http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Worked late. Got home. Superwife changed into Supernurse. Doing my manly hunter/gatherer thing, I went to Wendys to grab something for everybody to eat. Ate. Supernurse went to work. I fell asleep. Not much to say, some days are like that.
Oh all right. When I get home the guinea pigs start to whistle. Even before I open the door. They apparently hear my footsteps on the porch. They whistle because they want to be fed. Five whistling guinea pigs, the only thing missing are the impatient cries of "garcon!" Because they are French Guinea pigs.
So anyway. Before I come into the house now I have to grab a couple handfuls of weeds to feed them. Being the insolent diners they are, they have no appreciation for the effort, they expect it. Little do they know the contempt I have for them, they get the service I give and nothing more. They prefer dandelions, sometimes they get them, sometimes they only get plaintains. They are pigs. They are swine. It's like having five more kids, only they're penned up, and they can't hit me up for money.
That was hardly worth it, but the wife's at work and the kids need tending to.
Your link to guinea pigs-
guinea pigs
Wendys
Later
Friday, July 11, 2003
Thursday, July 10, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
The Cheapwife was at Target earlier today. She noticed some men’s clothes on clearance she liked. So away we went to Target. If you want to see what a woman likes in men’s clothing just look at her husband. That may not be absolutely true, but it’s close enough.
After two bags full we were done and headed for Royal Fork to get something to eat. Shopping really makes me hungry. Well, that and not eating for a long time.
Ms. Pikachu was acting so normal it was spooky. Trainboy apparently decided to pick up the slack. He said, “Hey, look” and opened his mouth to display a filled-to-capacity quantity of mashed potatoes and gravy, which he then slowly pushed out like some sort of parent’s nightmare play-dough fun factory.
Ms. Pikachu complained that Trainboy “can’t say a sentence without fart or poopy in it.” I told her that he was only copying her, and if she didn’t like it she should stop it herself. She looked like, “what, it’s my fault he acts like me?” Actually it’s mine, but saying that isn’t going to help anyway.
After everybody sitting near us is either grossed-out or offended it’s time to go home. Funny how I never have a belly-full until my belly’s full. Or maybe it isn’t.
So we got home and I thought, I am so overdue to Blog, got to Blog. The wife told me she’d checked out ‘Twelve O’clock High’ from the library and wanted to watch it with me. That’s right, not only will she go to air shows and military museums with me, she’ll check out military movies and watch them with me. God I love this woman. Blogger will have to wait.
We watch the movie. She gets to admire Gregory Peck’s acting abilities. Say that “Gregory…. Peck.” I get to watch a war movie with real B-17’s. It was filmed in ’49. You never see more than about a half-dozen B-17’s at a time. And they crash one of them. It belly-lands and takes out a couple of tents. They were war-surplus back then, sold for scrap. If you could find one to buy now it would cost millions. The crash is almost jaw-dropping extravagant watching it now.
It’s a great movie. In college one of my business instructors was a WW2 pilot, he used the movie as a lesson in management. We watched it in class for class. It was my favorite class. He was my kind of guy. Watch it with an eye on management lessons and it teaches a lot.
Ms. Pikachu asked “Why they didn’t shoot it in color instead of black and white?” I don’t know, maybe for evoking the feel of the era. “But they’d already done ‘Wizard of Oz’ in color before the war.” Dig up Selznick and ask him. Leave me alone.
After the movie the wife said, “Maybe I’m not managing the kids well enough. Maybe I should get more out of them.” Well okay, but I’m a little uneasy at the idea of being married to Gregory… Peck, even if she is playing General Frank Savage. Maybe she can be General Francine Savage. There, that’s the ticket.
No wait, I’ve never really cared for Francine, how about Rebecca, General Rebecca Savage. That’s better, but Savage really sounds kind of … savage, how about General Rebecca Niceperson? It’s working. But General is kind of ostentatious around the home, how about Corporal Rebecca Niceperson.
I’ll just be referred to as “Captain,” or maybe “Sir.” Yeah it all works for me. Get down and give me twenty.
Have your people call my people and we’ll do lunch. Shooting starts next week after we do a rewrite and polish the script some more.
Sorry, sometimes they’re like a runaway engine.
Links:
12 O'Clock High
Gregory Peck
Wizard OF Oz
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
The Cheapwife was at Target earlier today. She noticed some men’s clothes on clearance she liked. So away we went to Target. If you want to see what a woman likes in men’s clothing just look at her husband. That may not be absolutely true, but it’s close enough.
