Posts
Spring ahead. Fall back. Buc doesn't understand. But he will understand his need to do his business and eat. The question will be, do those needs fall back,too.
I have been thinking about ways to get him adjusted to the idea that Daylight Saving Time is coming to an end tonight. (This will be his first one so I really should do something special--dog treats with whipped cream and party hats or something.)
I simply change a few clocks and that's it. My computer thinks for itself. But my dear puppy is a different matter. There is no way he will get this.
He is really good at spring ahead. Puppys spring at everything. Fall back however, is more like a slow shuffle and is usually only excuted under some form of threat such as a bigger dog or a menacing rolled up newspaper.
I could recognize his intelligence and take it from that point of view. Wagging tail equals clock, Four paws equal fifteen minutes each. Put them together and you have an intellectual solution. Drop a biscuit in there and attention is pretty good.
But come tomorrow morning, say 4:15 or so, Buc is going to think it is 5:15 and the whining and let me out barks will start. I can feel it in my tired bones.
No dog owner thought up Daylight Savings Time.
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Friday, October 29, 2004
Sneaky stuff
Have you ever noticed how many programs you need just to make Windows work right?
I just downloaded and installed shredder and another spyware detection program. Now, don't get me wrong, I am all for research and finding out how to better target potential customers, but this is downright sneaky. Who gave these people the right to come into a personal computer, leave a little dialer, and sneak out? Get your lame ass out there into the marketplace and do your research the old fashioned way. Ask people.
I am surprised that some lawyer hasn't sued these guys for everything they are worth plus 10%. Guess they are too busy with getting their piece of the post election spotlight.
You need a bunch of stuff if you are going to use Windows. Firewall. Virus protection. Spyware and adware dections. Shredders. New protections to take care of the new problems with Service Pack 2 for Windows XP. Thankfully, most of those programs are free or you can find a free alternative at one of the download sites like zdnet or twocows.
But that may be where the sneaky stuff comes from in the first place. A warning to the spybot and adware crowd: You better straighten up because the election will be over in February and some of these lawyers are going to need work.
I just downloaded and installed shredder and another spyware detection program. Now, don't get me wrong, I am all for research and finding out how to better target potential customers, but this is downright sneaky. Who gave these people the right to come into a personal computer, leave a little dialer, and sneak out? Get your lame ass out there into the marketplace and do your research the old fashioned way. Ask people.
I am surprised that some lawyer hasn't sued these guys for everything they are worth plus 10%. Guess they are too busy with getting their piece of the post election spotlight.
You need a bunch of stuff if you are going to use Windows. Firewall. Virus protection. Spyware and adware dections. Shredders. New protections to take care of the new problems with Service Pack 2 for Windows XP. Thankfully, most of those programs are free or you can find a free alternative at one of the download sites like zdnet or twocows.
But that may be where the sneaky stuff comes from in the first place. A warning to the spybot and adware crowd: You better straighten up because the election will be over in February and some of these lawyers are going to need work.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
The Abs Diet
Ok, I feel a little stupid. I'm late 50 something and I got suckered in. (They say advertising people are the easiest ones to sell.) I did Atkins and lost 15 pounds. Ten can home. I was pushing my pants again and I hate to shop for clothes. So....
There it was, The Abs Diet. It's a new program and book, complete with the nagging email newsletter and all. I found it on menshealth.com which is one of my favorite sites. There is a lot of good stuff there including receipes for smoothies and some other cool things. But their latest push was The Abs Diet book. I bit.
So now two workouts into this, I feel like the twenty year old still inside me is rolling on the floor laughing. "Ca'mon you old goat, it's just a crunch you can do it. You know a chiropractor. You know a shrink. Ca'mon just think how you will look when you go to the beach and play shuffleboard with the other old goats. LOL!!"
I'll show him. And I did. I pressed on. I am using heavy weights again--some up to 30 pounds even. My shoulder hurts, my butt hurts, my abs hurt. No pain. No gain. Even the dog turned his head while I was doing this. Whimper.
The reward was a Hallie Berry Smoothie. Some fruit. Some cooked oatmeal. Some protien powder, some 1% milk. Blend. Very pretty but it tasted like wallpaper paste. Yes, I know what wallpaper paste tastes like.
And I know how pain feels today.
