This?! This is our government?

This is making the rounds, so this will hardly be news to anyone - but just because it un-fricking believable.

Read the testimony of Frm. Deputy Attorney General James Comey to the Senate Judiciary Committee:

This bit should whet the appetite:

COMEY: In the early part of 2004, the Department of Justice was engaged -- the Office of Legal Counsel, under my supervision -- in a reevaluation both factually and legally of a particular classified program [NSA Wiretapping]. And it was a program that was renewed on a regular basis, and required signature by the attorney general certifying to its legality.
And the -- and I remember the precise date. The program had to be renewed by March the 11th, which was a Thursday, of 2004. And we were engaged in a very intensive reevaluation of the matter.
And a week before that March 11th deadline, I had a private meeting with the attorney general for an hour, just the two of us, and I laid out for him what we had learned and what our analysis was in this particular matter.
And at the end of that hour-long private session, he and I agreed on a course of action. And within hours he was stricken and taken very, very ill...
SCHUMER: (inaudible) You thought something was wrong with how it was being operated or administered or overseen.
COMEY: We had -- yes. We had concerns as to our ability to certify its legality, which was our obligation for the program to be renewed.
The attorney general was taken that very afternoon to George Washington Hospital, where he went into intensive care and remained there for over a week. And I became the acting attorney general.
And over the next week -- particularly the following week, on Tuesday -- we communicated to the relevant parties at the White House and elsewhere our decision that as acting attorney general I would not certify the program as to its legality and explained our reasoning in detail, which I will not go into here. Nor am I confirming it's any particular program. That was Tuesday that we communicated that.
The next day was Wednesday, March the 10th, the night of the hospital incident. And I was headed home at about 8 o'clock that evening, my security detail was driving me. And I remember exactly where I was -- on Constitution Avenue -- and got a call from Attorney General Ashcroft's chief of staff telling me that he had gotten a call...
SCHUMER: What's his name?
COMEY: David Ayers. That he had gotten a call from Mrs. Ashcroft from the hospital. She had banned all visitors and all phone calls. So I hadn't seen him or talked to him because he was very ill. And Mrs. Ashcroft reported that a call had come through, and that as a result of that call Mr. Card and Mr. Gonzales were on their way to the hospital to see Mr. Ashcroft.
SCHUMER: Do you have any idea who that call was from?
COMEY: I have some recollection that the call was from the president himself, but I don't know that for sure. It came from the White House. And it came through and the call was taken in the hospital.
So I hung up the phone, immediately called my chief of staff, told him to get as many of my people as possible to the hospital immediately. I hung up, called Director Mueller and -- with whom I'd been discussing this particular matter and had been a great help to me over that week -- and told him what was happening. He said, "I'll meet you at the hospital right now."
Told my security detail that I needed to get to George Washington Hospital immediately. They turned on the emergency equipment and drove very quickly to the hospital. I got out of the car and ran up -- literally ran up the stairs with my security detail.
SCHUMER: What was your concern? You were in obviously a huge hurry.
COMEY: I was concerned that, given how ill I knew the attorney general was, that there might be an effort to ask him to overrule me when he was in no condition to do that.

So, this kind of crap goes down in CorpWorld - person A doesn't like like person B's answer - goes to person C. Happens at home, too. "Mom, can I have X?" "No." "Dad...?"

Except, this is the White House Counsel and the White House Chief of Staff not getting the answer they want from the Acting Attorney General of the United States, so they go to the man who would be Attorney General, were he not incapacitated.

What I especially like is the fact that Ashcroft's wife has attempted to cut off all communication to her husband while he recuperates. The President of the United States calls and informs her that the White House Counsel and Chief of Staff are coming over anyway.

The bonus round is, (and, I know I'm not alone in being surprised by this) Ashcroft does the right thing. He spells out his objections to Gonzales and Card and then tells them what he thinks is irrelevant, since Comey is Acting Attorney General, they should really be talking to Comey.

Gonzales and Card leave without talking to Comey.

Then (and I love this part)

SCHUMER: Right. OK. Let's continue. What happened after Mr. Gonzales and Card left? Did you have any contact with them in the next little while?
COMEY: While I was talking to Director Mueller, an agent came up to us and said that I had an urgent call in the command center, which was right next door. They had Attorney General Ashcroft in a hallway by himself and there was an empty room next door that was the command center. And he said it was Mr. Card wanting to speak to me.
I took the call. And Mr. Card was very upset and demanded that I come to the White House immediately. I responded that, after the conduct I had just witnessed, I would not meet with him without a witness present.
He replied, "What conduct? We were just there to wish him well."
And I said again, "After what I just witnessed, I will not meet with you without a witness. And I intend that witness to be the solicitor general of the United States."

Yes. Andrew Card and Alberto Gonzales want their wiretapping declared "legal" by the AG, who refer them to the Acting AG. Instead of talking to him when he's in the same room, late at night on the day before their approval deadline, they leave. And then summon the Acting AG to the White House.

What a bunch of pussies.

The windout of this sad affair is that mass resignations are threatened by Ashcroft, Comey, possibly Meuller and others at DoJ, so the President relents and asks the Comey to come up with a list of changes to the program so it will be legal. We are to assume this happened, although with this sorry lot, who knows what happened the second Comey was out of the room?

It's just a disgrace. Add to that, Gonzales tried hard to stop this testimony from seeing the light of day - having prohibited Ashcroft's and Comey's from testifying for over a year.

Kinda puts a whole new spin on John Ashcroft, don't it?

---

Now we have Gonzales stabbing his current deputy in the back the day after he resigns.

"I wasn't involved in firing US Attorneys."

"Oh, you have proof I was in those meetings? Oh, then I was in the meetings, but I don't remember doing anything in them."

"Yes, I was the Attorney General - but it's not like I remember every little thing that goes on here..."

"Even though I remember nothing, I'm confident that everything was done properly."

"Now that you mention it, I'm certain that McNulty did all of the decision making there. I just follow his recommendations. That's McNulty, M-C. Got that?"

He even smirked while he did it. What a first-class jerk.

Broken record

It's getting to the point where pretty much anything I read from Glenn Greenwald generates a 400-decibel, from-the-gut "Damn right!"

-so forgive me for quoting and linking to the man yet again, but he's just so freaking spot on:

The Politico: Exhibit A for our broken political press

This week, the Bush administration sought vastly increased powers to spy on the telephone conversations of Americans, and then threatened to begin spying again illegally and without warrants...

Yesterday, it was disclosed that Iraq's government is actually purging itself of anyone who seeks to impede lawless Shiite militias...

...And one of the right-wing's most influential academicians published an article on The Wall St. Journal Op-Ed page explicitly advocating "one-man rule" in America whereby the President can ignore the "rule of law" in order to fight The Terrorists.

None of that -- or virtually anything else of even marginal significance -- was reported by The Politico, an online political magazine founded by some of the nation's most prestigious and admired (in Beltway terms) political journalists. But yesterday, The Politico's so-called "chief political columnist," Roger Simon, published a 674-word article -- prominently touted on The Politico's front page -- exclusively about John Edwards' haircuts, cleverly headlined "Hair today, gone tomorrow."

...The sprawling, glaring, and ever-widening discrepancy between (a) how journalists like [the Politico's] Harris preeningly describe what they do and (b) the empty-headed trash they churn out on a regular basis, is the actual crux of most media criticism.

Required viewing

I know this link is making the rounds again, but if you haven't seen Stephen Colbert beating the crap out of everything Washington - you really should.

Stephen Colbert rips Washington a new one.

(It's the full C-SPAN footage) You'll need to jump ahead to 51 minutes into the program.

Righteous.

Hijacking the Superbowl

This story is pretty damn funny...

MIAMI, FL (PRWeb) -- Just days after the Boston bomb scare, another team of Boston-based pranksters smuggled and distributed 2,350 suspicious light-up devices into the Super Bowl. Due to its attractiveness as a terrorist target, Dolphin Stadium was on a Level One security alert, a level usually reserved for Presidential inaugurations. By posing as media reporters, the pranksters were able to navigate 95 boxes through federal marshals, Homeland Security agents, bomb squads, police dogs, and a five-ton X-ray crane.

During the second quarter of the Super Bowl, the team of pranksters -- who call themselves the "Super Six" -- quietly distributed thousands of "Prince Party Packs" to an entire section of Dolphin Stadium. Each packet contained a light-up necklace with official-looking instructions. By turning on the necklace lights during the halftime show, Super Bowl fans believed they would be spelling out the word "PRINCE."

But they didn't. They spelled a secret message that was broadcast to 93.1 million people.

Yeah, they're shamless self promoters, but they're still pretty damn funny.

Ahh nature....

Umm....

Mr. duck....?




...mind getting the hell outta my back yard?

(just a visual from the other day's excitement...)

Number to beat

I'm a news junkie, always have been.

I want to be plugged in. It's never been enough to know the latest news, but to find multiple accounts of the same event - then look for the different granules of information they are based on. This pastime has become less enjoyable in recent years - as the news has (at least in my opinion) turned considerably darker. I'm finding myself so put off by traditional mass media that I find myself tuning out more and more.

This is where I'm at with Virginia Tech. Not that this story is unworthy of attention - it's just that I am sick to death of the kind of attention it is receiving.

We've seen this movie before.

---

Start with a place at random: Littleton... Springfield... Blacksburg.

At first, the media just does its job.

Tell us what happened/is happening.

Not long after this phase, things start to go wrong.