After two bags full we were done and headed for Royal Fork to get something to eat. Shopping really makes me hungry. Well, that and not eating for a long time.
Ms. Pikachu was acting so normal it was spooky. Trainboy apparently decided to pick up the slack. He said, “Hey, look” and opened his mouth to display a filled-to-capacity quantity of mashed potatoes and gravy, which he then slowly pushed out like some sort of parent’s nightmare play-dough fun factory.
Ms. Pikachu complained that Trainboy “can’t say a sentence without fart or poopy in it.” I told her that he was only copying her, and if she didn’t like it she should stop it herself. She looked like, “what, it’s my fault he acts like me?” Actually it’s mine, but saying that isn’t going to help anyway.
After everybody sitting near us is either grossed-out or offended it’s time to go home. Funny how I never have a belly-full until my belly’s full. Or maybe it isn’t.
So we got home and I thought, I am so overdue to Blog, got to Blog. The wife told me she’d checked out ‘Twelve O’clock High’ from the library and wanted to watch it with me. That’s right, not only will she go to air shows and military museums with me, she’ll check out military movies and watch them with me. God I love this woman. Blogger will have to wait.
We watch the movie. She gets to admire Gregory Peck’s acting abilities. Say that “Gregory…. Peck.” I get to watch a war movie with real B-17’s. It was filmed in ’49. You never see more than about a half-dozen B-17’s at a time. And they crash one of them. It belly-lands and takes out a couple of tents. They were war-surplus back then, sold for scrap. If you could find one to buy now it would cost millions. The crash is almost jaw-dropping extravagant watching it now.
It’s a great movie. In college one of my business instructors was a WW2 pilot, he used the movie as a lesson in management. We watched it in class for class. It was my favorite class. He was my kind of guy. Watch it with an eye on management lessons and it teaches a lot.
Ms. Pikachu asked “Why they didn’t shoot it in color instead of black and white?” I don’t know, maybe for evoking the feel of the era. “But they’d already done ‘Wizard of Oz’ in color before the war.” Dig up Selznick and ask him. Leave me alone.
After the movie the wife said, “Maybe I’m not managing the kids well enough. Maybe I should get more out of them.” Well okay, but I’m a little uneasy at the idea of being married to Gregory… Peck, even if she is playing General Frank Savage. Maybe she can be General Francine Savage. There, that’s the ticket.
No wait, I’ve never really cared for Francine, how about Rebecca, General Rebecca Savage. That’s better, but Savage really sounds kind of … savage, how about General Rebecca Niceperson? It’s working. But General is kind of ostentatious around the home, how about Corporal Rebecca Niceperson.
I’ll just be referred to as “Captain,” or maybe “Sir.” Yeah it all works for me. Get down and give me twenty.
Have your people call my people and we’ll do lunch. Shooting starts next week after we do a rewrite and polish the script some more.
Sorry, sometimes they’re like a runaway engine.
Links:
12 O'Clock High
Gregory Peck
Wizard OF Oz
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
We went to a Cedar Rapids Kernels baseball game. They're the local minor league team. Don't ask what league or level, I neither know nor care. We arrived late, of course.
It was already the second inning and the locals were already losing. The visiting team, the Beloit Snappers, was at bat. I saw that name on their jerseys and thought, what were they thinking? Snappers? Is that the turtle? Were they once the Indians, but out of racial sensitivity renamed the team for a fish- the Red Snappers? Is their first love football, but they aren't big enough? Questions, questions, and it just distracts from the game. Focus, gotta focus. Are they a team of casual photographers? Are they zipper challenged? Stop it, stop it, make the voices go away.
A Snapper hit one deep. Maybe he... snapped it. He rounded first and headed for second. When he got there he slid. I would swear he was already going vertical when the throw came in. The ump called him out. He protested most strenuously. The ump could be glad such robbery cannot result in prosecution. Had they called the cops nobody but the victim would have seen a thing. Who, me? I was in the can with about 4,000 others. Such is the home field advantage- big cans.
Call me cynical, but it seemed to me the ump was just trying to keep the game reasonably close for the home crowd. Because it's a new stadium and you have to keep the crowd there so they'll keep buying. It would do no good if everybody left early during a blowout, the place needs to be paid for. There’s a lot to pay for. It even has a big-screen over center field where they run video of the game and crowd shots.
