THE LITTLE PEOPLE BLOG

 

 

BTW, I hope you all will join me in the effort to crash the website of my most favorite hamgrrrl, Emily, K6WGB.  Everybody go to http://k6wgb.white.prohosting.com/, and leave a message of good will in her guest book.

 

 

 

 

OUR TRIP TO SEE ART AND RAMONA

                                                

                                                 

 

BECKY ZED'S CHOCOLATE PEANUT BUTTER CAKE

 

 

SOME BASIC ELECTRICITY AND MAGNETISM YOU MAY HAVE MISSED

                                                    Updated 10/15.

 

 

BARRED FROM THE VEGAS HILTON

 

 

 

The Geese Man

Created by Mark K6FEJ

                                                                                  

 

 

                           
    

We all have been enjoying Mark K6FEJ’s hamcams work for a long time.  Let’s show our appreciation by clicking on his square (or just click here: http://www.thriftymoving.com/k6fej.html) and signing his guestbook.

 

 

07/11/07

2:00 a.m. PDT

Well, my darlings, I went down to Home Depot earlier tonight to get a shitty little package of shitty little screws.  I looked around for a while and found the screws that I hoped would work.  Paid my $1.06, and left.  Got in the car and started driving.  I pulled out onto the main drag, and was sorting the stuff in my hands, when I noticed that the shitty little bag was missing.  Damn.  I pulled into a lighted area and searched the car.  Somehow on the short walk from Home Depot to the car, I lost the damn little bag of screws.  Ok, turning around wasn’t easy, and took some doing, but I was finally on my way back to Home Depot to get more screws or possibly even find the ones I lost.  I tried to park near where I parked before.  As I walked back into the store, I looked around on the ground for the little bag, but didn’t find it.  So I went in and got more screws.  $1.06.  On my way back to the car, I saw the little bag that I had lost; lying near a car parked in the space that I was parked in the first time.  So now I had two, shitty little bags of screws.  Returning one bag would not be worth the trouble for a buck.  So I took the screws over to campus hoping to screw them into a telescope.  They didn’t fit.  Does anyone need two, shitty little bags of screws?  Hardly used; non-smoking environment.

 

07/10/07

2:00 a.m. PDT

I was driving down a local main drag yesterday gawking at a couple of girls on the sidewalk, off to my right.  One of the girls turned to the other and was pointing out something down the street, ahead of me.  I wasn’t done checking out the girl, but I did look down the street to see what she was pointing at.  A big, chushy chair of some kind had tumbled off the pickup truck ahead of me.  Wow.  I swerved around it.  I would have hit the chair if the distraction that was the cause of the close call had not also served to redirect my attention to the hazard.  I think it would be really cool if girls, who see drivers looking at them, would help watch the road for the driver the way that that girl did for me today.  The girls are causing the problem so it is only right that they should help out with safety.

 

 

5/21/07

2:30 a.m. PDT

THIS BLOG IS DEAD!  Omigod, this blog is as dead as bones bleached white in the desert sun.  Some people have been axing about the blog, and wondering if it would become undead.  Well, here’s a story:

 

Becky Zed and I were shopping recently in a local indoor mall.  My feet had had it, so I left her in Robinson’s to shop, and walked out into the mall.  There was a nice carpet laid out in the middle of the mall, with some nice living room furniture sitting on top of it.  I flopped in a soft, comfortable chair.  It was very enjoyable watching the scenery go by.  My feet felt really good.  Anyway, a couple of teenage girls walked by, but one was looking very stiff.  She was wearing the shortest denim skirt in the history of the universe.  It’s like, dude, it was hemmed up to within an inch of the law.  In fact, more like a quarter inch of the law.  She had both hands gripped tightly around the hem of the skirt on either side of her, and was pulling down hard.  If she let go, that skirt would surely ride up a fraction of an inch, and she absolutely could not afford that fraction of an inch.  I had the best time watching her go by.  I wonder how she shops.  She can’t use her hands.  Maybe she had her friend with her to handle the merchandise for her.