Go ahead and laugh. I am going to be the stud at the old folks home. *sticks out tongue*
There it was, The Abs Diet. It's a new program and book, complete with the nagging email newsletter and all. I found it on menshealth.com which is one of my favorite sites. There is a lot of good stuff there including receipes for smoothies and some other cool things. But their latest push was The Abs Diet book. I bit.
So now two workouts into this, I feel like the twenty year old still inside me is rolling on the floor laughing. "Ca'mon you old goat, it's just a crunch you can do it. You know a chiropractor. You know a shrink. Ca'mon just think how you will look when you go to the beach and play shuffleboard with the other old goats. LOL!!"
I'll show him. And I did. I pressed on. I am using heavy weights again--some up to 30 pounds even. My shoulder hurts, my butt hurts, my abs hurt. No pain. No gain. Even the dog turned his head while I was doing this. Whimper.
The reward was a Hallie Berry Smoothie. Some fruit. Some cooked oatmeal. Some protien powder, some 1% milk. Blend. Very pretty but it tasted like wallpaper paste. Yes, I know what wallpaper paste tastes like.
And I know how pain feels today.
Go ahead and laugh. I am going to be the stud at the old folks home. *sticks out tongue*
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
The problem with the corn harvest
This is a beautiful time of year in fly-over country. It's the harvest. And as you fly across, maybe you have noticed the colors change from green to brown. The countryside looks like India during the drought part of the year. But in fly-over country, brown means only one thing.
Harvest.
The beans are already gone and the corn stands tall and ready for the combine to come along and pluck more of the stuff that the Farm Program is already buried in. Cows get excited as they see full wagons and big trucks of their favorite munchie going bye. (Beats watching empty cattle trucks coming back for sure!)
There is nothing quite like the sound of the rustle a dry field of cornstalks makes in the chill of the fall wind. The rustle talks to you. Go South now. The geese and birds listen. The people buy snowshovels and heavy coats and mittens and say they are ready for anything. Is that a genetic mutation or something?
But there is a problem in corn county. Cobs. The country is covered in cobs. Back in the days before indoor plumbing, they were close by the outhouse just in case company came and the Sears catalog was running a little thin.
But things have changed and there is no good use for cobs anymore. Farmers need some help or before long, the cob pile will be higher than the national debt.
Maybe Senator Hagel could help get some attention on the problem. He seems to always be around a television camera. But what could he really do? He has enough clout that there should be something. Let's see. Nebraska is on the way to Colorado. Colorado has mountains. Maybe he could get a bill passed that allows sneaky Mexicans to come to Nebraska on work visas to help build a giant cob mountain. Before long, the mountain would be covered in snow and Nebraska could pick off some of those skiers headed for Colorado. Heck, a mountain is a mountain and moguls made from potential Wheaties flake holders might have some marketing appeal. Just put it out there next to that tourist arch by Kearney. Tourists could find their way back from Kearney, go into that arch thing, and catch the cob lift on the other side. They could ski down the cob mountain and come out back at Kearney and be bused back to the car and be off to Colorado as soon as they could find their way back to the Interstate.
But some folks are going to fall and if you have ever had a nip of cob, you know they are not all that tasty. Maybe the Senator could work with the Senator from Hersey, Pennsylvania and get a bill passed to get all cobs covered in Hersey's chocolate. That would make them taste like an all-day Snickers bar.
But that's a problem, too. We don't want those cobs to last all day. We want them to go away.
Guess I just don't have a reasonable idea for what to do with the cobs. My ideas are just to corny.
Harvest.
The beans are already gone and the corn stands tall and ready for the combine to come along and pluck more of the stuff that the Farm Program is already buried in. Cows get excited as they see full wagons and big trucks of their favorite munchie going bye. (Beats watching empty cattle trucks coming back for sure!)
There is nothing quite like the sound of the rustle a dry field of cornstalks makes in the chill of the fall wind. The rustle talks to you. Go South now. The geese and birds listen. The people buy snowshovels and heavy coats and mittens and say they are ready for anything. Is that a genetic mutation or something?
But there is a problem in corn county. Cobs. The country is covered in cobs. Back in the days before indoor plumbing, they were close by the outhouse just in case company came and the Sears catalog was running a little thin.
But things have changed and there is no good use for cobs anymore. Farmers need some help or before long, the cob pile will be higher than the national debt.
