Friday, August 27, 2010

Game Over

"Hey, whatcha doin?"

"I'm playing this new pinball game on the iPad. Just like the real thing, except I can't tilt it."

"What's tilt mean?"

"Well, that's when you bump it ... hey, get out of the way ... I can't see the ball!!!"

"Tilt like what? Like when I purrrr?"

"Kink! I can't see what I'm doing! Move your butt!"

"Ohhhh, look at the little ball go! Hey, I can get it, really I can! Watch this ..."

"No, Kink, not now! We can chase the mouse toy later. I'm about to beat my high score!"

"What's a high score? Ohhhh, look at the ball go! I can get it, really I can ... Watch this ..."

"Kink! Uh, never mind. Game Over."

"What's Game Over?"

"Nap time."

"I like this game! Chase the ball, Game Over and Nap Time. We'll take a cat nap and play again, OK?"

"You're on, Kink, you're on."

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Ta-chich! Ta-chich!

That's the sound mockingbirds make when there's a predator around.

I'm always looking for signs of predators after that incident in Antarctica, but that's another story.

This time I was grillin' ribs on the BBQ when I heard "ta-chich! ta-chich" which is mockingbird for "cat."

I looked around but no cat. So I called ...

"Kink! Old buddy, Kink! Where are you?" And soon enough a pair of Kink-ears appeared behind the fence.

"Ah, Kink-O, you old mockingbird hunter, they're up there!" I pointed to the live oak tree but Kink wasn't interested seeing as how his cover had been blown. Besides, the aroma of the cooking ribs got his full attention. He ambled towards the back door and meowed to be let in.

I opened the door and he headed right to the kitchen table, found a spot right in the middle and proceeded to groom his hindquarters, as they say in polite company.

Ribs in 10 good buddy, I said!

Kink flicked his tail in response.

Friday, August 13, 2010

Soonish Come

Sat all day in Sacramento and finally shipped out, on mule, this afternoon.


Thursday, August 12, 2010

Soon Come

Status: Prepared for Shipment

Stay tooned!

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Another Terabyte!

I can't believe I ordered a computer with a terabyte of disc storage!

I didn't even see my first terabyte until 1997 when I started a job to, among other things, manager a whopping FOUR terabytes of disc storage.

Now, my kids complain with sarcastic t-shirts:

Dad went to Disney World and all I got was a lousy terabyte!

Back when I was a kid we couldn't even afford binary; all we had were 0's. The rich neighbors down the street had 0's AND 1's. In an engineering lab in college we built an 8-bit storage latch out of transistors, barely above bearskins and flint knives, and clocked data in using pushbuttons. You got an A if your latch didn't catch fire.

I got a B-.

(It was a small fire, hardly worth using a fire extinguisher on. Srsly.)

My cat, who has more bytes in his flea collar than Carter has liver pills (look it up) got an A to give you a clue.

I don't know what I'm going to do with another terabyte. Did I mention that I already have three? Yeah, this will be number four, not to mention the multiple of gigabytes wandering around the household. Since my entire life fits into a flea collar I'm thinking about renting out the extra space.

I could become a byte slumlord. Sorta like the ring of that. At least I won't have to worry about plumbing.

Saturday, August 07, 2010


An autopilot is a good thing in an airplane.

Not so much in a car.

Today I was on autopilot. Just driving along, singing radio songs, drinking coffee and having a good time.

Too bad “autopilot” missed the turn.

So, there I was, cruising down the highway when suddenly, out of the blue, a Red Light.

Cue Scooby-Doo.

Arrrrrrrroooouuuuugggggghhhhh?? Red Right??? Ruh Roh!

There shouldn’t be a red light on the highway to Austin, but that’s because I wasn’t on the highway to Austin. I was on the road to Moronville, population me.

I turned off the Metallica, put away my guitar, dumped the ineffectual coffee out the window and made a U-turn at the designated U-turn-4-Morons U-turn place. Judging from the tire marks in the lane I wasn’t the first.

When I eventually arrived at my destination I used the excuse that I got stuck behind a herd of sheep, which always worked in England, and that seemed to be OK. Nobody challenged it.

Next time I have my truck serviced I’m going to have them check that autopilot. I think it’s flakey.

Friday, August 06, 2010

ET No Phone Home

I forgot to take my cell phone with me the other day. Left it on the counter. Just walked out of the house like it was 1989.

No. Cell. Phone.

Actually, to be precise, I forgot to take my shirt pocket computer with a built-in phone.

I was mapless. Facebookless. Googleless. And helpless.

About ten minutes into my drive to the airport, and too far gone (in many ways) to return, I habitually patted my belt where my iPhone lives only to pat my belt.

No phone. No computer.

Just belt. Just panic.

For an instant I thought that I had put the iPhone in the console as I often do, but the console was empty save for some parking receipts, a few pennies and an empty Tic Tac.

No phone.

What to do, what to do?? I couldn’t check on traffic conditions. I couldn’t check on the weather. I couldn’t call that high school friend I’ve been meaning to call for the last 30 years. I was helpless.

How did we survive 1989? Srsly!

Finally, at the airport, I picked up my passenger and my first words were not “Hey, how was the flight?” or “Hey, you must be exhausted, do you want to grab a coffee or a bite to eat?” or “Hey, good to see you!” rather it was “I can’t believe I left my iPhone at home!”

My friend, sensing alarm, proffered her Blackberry and asked, “Do you need to make a call?”

I looked at the Blackberry and had a quick fantasy about grabbing it and licking the display in some sort of techno-orgy kind of moment, but snapped out of it (realizing it wasn’t an iPhone) and replied, shakily, “No thanks, it can wait.”

We drove home in silence.

My iPhone was there at home in its dock fully charged and somewhat sad that it didn’t get a ride to the airport. For my part I promised not to leave it Home Alone again.

1989, pffft! No wonder we moved on!