Video is obtained. Solemn newscasters caution it may be disturbing, and then play it on an endless loop next to talking head interviews.

Eyewitnesses are found and interviewed live. Newscasters inch their questions towards painful subjects: "Did you see the shooter?" "Did you know the victims?" and finally "Did you personally see anyone shot"

Tell us about the blood.

Frequently, the eyewitness will become upset. The interviewer will visibly show their concern, "How are you holding up?" "Tell us how you are feeling," "How are you dealing with this?"

Are you scared? Are you in pain?

Early reports will have come in - they will be wrong.

The shooter is dead. The shooter is at large.
Ten are dead. Twenty. Less than twenty. More.

Possibilities abound, and are trotted out one after another by speculative journalists who aim to point out that the event may be even worse than first thought.

The carnage is tallied. The networks wring their hands and dispatch live crews, because modern media has conditioned us to expect that the person reading copy off a teleprompter must have a backdrop that is both live and relevant.

The police hold a press conference. It serves to dispel the more sensational possibilities we have been offered by the news. The shooter is dead. We learn the identity of the shooter, the true number of victims.

We learn, to our horror - the 'What' and the 'How.'

The facts established. The chorus of 'whys' can now begin:
"Why here?" "Why did they do this?"

We delve into the recent history of the shooter. "Where did they live?" "What did people think of them?" "What was behind their rage?"

There is a why. Tell us what it is.

These questions only serve as filler while bios of the known victims can be assembled and edited. We are shown grieving family members, survivors in tears.

Experts in grief counseling arrive in the form of talking heads. "What is this community going through?" "Tell us what you've heard from the families."

Pain. Show us the pain.

Recriminations, previously thought unseemly, become acceptable. The police were too slow. This should have been prevented. Lessened. It didn't have to be this bad.

Someone is to blame.

In a natural segue, the news shifts to "How do we stop the next shooter?" Criminologists, law-enforcement officials, and politicians spend ever-increasing amounts of time telling us the same thing:

Disturbed people who have easy access to firearms can hurt lots of people before we can stop them.

We cannot stop this.

---
All of this - all of the horror - is recorded and broadcast into living rooms, dorm rooms, workstations, bus stations, cars, bars, coffee shops, restaurants, every-frickingwhere -

-even some dimly lit basement where some man (and it is always a man) stops to watch. They see suffering on a national scale. The “worst ever,” they hear, over and over. Powerless, angry, they reflect on their wounds and those they hold responsible.

Then they think:

32. Yeah. I can beat that.

Rock on!

C (of A&C) had a baby on April 11. All are doing well.

Best news I've heard all month.

You gotta be freaking kidding me...

Watching the current administration read from the same scandal script can get tiresome.

As Glenn Greenwald pointed out the pattern has been:

1. Questions about administration conduct are raised.
2. Administration denies wrongdoing.
3. Administration officials selectively and voluntarily disclose exculpatory documents, appear before Congress, assure everyone that safeguards are in place, deny wrongdoing, and claim the conduct in question is used only for proper purposes (e.g., protecting country again terrorism).
4. Administration followers -- led by those controlling Congress -- insist that no investigation is needed because Official X made clear that there are safeguards in place protecting us and everything is being done for proper purposes.
5. Congressional Republicans block Congressional investigations, compel no disclosure of evidence, do nothing to investigate administration claims.
6.Scandal ends, unresolved.

So, now that the White House is facing a hostile Congress. The game plan doesn't work so well.

In the recent Gonzalez brew up - we've learned that White House staffers have been using email accounts sponsored by the Republican National Committee. Why would they do that? Because RNC communications aren't subject to open records requests, as they aren't government documents.

Unfortunately for the White House, this tactic will protect them from the curious citizen or watchdog group, but not a Congressional investigation. The White House can't claim executive privilege, since these are political communications.

At this point, those in the administration realize they are off the script - so they improvise-
(From the AP via TalkingPointsMemo)

The White House said Wednesday it had mishandled Republican Party-sponsored e-mail accounts used by nearly two dozen presidential aides, resulting in the loss of an undetermined number of e-mails concerning official White House business.

Congressional investigators looking into the administration's firing of eight federal prosecutors already had the nongovernmental e-mail accounts in their sights because some White House aides used them to help plan the U.S. attorneys' ouster. Democrats were questioning whether the use of the GOP-provided e-mail accounts was proof that the firings were political.

Okay, so they're not being tiresome anymore - but just how freaking stupid do these people expect us be anyway?

I'm hoping a group of forensic computer specialists tear these idiots a new one.

The other shoe falls

JR was canned today.

Which turned today into a mad scramble to figure out:

1) What should have already been done
2) What has actually been done; and
3) What is on the near horizon

I was ramping up the person who will take up JR's slack when they stopped me up short.

"Before we get started, um... what happened?"

I'd completely forgotten about this aspect. Believing for so long that JR was on the way out for so long, I'd assumed that this was common knowledge to everyone. Given that most of us operate in relative isolation - people were understandably a bit mystified.

---

JR was likable - casual conversation, they'd be pretty entertaining up to a point. From the outside, people would see a person who is rushing on this or that project and think, "JR's got it together."

Except they didn't. At least, not in any way that was measurable.

They'd be able to talk around an issue, but any time you wanted hard answers - they just weren't there. JR was good at maintaining the facade. I don't know if they were intentionally deceptive - or if they really believed that they were busy and getting things done.

We all have moments when we're coasting at work: after you finish a big chunk of work, you're too sick/tired/inebriated to function at full throttle - it happens.

JR was like that every day. "I'm busy, I'm busy," but when you'd look over at them, they're shopping online, or on their cell, or surfing through a catalog - wasting time.

Worse, they just did the bare minimum on any project - then would puff it up like "wow, that was hard." With my boss out of town for over a week, I made it my business to make sure JR wasn't shipping the clients crap.

The more I looked, the worse it got. I tried to handle it internally - meet with JR - tell them the score - all I got was smiles and assurances, and the most polite form of pushback. They liked my "suggestions," but first they wanted to "get the boss's input as well."

i.e. Soon as you're not available, I'm going to feed the boss a line of crap. Then it'll be "I'd like to do what you say, but the boss said..."

Screw that.

---

Where was I? Anyway, CorpWorld can make you nervous and any time someone's plug gets pulled - everyone starts to wonder if they're on the bubble. JR's successor was expressing the very real fear that something they'd do in future would get them in trouble as well.

So I spill my guts on the subject. This seems to make them feel better - but it has the opposite effect for me.

This would be three times I've been in this boat, and each time the pattern repeats: people sidle up to me and ask (on the down-low, you understand) 'what the hell happened?'

It underscores the paranoia of CorpWorld, since these are people who, I would have thought, are completely secure in their professional life. Some of them have Masters degrees, some have Doctorates - these are people who should not worry. I'm some guy off the street with some working experience and a big mouth - I get to tell them not to worry?

Messed up.

"...we've traced the call, they're inside the building! Run!"

Working in a business as large as my current employer, I suppose I should not be surprised when I run into people I used to know. I live in the area, they (likely) live in the area - the odds aren't that long.

Previously, I'd run into a former co-worker from my past life (who I did not get on terribly well with) and managed to deal. They've moved on, I'd moved on - actually, there really wasn't anything to move on from. Start from zero.

For the past few weeks, I've been seeing (or swore I was seeing) somebody I used to know. Walking down the stairs, crossing the hall - Hey! was that...?

This was a person I'd always regarded as odd - they hung out in our group, mainly in the company of another associate who I've since lost track of.

This person was always.... odd. They'd eat food off of someone else's plate without asking - they'd make dark observations about topics of light conversation-

They were the sort of person you'd envision hearing someone describing in a newscast as "Quiet, always kept to themselves. Never would have suspected that they had a severed head in the fridge..."

That kind of person.

This person was known as potatohead, and now I see them everywhere.

Question is, now what do I do? I don't even remember their real name. One of these days, we'll end up in the elevator together and they'll say "hi," and I won't have the foggiest idea of what to say.

"Hey, how's the... uh? Remember when you creeped us all out that one time? Wow, that was... uh..."

Too freakin' weird.

2008!? You gotta be sh!tting me!

If you don't watch the show - you'll have no idea what I'm talking about. But for those who do, and just did-

I feel the same way...!

ARRRRGH!

Single point of failure

A chopper pilot once told me that Hueys in Vietnam had a part that was euphemistically called the “Jesus bolt.” Its function was to hold the rotors onto the main mast, which led to its nickname. If that bolt failed, only Jesus could save you.

My backyard has a Jesus bolt. I used to think it was a 1/3 horsepower submersible sump pump. Today, I found out otherwise.

I’ll explain.

My backyard is the low spot in the neighborhood – which means that, sooner or later, I get everyone’s rainwater.

The previous owner of my house installed the aforementioned sump in the yard’s low spot.

Let me back up – ‘installed’ is a pretty strong word. What they actually did is dig a pit for the pump, run five feet of PVC below ground until they reached their neighbor’s yard.

So far, so good.

Next, they ran twenty feet of PVC above ground, on their neighbor’s side of the fence.

With me?

Then, they attached flex hose and buried it along the back of their neighbor’s property until it came out at the corner of four lots that didn’t belong to them.

It gets better.

They then plugged said pump into a 100’ industrial strength extension cord, and buried it in the backyard.

How did it get power?

You’d think given their earlier decisions, they’d just plug it into an outside receptacle, but no, they ran it through a basement window (which could no longer be sealed against the weather) and plugged it into a wall outlet.