Maybe Senator Hagel could help get some attention on the problem. He seems to always be around a television camera. But what could he really do? He has enough clout that there should be something. Let's see. Nebraska is on the way to Colorado. Colorado has mountains. Maybe he could get a bill passed that allows sneaky Mexicans to come to Nebraska on work visas to help build a giant cob mountain. Before long, the mountain would be covered in snow and Nebraska could pick off some of those skiers headed for Colorado. Heck, a mountain is a mountain and moguls made from potential Wheaties flake holders might have some marketing appeal. Just put it out there next to that tourist arch by Kearney. Tourists could find their way back from Kearney, go into that arch thing, and catch the cob lift on the other side. They could ski down the cob mountain and come out back at Kearney and be bused back to the car and be off to Colorado as soon as they could find their way back to the Interstate.
But some folks are going to fall and if you have ever had a nip of cob, you know they are not all that tasty. Maybe the Senator could work with the Senator from Hersey, Pennsylvania and get a bill passed to get all cobs covered in Hersey's chocolate. That would make them taste like an all-day Snickers bar.
But that's a problem, too. We don't want those cobs to last all day. We want them to go away.
Guess I just don't have a reasonable idea for what to do with the cobs. My ideas are just to corny.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Tail in my tennis shoe
There is nothing more excited than a puppy at five in the morning. Buc is ready to go and lets your know it with a few quick barks right about five. I stumble out of bed, take the blender thingie out of the fridge and start whipping the smoothie I created the night before and head for the box. (The box is where Buc does his overnights, time when I am not there, yada.) You can hear his tail whacking the side of the box and as I get within range of opening the little metal gate, his tail is knocking the poor box to death.
He bounds out of the box, his body being wagged by the out of control tail, and does a ears down dance around my feet until I pet him and he jumps to my knees for the first of a couple of thousand daily licks. The jumping starts as soon as I pick up the double dog dish and fill one side with water and the other side with Puppy Chow. How can they eat that stuff?
Normally, the dish is enough of a distraction to give me time to put my, jeans, socks, tennies, and jacket on and be ready for him once he cleans out the dish. With Wal-Mart plastic sack in one hand, and his chewed up leash in the other, he knows it is time to head for the neighbor's grass.
But not today. I was slow. He was fast. He got done eating just as I stood up to slide my foot into my tennis shoe. He was dancing around and I didn't see his tail innocently fall into the tennis shoe just as my foot was going down into it.
Poor guy. He howled and jumped away with my leg in tow. He bit at it. And I hopped after him, trying not to fall and kill us both. I reached to pull off the shoe. He pushed at my hand with his paw. We spun around. I hit the floor. The shoe came off. The tail came out. He ran for the safey of the box.
I would to if I lived with a common abuser like that. I am surprised the neighbors didn't call the cops with all of that racket.
There is an amazing tail to start your day, huh.
He bounds out of the box, his body being wagged by the out of control tail, and does a ears down dance around my feet until I pet him and he jumps to my knees for the first of a couple of thousand daily licks. The jumping starts as soon as I pick up the double dog dish and fill one side with water and the other side with Puppy Chow. How can they eat that stuff?
Normally, the dish is enough of a distraction to give me time to put my, jeans, socks, tennies, and jacket on and be ready for him once he cleans out the dish. With Wal-Mart plastic sack in one hand, and his chewed up leash in the other, he knows it is time to head for the neighbor's grass.
But not today. I was slow. He was fast. He got done eating just as I stood up to slide my foot into my tennis shoe. He was dancing around and I didn't see his tail innocently fall into the tennis shoe just as my foot was going down into it.
Poor guy. He howled and jumped away with my leg in tow. He bit at it. And I hopped after him, trying not to fall and kill us both. I reached to pull off the shoe. He pushed at my hand with his paw. We spun around. I hit the floor. The shoe came off. The tail came out. He ran for the safey of the box.
I would to if I lived with a common abuser like that. I am surprised the neighbors didn't call the cops with all of that racket.
There is an amazing tail to start your day, huh.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Former Husker Nut
I used to be pretty excited about Saturday by now. But I am not. I am not the Husker football nut that I used to be. No tickets. Almost 19 years without a drink. Heck, I don't even remember the entire routine of the band when it comes on the field. Once upon a time I knew all of that stuff. I knew all of the players and the players-to-be. I even knew who we could beat and who would be a challenge. See, I even said "we" in the last sentence. I had ownership and advance knowledge that even the players didn't have.