 

A couple of minutes later, a teenage boy with a skate board under one arm came running by.  He also had a hold of his clothes.  He was holding his pants up with his free hand.  He was trying to wear his pants half way down his ass, like a lot of the young guys do, and run at the same time.  He couldn’t move without his pants falling off unless he was holding them up.  Interesting contrast with the girl, moments before.  They were tugging on their clothes in opposite directions to keep their respective butts covered.

 

3/20/07

2:00 a.m. PDT

Qtube is up, the first, YouTubed Little People QSO.  It’s here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FnhpAo3kdlo.

 

3/12/07

10:30 p.m. PDT

ZooTube3: Gorillas is ready for your screens, my darlings.  http://youtube.com/watch?v=AlrwW8xpfV8.

 

3/08/07

9:30 p.m. PDT

My darlings, ZooTube2 is finally in the can, and up on YouTube.  The URL is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jN_ZyrSpUug.  The animals were unusually active.  Hope you enjoy it.

 

3/5/07

3:00 a.m. PDT

We recently went on a little outing to Cabrillo National Monument on Point Loma, about a half hour’s drive from here.  I wish you had been with us, my darlings, but I pretended you were there, and I talked lovingly to you, just as if you had been there.  You can experience a little of our adventure on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hB5S54qlVk.

 

3/3/07

2:30 a.m. PDT

Well, now, my darlings, on the way home that very same night that that student tried to cheat me, I stopped at a drive-thru Mexican joint.  Pretty good place.  I ordered a burrito, quesadilla, and a Coke, at the intercom.  The line of cars was very slow moving.  Finally I got up to the window.  The girl at the window barely spoke a lick of English.  She said $8.66.  I handed her a $20 dollar bill.  She took it, and brought back two dollars even, in change.  She started to walk away, and I shouted, “Miss!!!”  She came back.  I told her I gave her a twenty.  She said that I gave her a ten.  Even if that were true, the change due would not be two dollars even.  I tried to verify the $8.66, but now it was up to $10.66.  Once again, if I gave her a ten for a charge of $10.66, how could the change due be two dollars even?  It was hopeless trying to get through to her.  She was under a lot of pressure from a ton of cars, she was incompetent, and she didn’t speak English.  I tried adding up the bill with her, and tried to explain that two dollars change was ridiculous no matter which of the incorrect totals she used.  She disappeared again, and a LOT of time passed.  I don’t know what was going on in there, but she finally appeared with eight bucks in her hand.  I just grabbed the dough and hauled ass out of there.  I was lucky to get any more money at all.  Earlier on I had noticed, while I was waiting in that very slow line, that the car up ahead at the window was there for a long, long time.  Finally a hand emerged from the car, holding some wrapped food of some kind.  The girl at the window took the food, and then the car drove off.  The driver probably just gave up and left.

 

I’m working on the second installment of ZooTube.  It’s edited, and I’ve laid down a track of steel drum music.  Why put steel drum music on a zoo video?  Because I can.  Next I need to record the narration, and then I’ll put it up on YouTube.

 

It’s my dad’s eighty-second birthday today.

 

 

2/28/07

2:30 a.m. PST

I’m still here, my darlings.  I haven’t forgotten about you.  My chemistry students took an exam from me the other day.  It was a multiple choice test.  They bubbled in their answers in pencil on a “Scantron” answer sheet.  The answer sheets can be scored quickly using a Scantron grading machine.  I scored the answer sheets the same night that they took the test.  I let them all see their scores, but kept the Scantrons so that I could record the scores, later.  One student was unhappy with his 27/40, and wanted to take his Scantron home, as well as a copy of the test, so that he could try to understand the problems he missed.  So I let him.  I had made a mental note of his score of 27.  Next class meeting, he brought back his Scantron, but incredibly, his 27 had become a 37!!!  He had taken a clean Scantron, filled it in with many more correct answers this time, and accessed a Scantron machine somewhere, to score it.  How did I prove to him that I knew it was bogus?  I showed him that the “37” printed on his Scantron was unlike the size or style of font on any of the other Scantrons.  Scantron machines vary somewhat in the look of the numbers they print, depending on the particular model of machine.  The model the cheater used was obviously the not the same one that I had used.  When I allowed this guy to take home his Scantron, I told him not to make any changes to it.  He acted like it was silly for me to make such a warning to a straight arrow like him.  Incredible.  He’s not the only person who tried to cheat me that night.  I’ll tell you the rest next blog.  I also owe you some discussion of space, promised earlier.