Nice.

All this I know now. Learning all this happened in stages – the last stage happening yesterday.

In the beginning – I knew only that there was a buried extension cord, and that the water went…somewhere.

Like most people not looking for trouble, we let this sleeping beast lie until it bit us. One particularly rainy day I noticed that not only was my backyard underwater, but there was a patch of water churning violently in the back corner of my yard.

Being me, I slogged over to the spot and found the aforementioned above-ground-on-the-neighbor’s property PVC pipe. It had split down the side and the sump was dutifully pumping water out of the middle of my backyard lake, only to deposit it into said lake about fifteen feet away.

This, I did not like.

So I bought some PVC, tore out all the splintered junk (that presumably had been shattered by repeated encounters with my neighbor’s lawnmower) and put a fresh batch of PVC on my side of the fence and tied it into the flex hose. Still didn’t know where that hose went to, but I didn’t want to mess with success. I found that the hose went deep into the ground, but once the water was going away – my curiosity followed.

Enter dad.

Dad was not the type to leave such a half-assed monstrosity in place. First chance he got, he dragged me out in the back yard to mount an electrical outlet right next to the pump. We buried conduit and gave the outlet some protection from the elements.

Then we dug a trench and buried the PVC and tied it into the flex hose. In the process, we discovered that it let out on the other side of my neighbor’s yard.
Early discussions with my neighbors indicated that this was not an issue.

Problem solved, right? Wrong.

Why? Because my backyard has a Jesus bolt.

A few days ago, my backyard turned into a lake again and I slogged through the water to trip a stuck float arm. Hours later, the water was gone.

Yesterday, the yard is a lake again. Waiting the usual span of hours, I see no movement. I slog through the marsh and pull up the pump, expecting to free a stuck float arm.

Only this time, the pump is well and truly broken. Apparently, the float fail last time occurred when the float was pressed up against the side of the pump. The pump got so hot that it melted a hole in the float. The hole let in water to the point where the float couldn’t live up to its name.

Last time, hauling up the pump probably cleared out the water and allowed trapped air to float the arm and trigger the pump.

This time, however the pump had kept running so long that it apparently cooked itself – leaving me with something about as useful as a soggy, twelve pound paperweight.

Off to the hardware store – and I buy the same make and model. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Hook it up, plug it in. Presto! Water level falling.

Later that night – I’m on the back porch watching my neighbors dig out their sump and 50’ flex hose. They’re headed for my yard.

That’s odd. So I chat them up and they’re intending to drain my backyard lake. This is nice, I tell them, but my pump is working now and this should all go away soon.

And then they kill off any hope of an easy solution to this mess.

See, the back of their yard is flooding, too. Not where it’s adjacent to my yard, but on the other side – where my sump’s flex hose ends. I turn off the breaker to the sump and, yep, the water in their backyard starts to recede.

My sump is flooding their yard. This has never happened before – but it’s for damn sure I can’t ask them to endure flooding on account of my lack of follow through.

They’re nice about it, even offer to let me use their flex hose, but I’m pissed. Here I fix the faulty pump, and it turns out I've spent all this time patching a system that is totally doomed. I’m stuck with either running PVC out to the street, or shelling out the three grand it would take to re-grade the backyard.

Right now, I’m praying for a dry spring.

"...or else the terrorists win"

If you haven't read the anonymous article in the Washington Post regarding National Security Letters and what their effect is on law abiding citizens is, you really should.

from My National Security Letter Gag Order (login required):

Three years ago, I received a national security letter (NSL) in my capacity as the president of a small Internet access and consulting business. The letter ordered me to provide sensitive information about one of my clients. There was no indication that a judge had reviewed or approved the letter, and it turned out that none had. The letter came with a gag provision that prohibited me from telling anyone, including my client, that the FBI was seeking this information.

Living under the gag order has been stressful and surreal. Under the threat of criminal prosecution, I must hide all aspects of my involvement in the case -- including the mere fact that I received an NSL -- from my colleagues, my family and my friends. When I meet with my attorneys I cannot tell my girlfriend where I am going or where I have been. I hide any papers related to the case in a place where she will not look. When clients and friends ask me whether I am the one challenging the constitutionality of the NSL statute, I have no choice but to look them in the eye and lie.

To paraphrase Hans Gruber, "[the liberty and freedom the terrorists cannot destroy] is [destroyed] automatically in response to a terrorist incident. You ask for miracles, Theo? I give you the F. B. I."

Basketball diary

Blogging is a curious animal. Readers who don’t know you will miss context and subtext. Readers who do know you can make you self-conscious.

I’ve been trying the anonymous route to protect the narrative – but even so, there are things you just don’t bring up.

I’d been debating in my mind if the Basketball Weekend is one of them. For over a decade now, my friend G has been inviting people over to his place to watch the opening rounds of March Madness. On the surface, this is boilerplate enthusiasm for a chosen sport. We like basketball; ergo we watch basketball in a group. Saves electricity, we can pool resources for beer and chips.

It might have been that, early on, - but the reality of any situation changes over time. What began as an excuse to drink and swear and carry on about this team or that team, is pretty much evolved into the best opportunity I have to see my old friends and step out of parenthood for awhile.

As I’m only starting to appreciate - those are two huge things in life. These are guys who I’ve known since – hell, since Bush the Elder was president. Given my background - outside of family, these are the people I’ve known the longest. We don’t chat regularly, so this is pretty much the only opportunity to catch up with them.

I remember C (of A&C) telling me once that she’d interviewed a co-worker for a project and one of the questions she’d asked was pretty typical: what do you know now that you wished you’d learned earlier? That sort of thing. Her co-worker had given a response that was pretty memorable: “I wish I’d realized how important people were a lot sooner in life.”

That’s always resonated with me. Growing up, my social life got erased every couple of years when we’d move – and I think I got more than I little used to writing people off when they were out of sight. I believe that this led to an alarming amount of selfish behavior on my part. I still do things that are (in retrospect) amazingly self-centered for a father of two. Of course, you appreciate the people around you – but investing in them is something I’ve been very bad at.

The Basketball Weekend has been G’s investment in his friends (I’m sure he doesn’t look at it this way) but boiled down – he makes his house available to everyone and we all benefit from hanging out together. March Madness is the excuse – but it’s just great to hang around with people who “knew you when.”

Reverting to selfish for a moment, it is worth pointing out that seeing your friends with their families is one thing – seeing them sans family is quite another. Stereotypically, this would mean the guys sit around acting lewd and chauvinistic because their wives aren’t around to carp on them – but this isn’t really what I’m talking about.

With my son and daughter around – I’m plugged into parenthood. Conversation steers away from subjects that aren’t fit for children and congeals around topics that address the current behavior of same. This is fine and good, but sitting in a roomful of adults, getting to talk like adults is one of the reasons there are bowling leagues and book clubs.

It is therapy. We can grouse about the things that cannot be fixed, discuss the world’s problems, or just forget everything and rally around the fact that Duke can’t seem to drain a basket whenever CBS coverage switches to Hi-Def (So long, Dukies – we won’t miss you).

It is not mere nostalgia, or escape – it’s an awful lot of things that I wasn’t sure I could (or should) spell out.

In the interests of splitting the difference, I’ll leave some things out.

I will not, for example – discuss drinking cocktails at ten in the morning.

I won’t go into details about when four of us watched two men wrestle in the nude.

-or how C made a waitress dance for him before kissing her (and him, a married man!) or any of that stuff.

Some things are just sacred.

Incommunicado

Mom's been the vector of family news for some time now - I hear about it because everybody calls her. Nobody call me because - quite frankly - I never call them.

This past week, mom was traveling in the Grand Canyon. No cell, no internet. So mom's off taking nature photos and somewhere, her phone was ringing off the hook.

Two long-delayed items finally happened, and neither of them were good.

First up - My uncle K had to put his dog Scooby to sleep. Scooby was the smartest, mildest, most user-friendly dog I ever knew. He was like my uncle - very low key, did his own thing - just a great hound dog all round. No great mystery or surprise, Scoob was getting old - and nature took its course. Just a shame.

The closer was also no surprise, just a sad end to a sadder story.

DB, Dad's cousin, lost his wife, JB last week. She had been suffering for years with that particularly cruel form of alzheimers that allows you to be fully functional, yet forget even basic things like speaking. I'd last spoken to DB at dad's funeral, and he was there alone. I knew it was bad, and we avoided the subject. I last saw her at the local festival and she'd smiled a lot and said nothing. After we'd said our goodbyes, Dad had pointed out that she wasn't shy - she just forgot how to talk somedays. She would have been about my dad's age - way too young for a disease like that. DB was like my grandfather, taking care of a person who didn't even know who he was. I can't even imagine.

So there's an end to their suffering, but it is such a dreadful thing. Alzheimers is called the "Long Goodbye," but it’s so much worse than that. By the time it finally consents to let you go, your loved ones are usually too spent to grieve in any normal way. DB's family has not had an easy go of it for lots of reasons - they just never get a break.

Dad would have been there - I would have gladly stood in for him.

I just wish I'd heard about it in time to do something.

Wisdom of the day

Saw this on Google:

People often write me and ask how I keep my wood floors so clean when I live with a child and a dog, and my answer is that I use a technique called Suffering From a Mental Illness. - Heather Armstrong

The writing on the wall

CorpWorld is an odd place. Most times - people are unfailingly polite. I believe that CorpWorld culture mandates this, a sort of enforced cheeriness I've taken to calling "North Korea Nice."