Now I don't know much of anything about football except what I see on TV. And frankly, I am not sure the TV guy is more into than I am.
When Nebraska won, I was fairly happy and cheerful all week. When they lost, I was grumpy all week. Now I am just OK.
Sports are no longer that important to me. Inside my old beating hear, I just don't get that excited about competitive sports. No "Go Big Red." No "D" or "O" talk. No bad feelings toward people in Kansas and Missouri. No fear of Oklahoma or Texas. No defending Osborn for keeping thugs in white helmets with red "N" on them. Nothing.
Hell, I even quit playing golf.
It's just more fun to take Buc for a walk.
Now I don't know much of anything about football except what I see on TV. And frankly, I am not sure the TV guy is more into than I am.
When Nebraska won, I was fairly happy and cheerful all week. When they lost, I was grumpy all week. Now I am just OK.
Sports are no longer that important to me. Inside my old beating hear, I just don't get that excited about competitive sports. No "Go Big Red." No "D" or "O" talk. No bad feelings toward people in Kansas and Missouri. No fear of Oklahoma or Texas. No defending Osborn for keeping thugs in white helmets with red "N" on them. Nothing.
Hell, I even quit playing golf.
It's just more fun to take Buc for a walk.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Social Security and fog
It's kind of foggy this morning. There is a little mist in the air so Buc was in a big hurry to do his business and put the door between Mother Nature and the warm bed I had recently vacated. (No, he doesn't get to sleep with me but he does get to lay on the bed while I get dressed.)
That's a much better alternative than having him jump around at my feet while I am trying to get dressed. Have you ever tried to put on a sock when your loving pooch decides to nip at the end of it? I even look like an old guy in the famous Coppertone ad when he decides that my undies need to be pulled down from behind. The dog has no sense of acceptable nudity.
Buc doesn't realize that I ain't no pup anymore. He doesn't understand why something like Social Security is becomming an issue with me. (A bone in every old dog house, if you will.) I have been paying that stupid tax since I was fifteen or around the time someone made the cheap ballpoint pen the latest thing. Pocket protectors soon followed but I wasn't big on those.
We all paid into this and anyone, old or young, knows changes have to be made to make sure those fifteen year old kids slaving away today get their share, too. Ain't gonna happen unless some changes are made and we all have to be willing to make them. Older retirement age or smaller benefits for people who want to retire younger. Means testing. What the heck, if you made it big, why not let your share of Social Security go to your grandchildren? And, maybe most of all, a constitutional amendment which bars the greedy Congress from spending the money on dumb things that create their dumb legacy.
Buc understands. He wants a warm bed of his own away from the drizzle of a foggy day. I agreed to provide that. All he has to do is be a good puppy and work hard at not pooping or peeing in the house; learning to sit and shake; and not bite anyone. If he does all of those things, the warm bed is a done deal. Pay attention government.
That's a much better alternative than having him jump around at my feet while I am trying to get dressed. Have you ever tried to put on a sock when your loving pooch decides to nip at the end of it? I even look like an old guy in the famous Coppertone ad when he decides that my undies need to be pulled down from behind. The dog has no sense of acceptable nudity.
Buc doesn't realize that I ain't no pup anymore. He doesn't understand why something like Social Security is becomming an issue with me. (A bone in every old dog house, if you will.) I have been paying that stupid tax since I was fifteen or around the time someone made the cheap ballpoint pen the latest thing. Pocket protectors soon followed but I wasn't big on those.
We all paid into this and anyone, old or young, knows changes have to be made to make sure those fifteen year old kids slaving away today get their share, too. Ain't gonna happen unless some changes are made and we all have to be willing to make them. Older retirement age or smaller benefits for people who want to retire younger. Means testing. What the heck, if you made it big, why not let your share of Social Security go to your grandchildren? And, maybe most of all, a constitutional amendment which bars the greedy Congress from spending the money on dumb things that create their dumb legacy.
Buc understands. He wants a warm bed of his own away from the drizzle of a foggy day. I agreed to provide that. All he has to do is be a good puppy and work hard at not pooping or peeing in the house; learning to sit and shake; and not bite anyone. If he does all of those things, the warm bed is a done deal. Pay attention government.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
I know more about the soldier
Well I got the email for the soldier "adoption" program sponsored by operationac.com It's a great program where you can adopt a soldier in Iraq or Afganistan and send them stuff they need; correspond with them; and hopefully brighten their day.