They run replays frequently. But they didn't run a replay of that, uh, questionable call. If it WAS a bad call, there was only one reason to replay it, and there were lots of reasons not too. An ump is kind of like a wife- make it mad, and you will so regret it. All you'll have left is your clothes. The ump put up with the Snapper’s tantrum like an indulgent mother. He just told him to go to his dugout and think about how his temper affected others, and stay there till it was time for supper, or something like that. I made that up. When I lie I’m honest, it’s policy.
The bad call was never significant to the game. All it cost was a double to the hitter, and much pop/beer and hot dog money from the crowd.
The only things you're allowed to bring into the stadium are your wallet and appetite. The Cheapwife informed me a can of pop is $2.75. Right there you knew that the game had better not go into extra innings or we'd risk starving and dehydration. I'd ask the owners if they'd ever heard of the Laffer curve, but they'd probably reply with their own question, "Ever heard of mortgage payments? Guess how much on a multi-million dollar facility, plus salaries and operating costs?" Even so, they'd get no more than sympathy from the Cheapwife. Sympathy is always free.
The game was almost incidental to the whole experience. If the pitcher isn’t winding up something is being played over the speakers. It seemed that at every changeover there was some contest or gimmick going on. They want you to enjoy the experience and bring every pop swilling, hotdog-scarfing kid you’ve got time and time again. They want to pay the place off early.
They had a contest to see which section could do the best chicken dance. Like I would participate in that. You think I’m gonna do the chicken dance? Not in this lifetime. I could barely conceal my scowl, and amusement. There was a line of exuberant women in front of us. They gave it all they had. Cindi Lauper was right- girls just wanna have fun. Of course, we won. Oh joy. Whoopee. Will they see me on ESPN?
Some fine young men came by and gave everyone in the section a coupon for Chick-Fil-A. Excuse me, why are you giving me this? “Because you’re in the section that won the chicken dance.” Well I’ll be plucked.
The wife returned with Trainboy. He’d wanted to go into one of the kids’ amusement ‘things.’ She informed one of the fine young men that she was a ticket holder for this section and had performed the chicken dance back at the kids’ area. She was regretfully informed that only those sitting in the section at the time of the contest got the coupons. Life is not fair, even if you participate. She got the joy of the dance, but she was plucked.
After the Kernels lost there was a fireworks display. The stadium is like a parabola that reflects all the noise. It hurt the ears. We had enough. We headed out and the grand finale started. We got out of there before the traffic jam could start.
Two for two. I’m batting a thousand this month for getting out before the traffic jams start.
Links-
Cedar Rapids Kernels
Beloit Snappers
Cyndi Lauper
It was already the second inning and the locals were already losing. The visiting team, the Beloit Snappers, was at bat. I saw that name on their jerseys and thought, what were they thinking? Snappers? Is that the turtle? Were they once the Indians, but out of racial sensitivity renamed the team for a fish- the Red Snappers? Is their first love football, but they aren't big enough? Questions, questions, and it just distracts from the game. Focus, gotta focus. Are they a team of casual photographers? Are they zipper challenged? Stop it, stop it, make the voices go away.
A Snapper hit one deep. Maybe he... snapped it. He rounded first and headed for second. When he got there he slid. I would swear he was already going vertical when the throw came in. The ump called him out. He protested most strenuously. The ump could be glad such robbery cannot result in prosecution. Had they called the cops nobody but the victim would have seen a thing. Who, me? I was in the can with about 4,000 others. Such is the home field advantage- big cans.
Call me cynical, but it seemed to me the ump was just trying to keep the game reasonably close for the home crowd. Because it's a new stadium and you have to keep the crowd there so they'll keep buying. It would do no good if everybody left early during a blowout, the place needs to be paid for. There’s a lot to pay for. It even has a big-screen over center field where they run video of the game and crowd shots.
They run replays frequently. But they didn't run a replay of that, uh, questionable call. If it WAS a bad call, there was only one reason to replay it, and there were lots of reasons not too. An ump is kind of like a wife- make it mad, and you will so regret it. All you'll have left is your clothes. The ump put up with the Snapper’s tantrum like an indulgent mother. He just told him to go to his dugout and think about how his temper affected others, and stay there till it was time for supper, or something like that. I made that up. When I lie I’m honest, it’s policy.
The bad call was never significant to the game. All it cost was a double to the hitter, and much pop/beer and hot dog money from the crowd.