Your tech contact will politely smile and nod while you say your peace - then tell their manager that you are causing problems on the project. This will become obvious to you when your manager shows up out of the blue to discuss topics that could only have been suggested by the aforementioned tech contact.

In theory at least, conflicts are resolved by proxy - and no one loses face. Of course, the reality is that plenty of face is lost, and any lag in the system means that people will keep doing whatever got them in trouble until they eventually find out. This fact is compounded when those making the complaint know you're in trouble before you do.

This can make for some interesting meetings, as you sit with a roomful of people all wearing smug expressions on their faces.

Which brings us to a person called JR. JR is going to be fired.

This is fact in the same sense that a person who steps in front of a Mack truck is dead. A miracle could happen, Superman could do the fly-round-the-world thing he does, but odds are - they're pretty much toast.

So it is with JR, but they don't know it yet.

JR's been slacking and it's starting to show. I've seen their face time in front of clients get pruned back again and again, and they are being asked to do more grunt-tasks and less brain-tasks. Rather than seeing this for what it is, they have chosen to feel persecuted.

Worse, they are committing the one truly unpardonable sin in CorpWorld - they are making their department look unprofessional. Our department’s higher ups will tolerate an awful lot. However, if they have to choose between an employee and their own credibility, they'll pause a moment - if they like you - and then fire your ass.

Being in meetings with JR has become a little surreal. Ostensibly, nothing has changed and they are still responsible for running some internal meetings. But it's obvious to all that JR is in trouble. I may be the only one who thinks that JR's condition is terminal - but I've seen this same pattern twice now, and all the signs are there.

Having drunk the Kool-Aid, nobody tells JR a thing - we just smile and carry on. The moral paragons of the world would offer a warning - surely a warning isn't out of line - but I'm not stepping up any time soon. I'm right, but I can't prove it - and anything I'll say won't change a damn thing.

I can't say I have much sympathy for JR - management has been (from what I can tell) fair. But the fact that this situation has carried on so long essentially makes co-conspirators out of everyone who works with JR. We discuss the issue when they aren't around, and hush up when they show up. Nobody has hard info from a reliable source, but we're not stupid.

JR's going to "see their account rep" sometime in the next month or so - and we'll all just keep smiling until it happens.

Just another day in corporate land.

Sweet Jesus, how I F-ing hate children's car seats

*ahem*

Just needed to be said.

Move along, now. Nothing to see here.

Fratricide

Test over. It’s time for the report. We have a protocol that you cannot test a design that you helped develop. This means that my test’s final report will be written up and presented by the people who conducted it.

They’re a good crew. The facilitator, SR, appears a bit casual - but they are a whiz at avoiding leading questions and practicing self-restraint. A person who knows the answer has to work hard not to hint to a participant who is struggling – SR is an ace at just responding minimally and getting the participant to explain their thought process.

SR is paired up with a serious usability pro, KR, so the report is sure to be airtight and professional. They are offsite, so we’ve scheduled a videoconference so the clients and developers can hear the report and ask questions.

Given the fact that my test plan has missed a key objective – I’m expecting to get tagged on the report. SR and KR won’t ding me for my plan – but a public reading of their findings can only highlight the gap in what I’d asked them to find out. I’m genuinely sweating it.

It’s the last item of the day, and all my other meetings cancel – so I’ve got all day to imagine the myriad ways SR will say “we don’t have much data on X.”

I ping SR twice about the report. “Make sure you hit the main test objectives first, the clients won’t want to hear about ancillary stuff until they have the big stuff.” I ask about a finding they mentioned in passing. I’m wondering if this finding will re-open old arguments with the Client. I get some assurances and go to lunch.

At work, I’ve been ever the optimist – but I just can’t relax. I hit one of the few decent restaurants near work and tell myself I might as well eat first.

Last time we used KR and SR, there were some communication errors that resulted in findings that were beyond the scope of the project, or made it look like my department didn’t understand the project they were working on. I’ve tried to minimize this risk as much as I can – but there’s so much information to get across. I’m afraid that SR will say something that will make us lose cred.

My department, we’re a latecomer to most projects, and we are generally regarded as just another mouth to feed. I’m convinced half the time that the Client would happily be rid of us – but somebody above them is forcing them to work with us.

The history of this project has been tumultuous – I smoke-jumped in just as people were getting canned. The timeline and scope keep getting changed in threatening ways – and we’ve been at loggerheads in design because the culture is “don’t change anything.” It’s the classic usability problem. Developers want the UI to look like the back-end code, the SME’s assume that everyone using the system eats and sleeps the operations manual, just like they do – it’s a mess.
I’ve gone out on a limb countless times, just to see if I can provoke discussions that lead us away from “do it the way we do now.” I’ve been shot down so many times, I’ve stopped noticing - but I’m determined to at least try to make things better.

Very rarely, one of our ideas gets approved, and my team celebrates. Sure, the whole design is a Frankenstein’s monster – but there’s this little part (call it function X) that we got into the project. We think it’s neat – we hope it lives until go-live.

It’s been a real struggle – and patience on some issues has worn so thin that we’ve abandoned all discussion of them. We’re just hoping that once things have cooled off, we can revisit them in better times.

So, here we are – having amassed a modest amount of cred – and I’m waiting for this presentation to highlight my test’s poor design.

I’ve told SR that he should plow through the biggies and expect interruptions. My group prefers the piranha method of discussion, so any suggestion that we hold questions is just a waste.

And we start.

---

SR starts on the part of the UI that I failed to evaluate against a previous design. Participants encountering the new design failed to see and interact with it 100% of the time.

No biggie, we just prompt them to look at it and observe their reactions to it with a prompt. Having seen most of the sessions – I know that most people were able to use the UI with a prompt. This is not ideal, but it means that our problem is likely one of visibility and labeling rather than actual function.

Except SR didn’t see it that way. SR details failure after failure in this UI even after prompts. This I do not recall, but I wasn’t at all the sessions. I’m a bit surprised, because this is a key piece of UI that two projects were waiting for. I’d thought (and unfortunately, said) that the issues with it were cosmetic and we could probably fix it easily. SR details a series of convincing issues that say otherwise. One of the project managers, short on time, expresses alarm and then leaves.

SR continues into another section I thought went well and proceeds to document why it is unadulterated crap. I’m really not liking where this is going.

Questions? The room is dead quiet. Everybody’s here, project managers, the Client, my boss – nobody says a thing.

It’s my show on this end, so I just tell SR to plow onward and they do. Right into a pet issue of mine. One of those little victories that I’d endured weeks of abuse to get into the design is now being held up as a cautionary tale. The Client and I were on opposite sides of this one and I’d carried the day mainly on persistence. Now, SR is basically listing all the same complaints the Client gave me when I first came up with the design.

The Client and the rest of the dev team go quiet – they remember the same discussions. They thought I was nuts – and SR is telling them all they were right to say so.

Now, normally, stuff like this – I don’t care. A design dies, but you make a better one out of the ashes. Everybody’s design takes a pounding, everyone gets a turn. But with this crowd, there will be people who will use this moment to discount any future input from me.

Remember that one thing? How you insisted it was better? Well, you were wrong, so shaddup!

SR’s report plows onward, ripping on two other items that I’ll take the fall for, before finally winding down on issues that were too minor for the team to care much about.

It’s dead quiet. SR’s clearly a bit surprised by this, and tries to liven things up. He addresses me directly “You look like you have something intelligent to say.”

I’m about to reply when I’m cut off –

“No, he doesn’t” says the Client, scoffing.

We have a few pro forma questions and then it’s time to go.

---

SR’s report was honest and accurate – yet it managed to hit every issue where the Client had doubts about us and strengthen them. I’m absolutely stunned.

My boss is gone. No chance to debrief. One of the more sympathetic types comes up and says “Back to the drawing board, eh?” I’m looking over at the Client, who is in a huddle with the people they still have respect for.

I can’t even get my head around this. Every discussion after this will be uphill times ten.

Next meeting, all my suggestions will be stillborn – the Client may want me off their project and my boss, too for all I know.

I don’t blame SR at all – these were honest conclusions, but what are the odds that all the stuff singled out for abuse would be mine? Yeah, I know law of averages, but did it have to frickin' happen now??!!

All this fighting for a place at the table, some respect and now –

Shit. Square one if I’m lucky.

Rockstar

Like most jobs, mine has its share of drudgery. But one thing I do (that I have to do) I truly enjoy.

I get to test software on people.

Yeah, I know - that doesn't sound like much, but in my line of work - it’s the Superbowl. Testing a design with typical users and seeing how the software can be made better.

There is considerable debate as to whether or not this is science, art, or outright chicanery - but I think anyone who has participated in a lab test would agree - it gets your attention.

Having spent months in design, hashing out what an application needs to do - then spending more months designing a good way to do it - you finally put a prototype in front of someone and see what they think of it.

I may be mentally ill, but to me, it's a hell of a good time.

The doomsday project has stabilized to the point that it almost doesn't deserve the name, and I've spent the past month or so putting together testing scenarios and trying to find the best way to get a user to interact with the interface in ways that will give us useful feedback.

This is not easy. The first rule of user testing is that the participants will always surprise you. A task you are sure will be simple will prove maddeningly difficult for them. Participants will fly through your thorniest scenario with ease, only to fail on task because you made a bad choice in labeling the final "commit" button.