I applied and yesterday I learned who my soldier is. His name is Lt. Yarber. That's all I know other than his address which is..."any doctor or any nurse-31st Combat Support Hospital." :o(
He's hurt. Now I am really worried. I am sending off my first package today and hope to learn more soon.
God acts in strange ways I guess. While I thought I would end up sending stuff to a tank somewhere in Iraq, I am sending stuff to a hospital--a MASH unit if you will. We have a lot in common already. I have more stitches in me than a cheap Sears suit. Heck, I have had a few big hills to climb because of polio. Hopefully I can hold his pack as he starts his climb. I will let you know what I hear.
If you have a second, say a prayer for Lt. Yarber and all of the others in the 31st Combat Support Hospital. Doctors and nurses, too.
They are our very best and they are paying a great price. The least we can do is make sure they get good value for their investment.
God speed Lt. Yarber. God knows we are thinking about you.
I applied and yesterday I learned who my soldier is. His name is Lt. Yarber. That's all I know other than his address which is..."any doctor or any nurse-31st Combat Support Hospital." :o(
He's hurt. Now I am really worried. I am sending off my first package today and hope to learn more soon.
God acts in strange ways I guess. While I thought I would end up sending stuff to a tank somewhere in Iraq, I am sending stuff to a hospital--a MASH unit if you will. We have a lot in common already. I have more stitches in me than a cheap Sears suit. Heck, I have had a few big hills to climb because of polio. Hopefully I can hold his pack as he starts his climb. I will let you know what I hear.
If you have a second, say a prayer for Lt. Yarber and all of the others in the 31st Combat Support Hospital. Doctors and nurses, too.
They are our very best and they are paying a great price. The least we can do is make sure they get good value for their investment.
God speed Lt. Yarber. God knows we are thinking about you.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Nebraska lives up to it
Nebraska...the good life.
Well it is in the fall, that's for sure. It's really nice this time of year. The leaves are changing and some of the neighborhood trees are really something to see. Buc and I walk twice a day so I am noticing a little more. He discovered squirrels two days ago. Usually, they bound back and fouth across the trail and he pays no mind. But Saturday, he stopped, his ears perked up, and then he was off--a hung blast of speed that lasted for almost four of the six feet of the remaining leash. The walk tuned into a bunch of sniffs, a poop, and several jolts.
Finally, with fenced yards on both sides of the trail, I thought it was time for him to learn how slow he was and how quick and sneaky the squirrel is. After all, they can climb a tree. One popped up on the trail and I let go of the leash. Buc bolted. The squirrel darted. Buc darted.
The squirrel turned on the juice. Buc sped up. The squirrel angle for the nearest tree. Buc closed the gap. The squirrel went up the tree. Buc circled and barked. The squirrel chuckled.
I told Buc to come so we couldl continue our walk.
He decided to change rolls and I spent ten minutes chasing him and the free flying leash.
Ain't fall in Nebraska great?
Well it is in the fall, that's for sure. It's really nice this time of year. The leaves are changing and some of the neighborhood trees are really something to see. Buc and I walk twice a day so I am noticing a little more. He discovered squirrels two days ago. Usually, they bound back and fouth across the trail and he pays no mind. But Saturday, he stopped, his ears perked up, and then he was off--a hung blast of speed that lasted for almost four of the six feet of the remaining leash. The walk tuned into a bunch of sniffs, a poop, and several jolts.
Finally, with fenced yards on both sides of the trail, I thought it was time for him to learn how slow he was and how quick and sneaky the squirrel is. After all, they can climb a tree. One popped up on the trail and I let go of the leash. Buc bolted. The squirrel darted. Buc darted.
The squirrel turned on the juice. Buc sped up. The squirrel angle for the nearest tree. Buc closed the gap. The squirrel went up the tree. Buc circled and barked. The squirrel chuckled.
I told Buc to come so we couldl continue our walk.
He decided to change rolls and I spent ten minutes chasing him and the free flying leash.
Ain't fall in Nebraska great?
Friday, October 15, 2004
I've got a cold :o(
I hate this time of year. I don't mean the fall. It's beautiful. I mean the cold season. Maybe I should have said the cold and flu season but I am pretty sure someone has copywrited that. Sorry. Sue me.