 

 

2/18/07

11:30 a.m. PST

How about a few words this time, my darlings, instead of just youtube links?  Ok, here’s a few words:

 

Um, how do you think the new, grid format is working out on the Log page?  It sure is a helluva lot easier for me.  I can’t believe how long I did the most retarded possible thing, typing the same damn calls over and over, day after GD day.  Another advantage of the grid is that it solves the problem of the deadly boring, Weekend Round-up.  The grid shows the week at a glance, no need for me to be counting/sorting call signs.

 

Something funny happened recently at the Y.  Becky Zed and I were there working out.  I had my headset on, and was listening to music.  I walked up to a machine, and started using it.  I noticed a bright orange “Y” towel on the floor, near where I wanted to stand.  I didn’t think much about it.  So BZ was standing there watching me pull weights up by cables, when a geezer (yes he was older than I) walked past me, and stopped to talk to another muscle head, sitting on a bench.  The geezer kept waving his hands, and gesturing toward me, as if referring to me in his conversation with the muscle head.  I could see him jawing away, but I couldn’t hear anything because I was listening to music.  Turns out this dumb-ass had thrown his towel down as a “claim” to the machine I was using.  He was actually using another machine, but didn’t want anybody on the machine that I was using.  Incredible.  BZ told me all this, later.  She told me that earlier this shithead had been standing behind me, reading me the riot act, but of course I couldn’t hear him.  She was cracking up because I was so totally blowing this dude off, oblivious to what he was saying.  She said that he started directing his bitching at her, but she simply told him that I’d be off the machine in a minute.  I was standing there looking right at this guy waving his arms around and pissing and moaning, but I didn’t blink.  I just stood there listening to Freddie Mercury belting out “Barcelona,” feeling the burn.

 

 

2/16/07

2:15 a.m. PST

I haven’t been writing to you, my darlings, because I’ve been spending so much time learning video editing.  On this auspicious occasion of 25,000 hits on these pages, I hereby launch ZooTube.  In time I will force every GD animal at the San Diego Zoo down your throats.  Check out my first offering: Skyfari.  http://youtube.com/watch?v=C1nqGej7OB0. 

 

2/12/07

1:30 a.m. PST

Ok, my darlings, I downloaded the upgrade to my Studio10 software, which enabled me to brighten the Rufus video.  Here it is: http://youtube.com/watch?v=jS3HPkTGXM0. 

 

2/10/07

11:00 a.m. PST

I finally got Rufus up on youtube, my darlings, but it’s just too dark.  I’m going to have to see if I can brighten it.  Stand by.

 

2/4/07

1:00 a.m. PST

My darlings, it’s fun to drive to L.A. for the evening, but then run back to San Diego to hide for a while.  There is way more shit to do up there, and I am very fond of the area because I was born and raised up there, but I’d rather live and work down here.  So we hit the Bahooka in Pasadena as promised, and shot some video of the thirty-one year old fish, Rufus, who lives in an aquarium at the restaurant.  He loves carrot sticks, and you’ll see him eating one.  I’ll put that up on youtube.  A scene from the movie “Number 23” with Jim Carrey was shot at Bahooka, and the movie is coming out this month.

 

The intersession astro class I was teaching over winter break ended last week, so I’ve had a light week this week.  But the school for which I taught that class starts its regular Spring session this week, so I’ll have another layer of hell added to my schedule.  It will be tough getting on the radio Monday and Wednesday nights.