The ideal is to give users tasks that they would perform in real life. Then, maybe they'll act like it's real - and then maybe they'll even tell you what they really think. My scenarios are (to my mind) real-world, hands-off - but touch on all the design elements we care about. Trying to find the right mix of organic observation and manipulation can drive you nuts.

That said, testing week is like a carnival. AV setups - recording software - network connections, scheduling people, blah blah blah. I have to run a meeting tomorrow, I owe project work for other things - everything gets benched. People want the test results, they'll just have to deal.

Our prototype is (at least to my mind) a miracle of JavaScript posing as a live system. We have a design that would probably be easier to code as a working system than to simulate with script - but it's ready.

I start cataloging a list of all the things that could go wrong.

One by one, they don't.

The participants show up - despite subzero temperatures and crappy roads.
Inevitable shortcomings of a prototype do not break our test.
People tell us what they think.
The videoconference works.
IMing remote questions proves useful.
Our new screen capture software not only works, but is pretty damn cool.

Me and my team are loving it. We toast our prototyper.

Rockstar!

This becomes our chosen word of congratulations.

When the facilitator deftly handles a test snag, or when the notetaker pulls off the always-elusive "How do I ask this without telling them the answer?" question, over and over.

Rockstar!

We're getting really great comments - people are tanking on one task, but we know why - so we can fix it. All sorts of side comments are pointing out the vast difference between how our users actually work - and how our developers think they do. I'm drafting a list of follow up issues for other projects that are just starting up - so we can head off some really bad choices.

Living the life.

My boss comes in. They love the prototype, shower the team with praise. Rockstar!

The Client walks in. Wow.

This is a good thing. Most times, we can't get dev types or clients in the room to see what we see. The mere possibility that a client could actually watch a participant is great for us.

Assumptions are made in corp-world that have no basis in reality. Seeing a participant struggle with someone's pet design will usually trump business politics and get needed improvements a shot in the arm.

Participants aren't shy. They loudly announce that the corporate types have no idea what their needs are, point out workflow shortcomings and highlight obvious improvements that have somehow remained undone for years.

Our team has fought tooth and nail for credibility on this project. Lord knows, the H situation cost us heavily. We can really gain some corp-cred - if nothing goes wrong for this session.

I know what you're thinking, but nothing does go wrong. Aside from being overly talkative, the session goes much like previous sessions. Problems on the known issue, A/B testing results about the same. A few choice comments about the interface, and fade to black.

Me and my team are smug - cracking wise and cutting up on the IM.

I'm jazzed. I turn to the Client. "I can see some obvious improvements to this area of the design, but once people understand what it is trying to do - they do it easily."

The Client is un-moved. "This new design is replacing a prior one. There is nothing in this test that will allow me to compare the new design to the old. I still don't know which design is more successful."

I start with my list of proposed improvements to the new design. Our prototyper starts to chime in.

Client addresses the prototyper like I'm not even there. "We started with two options, we still have them - and we get nothing definitive about them from this test. I saw that as soon as the test started."

All the air goes out of the room. Client's right. I've put together this whole thing and I've missed one of the main goals. Client could care less about my list of findings, our list of issues, much less our ideas for future projects.

Three weeks delay, two huge projects waiting for the results of this test - and here we are, right back at a guessing game because I didn't force my participants to make a choice.

Client spells out what they would have done to get this answer - and I'm just sitting there taking it.

About the time they're done, my laptop fires off a warning shot - my boss has invited me to a meeting about some other project on the other side of campus in about three minutes.

I'm ten minutes late if I hurry.

I grab my things and bail - I've lost all cred with the Client, and now they get to watch me scramble to get my things and dash off to a meeting I've forgotten.

The whole way there, I'm just projecting the fallout. "Hey, nice test! Looked like fun! Complete waste of time, though." I'm too spent to even start on damage control. The benched work is rushing up in my mind - that roomful of people in tomorrow's meeting (that I haven't prepped for), I'm envisioning a really fun Q & A session...

And just like that, it's doomsday again.

Pulling the plug

Can Congress force the President to pull out of Iraq?

Well, they've done it before - and by "they" I mean the very people who claim it can't be done.

Not that I wouldn't put it past the Dems to have arguing the reverse of their current position, either - but it shows you how fickle the GOP can be when their policy is on the chopping block.

Glenn Greenwald has them by the short hairs.

Stand up if you hate Man U

A few years back, in the game they call football, my chosen team had a nemesis. My team were likable underachievers. Their rivals were the media darlings - dynastic, marketable: "America's Team."

Among their numerous loathsome qualities, one stood out above all others.

They kept winning.

Each undeserved victory made them more arrogant, more insufferable. To the point when you felt that surely - were there a God in heaven - he would make them suffer just to restore the faith of people like me.

But this didn't happen. They changed coaches and were champions again. They changed players, and still managed to cruise to victory.

Their players were criminals, their owner, the king of all assholes, but their fans didn't care so long as they could be part of a winning side.

Just thinking of the times they crushed my team over and over again still rankles.

---

So it is with Manchester United - in the game that they actually play with their feet - they are the bazillion-pound gorilla squatting atop the league table, spitting out the bones of lesser teams and giving the "up yours" to anyone not wearing their colors.

They've won the championship fifteen times, they've won the double, the triple - and damn near everything in sight.

They were purchased for 1.5 Billion dollars, they field one of the largest payrolls in Europe. Their wealth gives them access to anyone and they gobble up talent anywhere they find it. Any player who does well at the Euro championships will likely play for Man U the following season. Their bench could make a solid showing in any league in the world.

And I hate them. Because they win. Because their fans are insufferable when they win. But mostly because they are usually to blame for my teams not going home with the trophy.

Truth be told, there are a number of Man U players I'd respect, I just wish they'd come to their senses and play for a likable side.

Giggs, for example, is just quality all the time. His play is always impressive and his work ethic hasn't been affected by the fact that most everyone around him is a raging jerkwad.

You see Giggs get mad, but it's usually for a very good reason. You never see him fly off the handle and whine about a non-call the way you would see C. Ronaldo do a few seasons ago.

Ronaldo. Any year but this past one, I'd say he was the biggest waste of talent in the league. All that speed, buckets of talent and he'd spend most of his time diving to the ground and whining about being fouled. His playacting was especially pathetic when he played for Portugal in the last World Cup - I think even his countrymen were mad at him after that one. All this showboating and nothing to show for it.

This year, Ronaldo seems to have put his head down and do what he does best - make defenders look foolish. So I can't bitch about him being the personification of what I hate about Man U.

That honor falls to Wayne Rooney - a thick-bodied bully of a striker who was England's false hope in the last World Cup - A man who is the prototypical boorish, hotheaded thug that Man U haters like me conjure up just to stoke their seething hatred of the Red Devils.

Rooney's got skills, no question - but when he isn't doing terribly well, you can tell he's looking for someone else to blame: the ref, the defender, his teammates, or the imaginary foul that stopped his breakaway.

Whatever it is - it sure as hell isn't the fact that Rooney has been playing for shit lately. That couldn't be it.

So, I've been enjoying watching Rooney have an off year, even if Man U had surged ahead of everyone in the league. It was nice to see that Rooney was getting pissed off and handling it badly - like watching McEnroe or Nastassi self-destruct - it was fun.

Today Man U played my team - Arsenal. In the Gunner's new digs - and I'm hoping for a repeat of Arsenal's dazzling form against other teams. Man U is the evil empire, but surely God has them due for a comeuppance. Right? He wouldn't just be toying with me, right?

Kickoff.

Right off the bat, Arsenal isn't playing well. Man U blasts a few at the net and dominates the early possession. Worse - there's this really shameful playacting by Eboue to fool the ref into carding a Man U player. Disgusting.

Arsenal's on their heels for a good part of the first half, but show some signs of life here and there. They just aren't combining well, and Henry (while finally back from injury) is in lurk mode.

Fabregas, the Spanish phenom, is scrambling for all he's worth, but just isn't getting any traction. He's showing a lot of heart, chasing no-hope balls that show you he's trying, but he's wasting a lot of energy and looking rather young.

A scoreless half ends - Man U has the upper hand, but maybe Arsenal can start fresh after the half. I can hope right? How cruel can the universe be?

Second half.

Arsenal does come out with a bit more flare - and Man U gets pushed back and suddenly I'm getting hopeful.

Then Rooney does something he hasn't done in awhile: he scores.

Arsenal is down 0-1 to the forces of darkness, scored on by the foulest Red Devil of them all.

Man U's fans are in the house and they go ape. Arsenal tries to respond with a quick equalizer, but they are more desperate than skilled. Rosicky has made it his personal mission to whiff on as many easy ones as he can - three or four good chances will fall at his feet, and he'll blow them.

Twenty-two minutes in, Wenger sends in Van Persie- who is not in top shape. This smacks of desperation to me, but I'm looking for any hope I can get.

Twenty minutes to go, Arsenal are struggling hard, but long balls aren't going their way - passes that could be brilliant moves are intercepted and turned into counterattacks. Ronaldo is increasingly dangerous.

Eighty one minutes in, it looks like Man U has started the stall. They sub in Saha, and people are taking their time.

Adebayor keeps displaying more drive than sense by charging Van de Saar before every goal kick - like he's going to slip up. Yeah, Van de Saar. Screw up. Never gonna happen.

And Fabregas, he's just too young to know that this is going nowhere - he's sliding and diving and charging balls that are meaningless. Wild passes, wild shots - it's practically embarrassing.

He and Rosicky get into a scrum with two Man U defenders, and it looks like one of those basketball plays where the players keep falling over and you're just waiting to see who will get tagged with the foul.

