down a dozen other people waiting to go. Your net karma: You screwed 11 people, very bad! As well, you are screwing people who might be waiting for the elevator at its destination floor; in fact, you could be screwing people on multiple floors, just because some chump is too lazy to run to catch the elevator and too impatient to take the next one. Ergo, I never expect anyone to hold the door for me and I will not hold it for you (this is why when I get in an elevator I immediately move to the back of the car -- so there's no way I can be expected to reach the Open Door button). It's nothing personal, it's just rude to the rest of the world.

You Are Where You Live is a pretty interesting, though not terribly detailed, look at what your ZIP code says about you to telemarketers, et al. My PRIZM code seems to be "Young Literati," though all my neighbors are definitely "American Dreams." Link courtesy Forbes FYI.

I don't know how I got by without the Google Toolbar (IE only). It's awesome on its own, but it's the Experimental Features that make it really invaluable.

Friday the 13th, people...
So I'm driving home from work. I'm stopped at a three-way stop, one of these funky triangular intersections where there's no real way to go straight. Visibility is poor, so there are regular squabbles over who has the right of way.
So anyway, in typical fashion, the car in front of me and a giant black pickup truck get into a skirmish in the middle of the intersection. Car in front of me maneuvers around the truck, but the truck dude is furious that he's been cut off. He pulls into a driveway that slopes seriously upward and leaps from his car to scream at the driver who cut him off. But unfortunately, he has not put his car in park. And it quickly starts rolling backwards through the intersection.
In one of the most hilarious emotional turnarounds I've ever seen, the driver's anger turns into panic in the space of a millisecond. He runs after the truck, but it's too late. It slams into a parked car across the street from the driveway.
Freaking out, he jumps into the truck and peels out, looking around him to make sure no one saw him, just like you see in the movies. But of course I saw him, as did a few other drivers and residents of nearby houses (including a woman from the house he pulled into).
I manage to get four characters of the license plate, but I have no idea what to do with this information. I drive home and look up the number for that neighborhood's police department. Much to my surprise, the officer who answers the phone doesn't know what to do either. I'm put on hold for about 10 minutes until he finally comes back on the line and tells me that since no one has filed a report, I should leave a note on the car, and the cops will contact me later for a statement.
I drive back to the scene of the crime. Eventually a woman from across the street comes out and we swap stories. She heard the yelling, the crash, and the maniac driving away. Finally the car's owner comes down, and to my surprise she's not that angry, just disappointed. She says the driver is a "jerk." And I agree. I give her the info, tell her what happened, and I'm on my way.
So now I'm wondering: Does the good karma of telling this woman who hit her car outweigh the bad karma of being a rat?

I hate it when I think of something really cool to post, then forget, then remember that I had something cool to post... only to forget what it was. Instead I'll relate another dream from last night. This time I realized I had left something in my highschool locker, you know, 12 years ago. So I went back to highschool (pantsless, of course), and sure enough my locker was still there, very dusty from neglect. But I couldn't open it because I'd long since forgotten the combination. Being pantsless made things much more difficult.

Oh, and I figured out (obviously?) why I'm so often sans pants in my dreams: Because I don't wear pants when I sleep. Of course.

I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to multi-vitamins. Or something in multi-vitamins. For months I've been having this strange choking sensation after I eat dinner. My doctor thought it was cat hair allergies, but I have been skeptical. I've experimented with everything... only after cutting out my multi-vitamin has the choking sensation stopped. Damn you, Fred Flintstone!!!

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So here's my bizarre dream from last night. I was part of a hypothetical season of The Real World which took place in a very conservative college town in Georgia. (A state which I've never visited.) The catch was that the house would be populated by crazy liberal smokers/drinkers/sex fiends and MTV would get to film their interaction with the Bible thumper locals. But on the first show, in a bit of Road Rules/Fear Factor stuntsmanship, the entire house is required to strip and sit in a large bathtub for three days. "It has a built-in sleeping area," we're told. After this it gets hazy, but needless to say it's very cold and very wet.