Since my house is just me and the little pooch, there isn't much sympathy for my cold. In fact, when I sneezed the other day, pooch jumped out of his black and white fur. Now he just backs off a little, raises his floppy ears, and cocks his head to the left. It's not dog language for "gee, I am so sorry you don't feel well" but is more like "what the hell was that explosion?" He immediatly returns to normal and wonders why I am sitting there, doing nothing, when there are plenty of Milk Bones within arms reach.
Hopefully this will be over soon. If it isn't, I will be out of Milk Bones and will have a puppy who doesn't think I don't love him any more. That would be awful, huh.
Cheers! *drinks orange juice, pets puppy on the head and gives him a Milk Bone*
Since my house is just me and the little pooch, there isn't much sympathy for my cold. In fact, when I sneezed the other day, pooch jumped out of his black and white fur. Now he just backs off a little, raises his floppy ears, and cocks his head to the left. It's not dog language for "gee, I am so sorry you don't feel well" but is more like "what the hell was that explosion?" He immediatly returns to normal and wonders why I am sitting there, doing nothing, when there are plenty of Milk Bones within arms reach.
Hopefully this will be over soon. If it isn't, I will be out of Milk Bones and will have a puppy who doesn't think I don't love him any more. That would be awful, huh.
Cheers! *drinks orange juice, pets puppy on the head and gives him a Milk Bone*
Thursday, October 14, 2004
A very cool thing
I heard about this on the radio yesterday. It was an interview with a mom who created a way to get air conditioners to our troops in the Afgan and Iraq combat zones. She is now working on getting little heaters over there. I can understand both. Politics aside, those would be tough conditions and most of the soldiers are kids. Let's face it, a eighteen year old is still a kid even if he or she is carrying a gun. The lady expanded her site to include a way to "adopt" a soldier or a Marine but she was having trouble finding people willing to adopt them.
Trouble? Over my dead PR trained body. Christmas is coming and I can't think of a better present to myself than to make sure a kid in the war zone has a heater, some good boots, plenty of toothbrushes and toothpaste, bags of Snickers and Hersey bars, and some books to read. Can you just imagine how it would be to live in a dirty, make that filthy, uniform for days on end? Can you imagine how great it would be to get some new socks and read a fairly current issue of the Atlantic Monthly or Sports Illustrated, some soap and maybe some face cream for that sunburn? Can you feel a smile for a kid, carrying a gun, doing good work, and scared to death that today may be his day?
I've got time to adopt him. I hope you do, too.
http://www.operationac.com
Tell her America sent you.
Trouble? Over my dead PR trained body. Christmas is coming and I can't think of a better present to myself than to make sure a kid in the war zone has a heater, some good boots, plenty of toothbrushes and toothpaste, bags of Snickers and Hersey bars, and some books to read. Can you just imagine how it would be to live in a dirty, make that filthy, uniform for days on end? Can you imagine how great it would be to get some new socks and read a fairly current issue of the Atlantic Monthly or Sports Illustrated, some soap and maybe some face cream for that sunburn? Can you feel a smile for a kid, carrying a gun, doing good work, and scared to death that today may be his day?
I've got time to adopt him. I hope you do, too.
http://www.operationac.com
Tell her America sent you.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Early morning and little dogs
I have always wanted a dog. I miss Penny, the family Scottie, and she died way back in the 1960's. So, it was time for me to share my golden years with a dog. I have been going to the pound for visits but only one dog caught my eye. By the time I decided to adopt him, he was gone. That was a good thing since the needle or whatever they do, is the other option. I went out again about a month ago and there he was. He's half pointer and half German shepard and he is cute as can be-black with white markings on his feet and a white tip of the tail. We have been having a great time together.
He knows how to sit, shake, and lay down already. Pretty cool, huh. Plus, the young college girls out for their runs just can resist stopping to play with him and he gladly does so. (Hint: If you are a young guy looking to meet pretty young ladies, get a puppy and head for the nearest bike path!)
He is also house broken. I was kind of worried about that but the Humane Society told me to box train him--that means get a dog carrier and put him in it at night and let him out and OUTSIDE first thing in the morning. If you leave, same thing. He treats the box as his turf and won't pee or worse in it. He'll wait until he can get outside but make sure that wait is in seconds, not minutes. It's easy!