--and then Fabregas gets the ball and nicely slips it to Rosicky-

--Rosicky jets into the box and crosses to Henry-

--who does an amazing backheel pass to

--Van Persie who blasts it past a diving Van de Saar.

Tied. Son of a bitch! Seven minutes from time and Arsenal gets to salvage a point in front of the faithful. Awesome. More than could be expected. Honor is served.

And then things get strange. Arsenal starts surging into attack mode - there's blood in the water, and you get the feeling that - time permitting - they may not be done.

Two good chances go nowhere, but Man U is clearly out of it now. Lots of hard work, but nothing approaching their earlier dominance.

Four minutes of injury time - and you know the Man U fans are sweating it. They're on the chopping block and it's clear - only the clock will save them.

And then there's a wild sequence of passing - Fabregas again, then away, then Eboue curls a cross into the pack and -

Henry soars up to head the cross into the net.

Pandemonium.

It'll go down as minute 90, but it's 92 and change. Man U has no time to salvage a point, although they try.

A driving shot goes to Lehmann, who almost stalls himself into a yellow card for delay. He boots the ball to midfield and the whistle blows.

Scoreline - January 23, 2007
Arsenal: 2
Manchester United: 1
Rooney 53, Van Persie 83, Henry 90

God is in his heaven.

Who's that throwing the President under the bus?

Mystery pundit, would you agree that this administration waited to make changes until after the election?

"Well, I do think they knew there had to be a change before the election. And they just waited until after the election to announce it.

I found -- one of answers I found interesting was on, again, going back to this issue of 17,500 troops in Baghdad. You asked him, will that be enough? And he said, I'll do what the generals tell me to do basically.

Well, that was his answer for three years when they told him they didn't commit enough troops, as he now acknowledges. So why should we believe him now? And which generals are these?


And what he's trying to do is absolve himself from having to make a judgment and give us the reasons for the judgment, because there are all different generals and colonels and everybody else giving different analyses of how many troops it will take.
And he doesn't give us any military reason. And when pressed, he always gives you a personal reason. "Well, I trust this guy, General Casey. I like that guy, General Abizaid." Well, they're good guys, but the president has to have made -- has to have heard the different arguments and have a substantive reason why this number of troops will work and that number of troops won't work.


And he never really answers on that. He just says, "I defer to the generals." Again, that's not good enough anymore. I haven't heard that many other plausible arguments. And I'm willing to give this policy a chance, as other people who know more about the military situation, more than me, are willing to give it a chance.


But you've got to ease the skepticism based on three years of failure. And, again, that involves granularity; that involves evidence; that involves treating people like adults and not talking down to them."

Give up?

That was David Brooks, in-house conservative for the NYT appearing on Newshour.

Yeah, it's that bad.

A visibly-embarrassed-for-his-colleague, Mark Shields followed this with, "I can't argue with anything that David said there."

I could. But the fact that high-vis conservatives like Brooks are calling the President on his baseless confidence sure saves me a lot of effort.

Thanks David - now just start recanting all the crap you've shoveled out for the past six years and we'll call it even.

Role reversal

Weekends are pretty much freefall around here. E’s betting we don’t get out of the house before noon. I don’t take the bet. Good thing, too. We pull out of the driveway at 1:04.

On the list is post office, shopping and generally getting out of the damn house. We’re a bit frazzled, and kid logistics has the two of us way back on our heels. E was going to get a haircut, but that fell through. We need to mail some things we should have sent weeks ago, but we don’t know if the post office will even be open.

I’m betting it won’t. E’s not taking the bet.

Incredibly, we’re both wrong. A federal office building is open on a weekend until 4pm. Rather than unhook both kids, I drop E off and orbit. By the time she’s done – both kids are unconscious.

Which puts a crimp in the next agenda item. No biggie. E knows what she wants to get, storage stuff and a replacement bowl for the one our neighbor loaned us (that we broke). I go on a sightseeing tour of the fascinating industrial park, and E goes to work.

E bats about .500, but we’re thinking we can hit another store and get everything in one trip. I’m thinking about the next place when E yells out-

“Stop!”

The car ahead of me has stopped and I’m rolling right up on them. I slam on the brakes, and stop less than two feet from the car ahead of me.

Almost a complete duplicate of last time. My head was off somewhere, and I’d almost plowed into someone with our new van.

I exhale slowly. “That was-“

-And then we get creamed by someone else from behind.

-And then we get pushed into the car in front of us.

Dammit. Dammit.

A blue Honda has mushed itself against our back end, and we’ve rebounded off the back of a plum-colored Corolla.

In the way that people do following accidents, all three cars slowly drift over to the side of the road.

Everybody’s okay in the van. No airbags in sight. E’s checking on the Girl, the Boy’s fine, he’s chirping away and wondering why we’ve stopped.

The Corolla lady is out of her car, she looks okay. Honda woman is as well. Honda’s seen fit to come up and ask why we stopped. E and Honda lock horns for a moment – and it’s clear that Honda hasn’t yet done the math and realized that she’s plowed into a vehicle that wasn’t moving.

I’m on the cell calling the cops, Honda’s asking E who I’m calling – I can tell this is a person I do not want to speak to.

With everybody fine and the cops en route, I just stay strapped in. Nothing to do now but wait. Corolla lady gets that and goes back into her car where it’s warm. Honda lady is a little more worked up. Having done the accident thing two months ago, I’m already getting out my license and proof of insurance.

Honda does the “I should stand outside for awhile” thing that seems sensible after an accident. Since its snowing, we stay inside and wait.

The cop shows up and starts with Honda. I can relate to that moment. Last time, I’d blown it. I knew I’d blown it. There wasn’t much to say.

Honda woman clearly has a lot to say. Not that it will do her any good at all. You rear end a stopped vehicle, you get written up. This I know.

Our turn, I’m worried that the cop is on the driver’s side of our car, next to the traffic. I offer to get out and do the interview on the sidewalk. She’s okay with standing next to moving cars.

Okay. So I give her my cards, tell her what happened, tell her we’re okay – and she goes around to the safe side of the car to get the names of everyone else in the car.

Good thing, too. Right after she gets all the names, another accident happens right next to us.

Same damn thing. One car misses the fact that the car in front of them has stopped and-

Bam! They hit and-

Bam! Push that car into a third.

Our cop calls it in and runs over to the third car, where a distraught looking mom is getting out and crawling into the backseat to retrieve her baby.

The driver of the car that started this new mess gets out, some young girl, and they start doing what we just got through: “you okay?”

An ambulance arrives almost immediately – apparently the baby got splashed with hot coffee in the impact, along with another passenger. No impact injuries.

The other three vehicles now pull in front of our three. Six cars in a line, flanked by a debris field of taillights and headlights.

It’s starting to sink in – this van has 15,000 miles on it and I’ve owned it for less than two months. Hell, less than one month – I think. And now it’s been rear-ended.

I get out and finally look at the back end. Our bumper’s hanging off like a drag chute, but we’re drivable.

Cop apologizes for the delay, but it’s easy to understand. Two accidents at once is a bit of a deal. After awhile, she comes back and gives me my cards back, and tells me the same stuff the last cop did. Honda lady is being cited – just like last time, only last time was me. I ask if this intersection has a lot of this kind of thing. Cop lady says “This is a terrible intersection, people come over the hill and suddenly they have to stop. This happens a lot.”

We hit urgent care to have the kids checked up on – and they both appear to be fine. We decide to have dinner out, since we’ve missed lunch and most of us are starving.

So, we go to our usual place. I’m coming down the hill towards a stop sign where we’ll be turning left. I start to slow down –

-except I don’t. The van maintains its speed, and I feel the staccato of the ABS kick in.

We’re on ice, cruising towards an intersection, and there’s there is no way we will stop. I reflexively take my foot off the brake and hit it again.

No change in speed, we’re going through this stop sign. I look up to see what to expect. Fortunately, at this intersection, we only have to worry about traffic from the left.

I can see one car heading towards us. The only way they hit us is if we slow down.

I speed up.

We blow through the stop sign, and are immediately rewarded with clean pavement.

I don’t even know if the oncoming car noticed us – but I’m replaying that in my mind, using different scenarios. I was coming down the hill too fast. It’s snowing.

I’m an idiot. Two hours after getting rear-ended, I almost get us broadsided.

We hit the restaurant, and I do the insurance tango. My at-fault cost us $100 more a year, no telling what a no-fault within two months will do to us.

Plus deductible, plus replacing child seats, plus…

Un-be-effing-lievable.

We should have stayed in bed.

Oh my freaking God...

Give me one of these. Now.

Malfunction

Something is wrong. With me.

I’ve suspected it for awhile, although as it turns out, not nearly long enough. The persistence of other people, E and my doctor, are the reason I’m driving through an industrial park on a weekday evening.

It’s not the kind of place you’d expect to go for anything health-related. There’s a print shop, a computer recycling center, lots of those businesses made out of corrugated metal. I’m wondering if I’ve misread the directions.

The directions came in the mail a few days ago. I hadn’t bothered to even look at them - this appointment wasn't supposed to happen for two weeks. Some other unfortunate cancelled, and I jumped at the chance to get it over with.

My suspicions weren’t very deep – and prior to opening their mailed instructions, I’d half-imagined that this would all be a colossal waste of time. Reading through their pre-appointment questionnaire changed my mind.

Have you ever woken up choking?

Has your blood pressure been increasing?

Do you often feel depressed?