The only things you're allowed to bring into the stadium are your wallet and appetite. The Cheapwife informed me a can of pop is $2.75. Right there you knew that the game had better not go into extra innings or we'd risk starving and dehydration. I'd ask the owners if they'd ever heard of the Laffer curve, but they'd probably reply with their own question, "Ever heard of mortgage payments? Guess how much on a multi-million dollar facility, plus salaries and operating costs?" Even so, they'd get no more than sympathy from the Cheapwife. Sympathy is always free.
The game was almost incidental to the whole experience. If the pitcher isn’t winding up something is being played over the speakers. It seemed that at every changeover there was some contest or gimmick going on. They want you to enjoy the experience and bring every pop swilling, hotdog-scarfing kid you’ve got time and time again. They want to pay the place off early.
They had a contest to see which section could do the best chicken dance. Like I would participate in that. You think I’m gonna do the chicken dance? Not in this lifetime. I could barely conceal my scowl, and amusement. There was a line of exuberant women in front of us. They gave it all they had. Cindi Lauper was right- girls just wanna have fun. Of course, we won. Oh joy. Whoopee. Will they see me on ESPN?
Some fine young men came by and gave everyone in the section a coupon for Chick-Fil-A. Excuse me, why are you giving me this? “Because you’re in the section that won the chicken dance.” Well I’ll be plucked.
The wife returned with Trainboy. He’d wanted to go into one of the kids’ amusement ‘things.’ She informed one of the fine young men that she was a ticket holder for this section and had performed the chicken dance back at the kids’ area. She was regretfully informed that only those sitting in the section at the time of the contest got the coupons. Life is not fair, even if you participate. She got the joy of the dance, but she was plucked.
After the Kernels lost there was a fireworks display. The stadium is like a parabola that reflects all the noise. It hurt the ears. We had enough. We headed out and the grand finale started. We got out of there before the traffic jam could start.
Two for two. I’m batting a thousand this month for getting out before the traffic jams start.
Links-
Cedar Rapids Kernels
Beloit Snappers
Cyndi Lauper
Tuesday, July 08, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
So what has been keeping us busy? Well…
After church Sunday we went to the airport for a little air show. You had to park at a nearby school and take a bus to the show. It was a twenty-minute wait in 90-degree heat for the bus. But there were planes. Not a lot of them, but an interesting selection. There was a Ford Tri-motor, a Spirit of St Louis replica, a Stearman, two F-16’s, a B-17, and a B-24. Those last two were WW2 bombers.
It was hot- around 90 degrees. We wandered around and looked at them, but the kids quickly tired of it. Trainboy claimed his brain was melting. Ms. Pikachu hit me up for a buck, bought a bottle of water, and poured it over herself and Trainboy. They were happy.
Rides could be bought on most of the planes for $40. The bombers were $400 for a half-hour ride. The Wonderfulwife said I should get a ride on a bomber. I couldn’t believe it, I couldn't do that for myself. $400 is a lot to spend to get happy for a half-hour. But there it was- the ride of a lifetime, and one of the seats was for me. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.
Which one to ride? The B-17 is the more famous of the two. But the B-24 was a better bomber. It carried more bombs, was faster, had a longer range. Nobody gets excited about the B-24 though. It never got the PR it deserved, never developed an aura. It’s the only flying B-24 left, there’s five B-17’s. Can’t resist, I still tell him I want the B-17.
I took Monday afternoon off, picked up the Wonderful wife and kids and away we went. It was a no-go. They were replacing the elevators on the B-17. Do I want to ride the B-24 instead? Nah, I can wait till tomorrow. In the meantime we go through both bombers- family is free with a paying rider.
Trainboy loves it. Ms. Pikachu has no interest; she stays in the car and reads.
On Tuesday it’s raining. Call the flight crew, they expect the weather to break about 1:00, be there. I take off the afternoon again; grab the family and away we go again. We get there and the new elevators are on, but the trim tabs aren’t. Not good. They have to be balanced; it has to be test-flown before taking any passengers up. I tell Jim, it would be okay to fly the B-24 instead. He’s happy.
I get a B-24 sticker to wear to let everybody know I’m a passenger and I’m out on the flight line with the wife and Trainboy. More rain. Crap. We go through the bombers again, take pictures. We wait in the car a while. Trainboy notices there is hair on his legs. “Does this mean I’m becoming a man?” “Should I shave my legs?” Never a dull moment. Eventually the rain stops, the clouds break, and it is sunshine. Oh baby, here it comes.