Just one word of caution. Be careful when you come out of the shower. They are still too young to know the difference between a hot dog and well, use your imagination.
He knows how to sit, shake, and lay down already. Pretty cool, huh. Plus, the young college girls out for their runs just can resist stopping to play with him and he gladly does so. (Hint: If you are a young guy looking to meet pretty young ladies, get a puppy and head for the nearest bike path!)
He is also house broken. I was kind of worried about that but the Humane Society told me to box train him--that means get a dog carrier and put him in it at night and let him out and OUTSIDE first thing in the morning. If you leave, same thing. He treats the box as his turf and won't pee or worse in it. He'll wait until he can get outside but make sure that wait is in seconds, not minutes. It's easy!
Just one word of caution. Be careful when you come out of the shower. They are still too young to know the difference between a hot dog and well, use your imagination.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
So who is Tommy Lee?
So Tommy Lee is attending classes at Nebraska. Guess he is even trying out for the famed Cornhusker Marching Band. I have a qestion...Who the hell is Tommy Lee and why so much fuss about him?
I realize that question suggests some possibility of terminal old goatism so I went to the trusty net and looked "Dude Lee" up. Lots of tats. Lots of attitude. He'll fit in nicely, maybe.
If he makes the band, the Cornhusker marching one, he could have a lot of fun. Those kids always seem to be having a lot of fun. Lincoln comes alive on football Saturday and the band is the pacemaker. It could be an interesting gig (note the music lingo) for Mr. Lee and the kids in the band. Pearlman says this is good PR for NU. I agree. Every camera in the stadium will be pointed at him in his slick red and white uniform...if he gets in.
After all, the Nebraska drum line is not the best place for an aging rocker.
I realize that question suggests some possibility of terminal old goatism so I went to the trusty net and looked "Dude Lee" up. Lots of tats. Lots of attitude. He'll fit in nicely, maybe.
If he makes the band, the Cornhusker marching one, he could have a lot of fun. Those kids always seem to be having a lot of fun. Lincoln comes alive on football Saturday and the band is the pacemaker. It could be an interesting gig (note the music lingo) for Mr. Lee and the kids in the band. Pearlman says this is good PR for NU. I agree. Every camera in the stadium will be pointed at him in his slick red and white uniform...if he gets in.
After all, the Nebraska drum line is not the best place for an aging rocker.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Companies that piss me off
I spent most of my life, so far at least, helping small business owners become big business owners. That's fun to do and fun to watch until the "big" thing happens.
Take the miracle idea of Microsoft. No, it wasn't the software. It was the license agreement. Don't let anyone kid you, Microsoft did what it did with the license agreement. Do you see another choice that lets you have access to a windows format that isn't associated with the "I agree" choice? Plus, they have their ass protected with fine print which protects them from a deserved sock in the nose if their licensed software screws up your computer. My computer is a brand new E-machine laptop widebody. Nifty. But Windows XP SP2 crashed it but good.
That's not Microsoft's fault. Check the fine print. XP is the Ford Pinto of the computer world. It has more faults than a teenage girl with acne. And the fix is the biggest fault of all.
I was going to call them but my AT&T cellphone got shut off because I didn't pay the 300% data overcharge on time.
That's OK, I have a long memory and my mother said I could carry a grudge into the next two generations.
Just think what Microsoft could have been if Gates had finished college.
Take the miracle idea of Microsoft. No, it wasn't the software. It was the license agreement. Don't let anyone kid you, Microsoft did what it did with the license agreement. Do you see another choice that lets you have access to a windows format that isn't associated with the "I agree" choice? Plus, they have their ass protected with fine print which protects them from a deserved sock in the nose if their licensed software screws up your computer. My computer is a brand new E-machine laptop widebody. Nifty. But Windows XP SP2 crashed it but good.
That's not Microsoft's fault. Check the fine print. XP is the Ford Pinto of the computer world. It has more faults than a teenage girl with acne. And the fix is the biggest fault of all.
I was going to call them but my AT&T cellphone got shut off because I didn't pay the 300% data overcharge on time.
That's OK, I have a long memory and my mother said I could carry a grudge into the next two generations.
Just think what Microsoft could have been if Gates had finished college.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
70-10
That was the score of the Nebraska-Texas Tech game last night. Nebraska had 10. I wrote a sports column for a while and met a few former Huskers and know the grumblimg has to be major this morning. You just don't lose a football game in Nebraska...let alone lose one by 60 points. And in my mind, that's the real problem.