Do you find it difficult to concentrate?

Question after question that I have to answer ‘yes’ to. I started thinking the test would be a waste of my time, halfway through the questions I’m thinking I’ll be wasting the clinic’s time.

Their questions described me precisely – my last two years, anyway.

I finally see the sign I’ve been looking for, and pull into the parking lot. In contrast to the industrial surroundings, it has a foyer with pillars and a domestic appearance. I get my bag, my papers and head for the lobby.

Inside, there are about a half-dozen other bleary-eyed people sitting on chairs. One man is watching the Spider-Man sequel on the TV, but most are slumped in chairs, staring at nothing.

There’s no one at the desk and the lights are out. I stand next to where I think the receptionist would be for about ten minutes before moving over to the wall. I’m early, and I guess this place isn’t run like most clinics.

At precisely 9pm, a woman emerges from an official-looking door and reads off our names to make sure we’re all here. We are.

We all go in at once, and she begins assigning rooms – “A technologist will be with you shortly.”

She’s right. Mine is named Dave, and he’s a decent sort. He talks like he’s been saying the same thing so often that he’s forgotten what the words mean. No inflection, just like a bored stewardess.

Somewhere in the stream of words, I gather that setup will take an hour. I’ve had EEGs and EKGs before, so this is no big thing. There’s actually a few more wires and steps and by the time he’s finally finished gluing wires to me, drawing on my head, and plugging in the garden-hose-thick bundle of wires - I realize I'm not going to have time to read my book before going to sleep.
Dave gets philosophical with me. "I ask all my subjects this: Why are you here?"

"Because I have to know if there's a reason why I feel this lousy."

This seems to satisfy him. He launches into another recitation about sleep. Stages of sleep, purposes of sleep stages, and finally - sleep disorders.

He explains how they will monitor me while I sleep to see how I sleep normally. - Then, if it looks like I need it - they'll put me on the machine.

The machine is not terribly encouraging: A pump, a hose, and a humidifier. I try it out. I feel and sound like Darth Vader.

Luke...I'm your father.

The room is surprisingly comfortable, and as soon as Dave leaves, I'm ready to pass out.
I wonder a little about strangling myself accidentally with the wires, but I'm on video and Dave's supposed to be paying attention. He seems a good sort.

I go to sleep.

-And Dave wakes me up. About that fast, although it's actually been a little over two hours. I'm groggy as all hell, so I only vaguely remember him saying, "We're going to put you on the machine."

- and I'm out again.

At some point, the damned hose is in my way so I wake up. It's morning.

Dave strolls in and proudly exclaims, "We fixed you!"

He explains that by 'fixed,' he means that I have responded well to the machine. This is Dave's overly upbeat way of informing me that, at least for the foreseeable future, I will have to spend my nights hooked up to an appliance.

He then breaks out graphs and charts and begins jabbering incoherently about things called 'this-pops' and 'that-pops.' Then he shows me that, during the two hours of the night when I was sans-hose machine, my airflow was reduced or blocked completely 177 times.

I'm absorbing this when he puts another chart in front of me. "See there?" he asks, "On this one you stopped breathing for just under a minute. Your blood oxygen was down to 76."

This, apparently in his subculture, is something almost worthy of a high-five.

Dave leaves me alone to get ready for work - he's made an appointment with a nice man who will give me my machine and explain its features and maintenance regimen. I'm still absorbing things.

It's pretty hard to know which way to go with this.

On the one hand - I will sleep hooked up to a motorized snorkel, possibly for the rest of my life.
But on the other hand, I am awake.

Really awake. For the first time in, hell, a year or two. The literature tells me that the headaches, sinus infections, and numerous other symptoms will all go away.

I'll dream again. I can't remember the last time I had a dream.

I get my things and go see the appliance man. He talks for a half an hour, makes me sign a bunch of things and hands me my box. He smiles, "Your kids will make fun of you, but at least you'll be able to sleep."

I'm in the car driving to work and I can't believe how different I feel.

At work, I can focus and get things done. I'm not drowsy in the afternoon.

I can't even express how amazing that first day was - and the literature says that I won't really get back to normal for a week or so. I'll feel better than I do now, and now is pretty damn good.

I marvel that the way I had felt two days ago seemed normal. I was walking through fog every day. Headaches, sinus pain - all the damn time. I felt like total crap most days. Sure, I could rise to the occasion and function. But some days it was just barely functioning.

That first night at home, I don't even hesitate with the machine. There's no resentment, no shame. At this point, it's the price of being myself again - I'm not going back to how I was this past year.

Shut-in

It's only after getting the minivan that I realize what a hit we took going down to one car. Not so much because the van is four times the size of our commuter car, but because absent a second vehicle, E stays home.

We'd done this before - when the boy was born, we had a single car and managed to go almost two winters before buying the commuter. I say we, but the bulk of the inconvenience fell on E. In summer, being without a car was somewhat mitigated by our being within walking distance of parks, a library and a slew of stores and restaurants. Absent bad weather, E could take the boy places and get out and see people.

Of course, winter messes that up royally. The daunting logistics of getting an infant out the door compound when you have to winterize a stroller. Not to mention dealing with people who don't shovel, ice, crossing slippery roads and, oh yeah, it sucks to be outside when it's cold.

When I would watch the boy by myself, it was part of my regular sanity ritual to get out of the house. Maybe this is just my personal hang up - but staying inside the same structure with an infant/toddler just makes me claustrophobic. A lot like the feeling of spending two days sick in my bedroom: soon as I'm able, I want to get out.

E's been dealing pretty well overall, but it has got to wear a person down. I caught a window into this when E told me that with the boy she was on the phone with her mom every day.

We all need a way to get out of the house.

---

We took the van on its shakedown cruise up to see Grandma. She's seen pictures of baby e, but we'd really like to stop by and show her the real thing.

Jen and her family are going up with us in their van, which is a year younger than ours. Mom will be driving up in her rental car. Oddly enough, all our vehicles are the same color - we go to Grandmas looking like a motorcade.

Grandma's been living in a small apartment, so the thinking is that all of us descending on her at once is a bad idea. Mom's booked some hotel rooms for us on the edge of town. We'll be using the hotel as home base and popping over in shifts.

Unfortunately, the shifts never really happen. Grandma had a car accident and really isn't up for running around with her relatives. For three days, the routine revolves around keeping the kids occupied in a strange hotel.

The outdoors decidedly do not beckon. Overcast, rain and snow. Like mars with all the colors set to grey.

This leaves us with indoor distractions. Fortunately, our hotel has a free waffle bar and a pool. Three pools and a hot tub, two water slides, and a partridge in a pear tree. Wake up, waffle, get swim gear, hit pool. The boy is beyond happy. The adult lot of the pool experience is limited to staying ahead of possible dangers, but its still fun to watch the boy experience these things for the first time.

E's got baby e in the room, in the lobby, in the pool room for awhile. We lunch and dinner out in mechanical fashion, the days pass with not a lot of variety. I'm starting to get way too used to the layout of the place. It was New Years, so we got to hear every decibel of the New Year's Eve party below us - and we went out to IMHO, the nicest place in town for dinner.

Like I said, you gotta get out sometime.

---

The final act of the weekend was popping in to see Grandma in the hospital. She'd fallen in her house and it was decided that she should be admitted so they can get her meds right. She's on Coumadin, among other things, and for some reason the level never seems to get quite right. Too little, you get clots and worse. Too much, you can become weak, bruise easily, or even bleed internally. Grandma has had the minor strokes that indicated she wasn't getting enough. Now, she's getting the other end of the equation. The car accident was relatively minor - but she's already decided that she will no longer drive.

We'd seen her briefly the day after we'd arrived, and she'd had a major bruise on her face that just appeared overnight. Mom says she's clearly not happy that people are seeing her like this, and I can hardly blame her. She's been so independent for so long, and now the time she gets to see her family - she has to do it from a wheelchair looking like she has a black eye.

We motorcade over to the hospital and mom checks her room before we all barge in to make sure she's ready to see people. She is, but things are worse. Her bruising is on both eyes now, and one side of her face is so swollen she hardly resembles herself. She's never one to complain, and she says hi to everyone. The boy gives her a big hug. Almost as soon as we get there, the hospital staff informs us we have to get out so they can give her a CAT scan.

While we're waiting for her to come back, my aunt and uncle - Grandma's two children that are mercifully local - let the other shoe drop. The original thinking was that Grandma had fallen on the back of her head - that's what she'd said. It looks like what really happened was that she'd fallen forward, hit the front of her face on something hard, passed out, then fell onto her back, where she'd woken up. The nurse describes the facial bruising as "classic" indication of hitting her nose hard.

She'll recover from the bruising, and the Coumadin level will ultimately get sorted out - but the upshot is that Grandma will be going into a nursing home. The level of care she needs and the consequences of her not getting it have all but made this decision. It's a terrible realization. Grandma has been so independent, so outgoing - she'd lived alone in a house and maintained it for years by herself. She'd proudly said that the two flights of stairs between her bedroom and her washing machine kept her in shape (and I bet she's right). Calling Grandma used to be wondering if she was home, or if she was out running around with her friends - her regular Wednesday night dinners, she had a social schedule most people her age would envy. She certainly had health virtually anyone her age would envy. She did things, she got outta the damn house and lived life.

All of that stops with a bad stretch in her Coumadin regimen. The car accident means no driving, the fall, means no independence.

She goes into a building, and she doesn't come out.

It just breaks the heart.