Here's another million-dollar idea: The Fear Factor Cookbook.

If you're at Seybold on 9/11 (spooky day to be in Moscone Center...), I'll be speaking as part of the Technology Strategy track, in a segment called "Influencing Your Company's Vision." Come on by. Bring vegetables to toss.

I tried grinding my own beef today, a process which was extremely enjoyable (though the end product was not all that noticably different than Safeway's pre-ground). If you're a dedicated cook, I recommend trying it. If you're a really dedicated cook, I recommended hitting this site.

Today I am the birthday boy. I thusly think the name of this store is amusing.

A chronology of recent events.
9/5, 2pm - Arrive at home, anticipating delivery of bunk beds for kiddie room. Delivery (privately shipped from Texas) is scheduled for 2 to 4pm.
4pm - No sign of delivery folks.
6pm - Still no sign of delivery folks. Call to shipping company yields answering machine.
6:30pm - Depart for movie screening.
7:30pm - Begin to sit through one of the worst films of the year.
9:30pm - Arrive home. Of course, message on our machine from shippers state that they were here "a little while ago" and would try to deliver the beds first thing the following morning, at 7:30am.
10:30pm - Go to bed.
11pm - Telephone rings. It's the shippers. Can they come now? Sure. They're in Oakland and will arrive in an hour.
9/6, 12 midnight - The world's latest furniture delivery is completed. The very southern guys refer to us as "Mister Null" and "Miss Ashley." They smell bad. Finally, return to bed.
1:30am - Giant pregnant wife suddenly decides she is going to throw up. Bathroom sprint and much coughing ensues. Not entirely sure if she really needed to throw up or if it was just indigestion. Finally get back to sleep.
3am - Beep beep beep beep beep beep. What is that beeping? It's like a truck backing up, but it's coming from inside the house. I scour the house and finally find the source -- Miss Ashley's cell phone going crazy. It's in her purse, which is in the bathroom because she thought she had antacids in there.
7:30am - Reluctantly wake up to massive headache. Miss Ashley fiddles with the phone to reveal 7 messages from the shipping company, all left while we were at the movie.

Okay, I guess I know what it'll be like when this baby gets here. Geez.

Checked out the Yes Yoko Ono exhibit today at SFMOMA. Packed with people all trying to figure out if it all really came down to "yes" or if there was something more to it. Speaking of art, it made me think of a really great art idea. I'm not going to tell you what it is though because you might steal it.

American Idol's finale is tonight. I actually tried to call in twice last night to vote for Kelly, but it was busy. By the way, did anyone else think that the winner of the British Pop Idol -- who performed last night as well -- sucked? I found his singing ability poor.

The Oakland A's have won 19 games in a row now, and naturally the local media are wondering "where are the fans!?" Doesn't take a genius to figure that out. Here they are.

Maddening! Now Half Mast is back in the 1.1 million range. This thing must be rigged.

P.S. Super Nachos at the Metreon are about $7.50.

Stephanie Greene produces some amazing work. She frequently puts ready-to-hang abstracts up on eBay. Check out the assemblages -- pop art meets Dali?

This poorly-proofread page of "forbidden movie plots" is worth a look. I like especially how I Am Sam is referred to as Sam I Am. But dude, what's your beef with Minority Report? (Courtesy of reader Jim Dedman.)

I'm posting this here as a public service for the future of humanity and the Net. Fixing a stuck Alpine in-dash three-disc CD player/changer: Take a thin but stiff piece of plastic (a very thin ruler will work, or you can try a piece of thin cardboard) and slide it in between the bottom of the disc cartridge and the slot into which it goes. Insert the plastic toward the right of the unit -- when it hits the back wall, slide it to the left. You will hit a latch underneath the cartridge and the stuck cartridge will manually eject. Take out any discs in the cartridge, re-insert it, and try shifting between discs. Eject again, and repeat the latch trick as needed. Eventually everything will work right.

August posts here.