My interviews with former players--some All-Americans--revealed some interesting ideas. These former players are not nearly as football nuts as the local plumber. The players played. The plumber played high school ball and in most cases, he played up to plumber standards. But those are the screaming voices you hear on the radio after the game. They know what to do and how to do it even though they never did it. The former players all say the same thing--it's a game, chill. Sure, theyhated to lose but losses happen.
Football is an interesting game but it isn't life. If it was, we would be at war in Nebraska this morning with anything that moved.
Regroup Huskers. You have a lot of life ahead.
That was the score of the Nebraska-Texas Tech game last night. Nebraska had 10. I wrote a sports column for a while and met a few former Huskers and know the grumblimg has to be major this morning. You just don't lose a football game in Nebraska...let alone lose one by 60 points. And in my mind, that's the real problem.
My interviews with former players--some All-Americans--revealed some interesting ideas. These former players are not nearly as football nuts as the local plumber. The players played. The plumber played high school ball and in most cases, he played up to plumber standards. But those are the screaming voices you hear on the radio after the game. They know what to do and how to do it even though they never did it. The former players all say the same thing--it's a game, chill. Sure, theyhated to lose but losses happen.
Football is an interesting game but it isn't life. If it was, we would be at war in Nebraska this morning with anything that moved.
Regroup Huskers. You have a lot of life ahead.
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Tennies up
Tennies up is pilot talk. The term refers to the command a captain makes to his copilot to raise the landing gear right after takeoff. You are in the air and on the way to your adventure. So it is with my life and so it is with this blog.
Reyna sold me a piece of pecan pie with chocolate in it this morning. The roll guy hasn't shown up and it is Saturday and I expected a nice, fresh, slightly microwaved cinnamin roll with butter. No roll guy. No roll. So Reyna switched me to pie. The girl should sell used cars instead of making all of these different coffee treats at the Coffee House in Lincoln. Nice hat, Reyna.
Buc is tearing up the house by now. He is my new puppy--half pointer and half German Shepard. That means energy and big feet. He let out his morning "get your ass outta bed so I can go outside and pee" bark at about 5:10. Hence, time on my hands at the Coffee House even though I am a sucker for coffee making ladies with a knack for selling used cars, or the last piece of pie.
I have done lotsa (like that computer lingo, huh) things with my life. Some were successful and some were not but all were fun. I was a swash buckling pilot in my younger days. Is that allowed? I created a couple of advertising agencies. Pretty preppy. Wrote a couple of books--A Visit to Hartington and The Last Flight of Kilo Mike and a newspaper column about former Nebraska football players and what they learned from football and life. So, I am a puppy owning skinny Hemingway who is a pilot instead of an Old Man in the Nebraska Sea.
Now it is time to go home and brush my teeth so the after effects of pecan pie with chocolate stop reminding me that I need to spend another hundred bucks to see my dentist.
Reyna sold me a piece of pecan pie with chocolate in it this morning. The roll guy hasn't shown up and it is Saturday and I expected a nice, fresh, slightly microwaved cinnamin roll with butter. No roll guy. No roll. So Reyna switched me to pie. The girl should sell used cars instead of making all of these different coffee treats at the Coffee House in Lincoln. Nice hat, Reyna.
Buc is tearing up the house by now. He is my new puppy--half pointer and half German Shepard. That means energy and big feet. He let out his morning "get your ass outta bed so I can go outside and pee" bark at about 5:10. Hence, time on my hands at the Coffee House even though I am a sucker for coffee making ladies with a knack for selling used cars, or the last piece of pie.
I have done lotsa (like that computer lingo, huh) things with my life. Some were successful and some were not but all were fun. I was a swash buckling pilot in my younger days. Is that allowed? I created a couple of advertising agencies. Pretty preppy. Wrote a couple of books--A Visit to Hartington and The Last Flight of Kilo Mike and a newspaper column about former Nebraska football players and what they learned from football and life. So, I am a puppy owning skinny Hemingway who is a pilot instead of an Old Man in the Nebraska Sea.
Now it is time to go home and brush my teeth so the after effects of pecan pie with chocolate stop reminding me that I need to spend another hundred bucks to see my dentist.
See you tomorrow. Where is the spell checker on this thing?
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