Eighteen Large

So, I'm in the market for a minivan. 'bout time, E's stuck at home and frankly - we need a vehicle that can haul cargo. I noncommittally browse the local web listings, and start organizing the funds.

Thinking myself clever, I'd shoveled the family cash into an ING direct account. Better interest, I figure - and I'd thought it would be awhile before I actually found a car. ING orange accounts are basically money market funds linked to your bank accounts. Any time you want to move money to and fro your linked accounts, you log onto their website and, presto! Handy. And they have good UI.

A week after I do this, I find the perfect van. Miracles of miracles - it's in good shape, has low miles and the price is right.

Since all my cash is being authenticated in cyber land right now, my ING transfer is looking like a bit of a bummer. ING requires that funds in a new account sit for ten business days before they become available. Since I'd started the account on a Friday - this meant that I'd have three weekends (plus a holiday) before I'd be able to pull the cash out.

The net delay to my car transaction will be at least one week. I tell the seller this, and he's okay with it. I needed to get his car inspected anyway, so that ate up a day and there was Christmas right smack in the middle - so no biggie.

Dec 26 should be the first day I can pull the money. ING says it should post in two days, they assure me that I will be able to withdraw the money on the day it posts. "It's like a cash deposit, or a cashier's check."

'kay. So, 12:01am on Dec 26 - I log on and (whaddaya know?) I can move my money.

The next day, I see the funds disappear out of ING. The day after that, they show up in my checking account.

'kay. The buy is on. I talk to the seller. He wants to have all the money available to him on the day of the purchase. He wants a wire transfer.

Now, wire transfers are well and good, but they typically cost more money and they are not (in my experience) instant. I tell him this, but he's pretty convinced. I offer to talk to my bank and see what's up.

My bank tells me that wire transfers will cost us about $40, and that a cashier's check is free. Further, the bank guy says "Heck, if your seller's bank is local, you can run the cashier's check over to his bank and he'll be able to draw on that deposit the same day. A wire transfer just doesn't make sense if the receiving bank is local."

'kay. I tell the seller this, and he's happy to avoid fees. We agree to meet at his bank, I'll have the cashier's check, he'll have the title, and all will be well. Time permitting - I might even be able to squeeze in time to hit the DMV to get my tags so we can road trip this weekend.

---

Game time. I roll into the bank, hand him the check and he goes up to the teller. I sit down to kill time on some magazines - and it becomes clear that things are not well.

Seller motions me over. "They won't allow me access to the funds for several days."

I look at the teller. "It's a cashier's check. These are guaranteed funds."

She's unimpressed "You could have stopped payment on this check; we need time to make sure it's still a valid check."

Okay, I'm ticked. I tell her what my bank guy said, she just rolls her eyes. Seller's getting nervous, he either REALLY needs the dough today, or he's thinking this is all part of some master plan to rip him off.

I do the back and forth for awhile, but it's pretty clear I'm going to lose this one. We ask if there is a way I can pay the Seller so he can draw the money today.

Teller thinks a moment. "Cash?"

Screw that, I'm not driving across town will all my money in a sack. Somehow, my expression conveys this to her.

"A wire transfer would be same day."

"There's no delay to authenticate? He'll be able to get access to the money today?"

"Yep."

'kay. Seller and I pile into my car, I apologize for the mix up - and we tool into my bank fifteen minutes later.

I'm up to here with this, trying not to look like a dork in front of the Seller.

Hi. Void my cashier's check. Wire some money to this man.

My bank is nicer. My teller explains that most banks will take a cashier's check and allow withdrawals on it the same day, but the Seller's bank is an exception. She used to work there. So, each bank has its own rules. Nice to know. Now.

We're in the middle of doing the transfer when my teller thinks to verify that these funds will hit today and be available today. Three phone calls and much bank-speak later, it's clear that the wire transfer isn't a sure thing either.

"It could post today, it could post tomorrow - it depends on the bank."

Seller's really agitated now. I'm not willing to trust Seller's bank to take the funds same day. One option left.

"Give us cash."

The bank manager says it's going to take some time, they need to open the vault - we need to fill out some forms. My bank being nice, they give us coffee. An Account Rep tells us to meet us in her office, where she has eighteen stacks of Benjamins.

I'm looking at my watch. I'd planned on hitting the DMV or at least going back to work. How long is this going to take?

She counts out all the bills. Twice.

Then there's the "The Feds have to be told that you took more than ten grand out in cash" form - that seems to take an interminable amount of time.

Finally, it's done. The Account Rep leaves and I'm sitting there with the Seller. And this is the scenario I was trying to avoid.

Mind you, not because I truly believe that brigands roam the roads looking for people with large amounts of cash on them - but in exchanges of this type - people are typically agitated. The imagination is looking out for things that could cost you your money, or your property. You start looking for ways to stay out of trouble.

When you have a fat wad of bills in your lap, right after the teller has announced how much money you wanted and that you need it in CASH, you start to see trouble everywhere.

We go straight to the car. I'm picturing the Seller as some master scammer, who's going to use a stun gun on me and hop into a waiting van. He's checking behind us for masked gunmen.

Predictably, we get to his bank with no harm done. His teller seems exasperated that she has to count the bills, and I'm like- "Don't. Even."

Money in, Seller asks me to sign a receipt for him (which makes no sense) and wants a photocopy of the title (for whatever reason). He's nervous, and probably would ask the tellers for affidavits, if he thought they'd comply.

I check the title and I have what I need. He gives me the keys and I agree to drop him off at the rental car place. On the way he's decompressing. Chatting me up about this and that. He's a nice guy. Just having that much moolah up in the air got us both in a twist.

The fact that it took two banks over an hour to decide the fastest way to get my money across town was in a paper bag starts to bother me less and less.

I got to see bank people get nervous. I got to be irrationally nervous myself, and I got to fan a huge wad of Benjamins in my hands.

Plus, I got a minivan. I guess that's not too bad of a day.

What the hell are 'Deathly Hallows?'

Beats me, but J.K. Rowling is apparently going to tell us.

Spoiler alert: the article discusses a big aspect of box 6. A retroactive sorry.

Embarrassment of riches

Been awhile since I've come up for air – between trying to stay above water at work, doing the same at home, and just being unconscious - there hasn't been a lot of time for much else.

Putting together a decent meal is a time crunch most days – I doubt we’ve managed it on our own since baby E showed up. First, my mom was in town and she helped us out. Then we were on leftovers.

Then we were out of leftovers, and we’re dreading what we have in the cupboard – and trips to the grocery store have turned into quite the logistical feat.

So, I’m coming out of the garage, and who is coming up my driveway buy Ms. No-H, and she’s carrying pizza. Lots of pizza.

And not your schlock pizza, either – but the yummy kind. I’m way sick, so I munch and flop down somewhere outta the way, while E socializes.

It’s a great night. Some days, crossing off a seemingly simple thing like dinner is just the best thing in the world. So, thanks, Ms. No-H. Perfect timing. What a marvelous thing to do.

---

Rewind to the day after baby E is born.

A friend of ours, KB, asks if we like lasagna. “I’d make you some if you do.”

In my head, this triggers a brief, internal Q & A session:

Do I like lasagna?

I think so.

You think?

Okay, I’ll check its ranking…Got it! It was in the “Love more than life itself” folder, right next to sauerkraut pizza.

Y'know, I should eat more lasagna...

Damn right.

So, I say, “Um, yes.” and forget all about the discussion.

A few days later, I’m getting lunch at an Italian deli when-

Hey! I should eat more lasagna.

So, I go to the freezer and buy a massive pan of ready-to-bake lasagna. A pan I need to set down because my arm starts hurting while I’m getting out my cash at the register.

Fast forward to that night. Zagne’s in the fridge, cued up for tomorrow and then KB calls to tell us she’s coming over with lasagna tomorrow.

Hey! I should eat more lasagna.

Sure, we’re game – the deli 'zagne goes in the freezer, and we get ready for homemade Italian goodness.

Poof. It’s tomorrow night, and KB and family drop off the yummy. We bake, we scarf, we scarf some more.

That part of my brain that had been nagging me is now gloating:

Ya see, I told you…

Despite our best efforts, there’s half a pan left – which we’ll kill off tomorrow.

Next day, our neighbor, MG comes over with bread, salad and – lasagna!

Hey! I should eat more lasagna.

So, we’ve got two in the fridge, one in the freezer – that part of me that has been craving zagne will finally be sated.

---

And then, next day-

Mr. and Ms. U send us a box of cookies – and not your ho-hum sugar cookies with sprinkles, but exotic cookies you see on the food channel. The kind where every ingredient doesn’t have a brand name in front of it.

Bags and bags of them – and they are yummy. And I vacillate between hiding the box for myself, and setting them out for the family. As a compromise measure – I eat all the chocolate chip cookies.

Yum

---

Which brings us to yesterday.

I walk in and there in the middle of the floor is a large box with Styrofoam lining and plastic pouring out of it.

E’s sitting on the couch, big smile on her face. “G and T sent us some sausage.”

I look at the box. It dwarfs her statement. “Some…?”

“That’s just the box I left out so you could see it. The other one was just as big.”

My mind performs some rapid calculations. “Is there room in the fridge?”

“Not really, but we’ve got plenty to eat!”

---

So, thanks to everyone for everything – our cholesterol count is sure to spike this month – but it’s the holidays and it was headed that way anyway. The stuff we’ve munched already was way yummy – and the stuff we’ve got in the queue looks at least as good.

You people are great.