We get a quick briefing, seat belts to take off and land. Don’t step on any hatches. They were built to breakaway to make bailing out easier. Nice safety feature- if you’re wearing a parachute. Once the plane is airborne you can go anywhere but the ball turret, and the turret on top. No top turret? That's a crimp, but since it’s hydraulic they probably don’t want to have to fix it. It still leaves the waist guns, and the tail-guns, and the nose gun/bombardier. This could still be fun. Oh yeah.
We board through the bombay, climb up on the catwalk and find a place to sit. I get a rear-facing seat at the bulkhead behind the bombay. Buckle up. It’s a primitive 40’s seat belt but who cares? The engines start up 1, 2, 3, and 4. They rev up. It’s loud; you have to yell to be heard. Leaning back against the bulkhead it hums with the vibration.
Looking back through the tail of the plane you can see it rock back and forth and round and round. It’s like an old dog wagging its tale, still wanting to play. Every guy on the plane wants to play. Come on, let’s play. Let’s see things move away from the tail. Let’s get some air beneath these wings. Let’s go.
It starts to get quieter. The crew chief sticks his head in and tells us to unbuckle and get out, we have to wait a while longer. The tower has decided it isn’t quite VFR conditions again. It looks good to us. You can see almost all the way to the horizon, the bottom of the clouds look plenty high enough. Come on, let’s go. We aren’t making the call; we have to wait for the tower.
We wait for an hour, it’s not getting any better. We talk to the fellow who runs the ground operations for the airport. He’s an interesting guy, good stories.
Look up, and it’s just getting darker. This is not good. You don’t have to tell me, this is not good. The pilot comes around and says the weather service will make another call in ten minutes. This does not look good.
Ten minutes comes and goes, it still isn’t clear enough to fly. The storm has stalled, it’s backing up and it’s getting worse. It didn’t take a meteorology degree to see that. It isn’t much longer and the fellow handling the bookings says that even if conditions clear up there won’t be enough time to get in the ride and then get to their next destination.
We have been waiting 4 ½ hours for a thirty-minute thrill, and we aren’t going to get it. What we do get is a refund, a lot of time walking through both bombers, and a few minutes with my back pressed against the bulkhead, feeling the old plane shake to life, and hearing the roar of those four engines. So frustrating, yet so wonderful.
Had I said “yes” to switching the day before, the B-24 ride would have been a fond memory. I could have gone with a sure thing, and instead rolled the dice without knowing it and lost. Oh well. Just sitting in it with the engines revved up is more than I had before, so that’s something. I can’t wait till it comes around again.
You can see the bombers and their schedule at
collingsfoundation
-
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
So what has been keeping us busy? Well…
After church Sunday we went to the airport for a little air show. You had to park at a nearby school and take a bus to the show. It was a twenty-minute wait in 90-degree heat for the bus. But there were planes. Not a lot of them, but an interesting selection. There was a Ford Tri-motor, a Spirit of St Louis replica, a Stearman, two F-16’s, a B-17, and a B-24. Those last two were WW2 bombers.
It was hot- around 90 degrees. We wandered around and looked at them, but the kids quickly tired of it. Trainboy claimed his brain was melting. Ms. Pikachu hit me up for a buck, bought a bottle of water, and poured it over herself and Trainboy. They were happy.
Rides could be bought on most of the planes for $40. The bombers were $400 for a half-hour ride. The Wonderfulwife said I should get a ride on a bomber. I couldn’t believe it, I couldn't do that for myself. $400 is a lot to spend to get happy for a half-hour. But there it was- the ride of a lifetime, and one of the seats was for me. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.
Which one to ride? The B-17 is the more famous of the two. But the B-24 was a better bomber. It carried more bombs, was faster, had a longer range. Nobody gets excited about the B-24 though. It never got the PR it deserved, never developed an aura. It’s the only flying B-24 left, there’s five B-17’s. Can’t resist, I still tell him I want the B-17.
I took Monday afternoon off, picked up the Wonderful wife and kids and away we went. It was a no-go. They were replacing the elevators on the B-17. Do I want to ride the B-24 instead? Nah, I can wait till tomorrow. In the meantime we go through both bombers- family is free with a paying rider.
Trainboy loves it. Ms. Pikachu has no interest; she stays in the car and reads.
On Tuesday it’s raining. Call the flight crew, they expect the weather to break about 1:00, be there. I take off the afternoon again; grab the family and away we go again. We get there and the new elevators are on, but the trim tabs aren’t. Not good. They have to be balanced; it has to be test-flown before taking any passengers up. I tell Jim, it would be okay to fly the B-24 instead. He’s happy.
I get a B-24 sticker to wear to let everybody know I’m a passenger and I’m out on the flight line with the wife and Trainboy. More rain. Crap. We go through the bombers again, take pictures. We wait in the car a while. Trainboy notices there is hair on his legs. “Does this mean I’m becoming a man?” “Should I shave my legs?” Never a dull moment. Eventually the rain stops, the clouds break, and it is sunshine. Oh baby, here it comes.
We get a quick briefing, seat belts to take off and land. Don’t step on any hatches. They were built to breakaway to make bailing out easier. Nice safety feature- if you’re wearing a parachute. Once the plane is airborne you can go anywhere but the ball turret, and the turret on top. No top turret? That's a crimp, but since it’s hydraulic they probably don’t want to have to fix it. It still leaves the waist guns, and the tail-guns, and the nose gun/bombardier. This could still be fun. Oh yeah.
We board through the bombay, climb up on the catwalk and find a place to sit. I get a rear-facing seat at the bulkhead behind the bombay. Buckle up. It’s a primitive 40’s seat belt but who cares? The engines start up 1, 2, 3, and 4. They rev up. It’s loud; you have to yell to be heard. Leaning back against the bulkhead it hums with the vibration.
Looking back through the tail of the plane you can see it rock back and forth and round and round. It’s like an old dog wagging its tale, still wanting to play. Every guy on the plane wants to play. Come on, let’s play. Let’s see things move away from the tail. Let’s get some air beneath these wings. Let’s go.
It starts to get quieter. The crew chief sticks his head in and tells us to unbuckle and get out, we have to wait a while longer. The tower has decided it isn’t quite VFR conditions again. It looks good to us. You can see almost all the way to the horizon, the bottom of the clouds look plenty high enough. Come on, let’s go. We aren’t making the call; we have to wait for the tower.
We wait for an hour, it’s not getting any better. We talk to the fellow who runs the ground operations for the airport. He’s an interesting guy, good stories.
Look up, and it’s just getting darker. This is not good. You don’t have to tell me, this is not good. The pilot comes around and says the weather service will make another call in ten minutes. This does not look good.
Ten minutes comes and goes, it still isn’t clear enough to fly. The storm has stalled, it’s backing up and it’s getting worse. It didn’t take a meteorology degree to see that. It isn’t much longer and the fellow handling the bookings says that even if conditions clear up there won’t be enough time to get in the ride and then get to their next destination.
We have been waiting 4 ½ hours for a thirty-minute thrill, and we aren’t going to get it. What we do get is a refund, a lot of time walking through both bombers, and a few minutes with my back pressed against the bulkhead, feeling the old plane shake to life, and hearing the roar of those four engines. So frustrating, yet so wonderful.
Had I said “yes” to switching the day before, the B-24 ride would have been a fond memory. I could have gone with a sure thing, and instead rolled the dice without knowing it and lost. Oh well. Just sitting in it with the engines revved up is more than I had before, so that’s something. I can’t wait till it comes around again.
You can see the bombers and their schedule at
collingsfoundation
-
Sunday, July 06, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
For the 5th, while the Supernurse did her thing, we went back and visited Big Brother. His printer tanks needed refilling, and so they were refilled. I tried to be careful and still got ink on my fingers. My fingers were suitable for text and photoquality. We bitched and moaned about life in general, a good time for bitchers and moaners.
The call came- Ms. Pikachu was back in town, over at her cousins. Away we went to pick her up and head for home. Trainboy had been up all day and would normally have slept all the way home. Having Ms. Pikachu back he was too excited to sleep. Much more calm about returning, she promptly fell asleep in the back seat and slept all the way.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
For the 5th, while the Supernurse did her thing, we went back and visited Big Brother. His printer tanks needed refilling, and so they were refilled. I tried to be careful and still got ink on my fingers. My fingers were suitable for text and photoquality. We bitched and moaned about life in general, a good time for bitchers and moaners.
The call came- Ms. Pikachu was back in town, over at her cousins. Away we went to pick her up and head for home. Trainboy had been up all day and would normally have slept all the way home. Having Ms. Pikachu back he was too excited to sleep. Much more calm about returning, she promptly fell asleep in the back seat and slept all the way.