 

Do you think space is something, or is it just all in our minds?  Is it just a mental framework for helping us think about the relationships between physical objects?  Let’s think about that for a while, then I’ll tell you what Brian Greene thinks.

 

 

1/30/07

10:00 p.m. PST

Imagine a world on a sheet of paper, my darlings, a two-dimensional world, with two-dimensional beings that live on it.  These beings can only move along two dimensions, call them length and width.  They cannot move along the third dimension, call it height, like we can.  That means that they cannot get off the surface of the paper.  They would have to move along that third dimension, perpendicular (at right angles) to the surface of the paper, to get off.  Now, imagine a second sheet of paper, parallel to the first, and just one millimeter away.  Two dimensional beings similar to those who live on the first sheet, live on the second sheet, and cannot leave the surface of the paper.  Two worlds, forever separate and unknown to one another, exist VERY close together.  The beings in each world talk about travel along the third dimension, in an abstract sort of way, but they cannot imagine a dimension that is actually at right angles to their two, because they are merely two dimensional beings.  They cannot imagine the third dimension, nor can they access it, and they don’t know if it even exits.  The two sheets of paper are two-dimensional spaces that exist in a higher dimensional space – three-dimensional space.  The beings on the two, flat worlds muse about the eerie, exciting possibility that a whole other universe exits just a millimeter away.

 

Superstring theory is the best shot physicists have at a “theory of everything.”  Such a theory explains space, time, matter, energy, and the cause of the Big Bang.  All the versions of Superstring theory are many-dimensional.  If space is indeed many-dimensional, then our three-dimensional universe could exist in a higher dimensional space.  That means there could be a fourth, spatial dimension, perpendicular to the three we know.  But try imagining that.  Think of the three dimensions: length, width, height.  Those are three lines, all perpendicular to one another.  Can you imagine a fourth line, at right angles to the other three?  Try it.  You can’t.  That is the dimension we can only think about, abstractly.  We can’t access it, if indeed it even exists.  If Superstring theory is right, then that higher dimension does exist, and therefore the possibility of another world just a short distance from ours, exists, a la the two sheets of paper.  Go ahead, just reach out and touch it, I know you want to.  But you don’t know where to stick your hand, do you?  That’s because you can’t move your hand along that fourth or higher dimension.  But don’t give up hope.  Don’t be depressed.  There could be a way some day to move off of our three-dimensional “surface,” and move along a dimension never traveled before by humans, to a new world, no farther away than the end of your nose.

 

If you like this kinda shit, then try out the book I am reading by Brian Greene: “The Fabric of the Cosmos.”  His first book (on similar matters), and just as good, is called: “The Elegant Universe.”  Brian Green is fabulously good at explaining deeply mathematical concepts, without the math.

 

 

 

1/29/07

12:05 a.m. PST

Ok, so where was I?  Oh, yeah, fish.  I promised you Birch Aquarium fishtube, but I botched it.  I had switched the focus from “auto” to “manual,” inadvertently, so some of the fishiness is out of focus.  The aquarium displays were just so spectacular, and the color so good on my 3 CCD camcorder, that I feel compelled to return to the aquarium to shoot fishtube right.  You deserve it, my darlings.

 

There is another kick-ass fish I want to shoot for you: Rufus.  Rufus lives in an aquarium at a restaurant called “Bahooka” (For a pic of Rufus and film credit see : http://www.geocities.com/bahookarestaurant/welcome.htm) in Pasadena.  We’ve been there before.  Rufus is twenty-seven years old, is as a big as a large cat, and loves carrot sticks.  When he sees someone with a carrot stick, he starts thrashing and orgasming in anticipation.  Of course, when he gets the carrot, he just goes totally ape-shit.  It’s just too much.  I want to make a Rufustube for you.  He also knows Johnny Depp, which doesn’t make him a celeb, but it’s more than close enough for me.  You know what I’m getting at don’t you?  I want to kiss his ass.  But here’s the problem: where is a fish’s ass?  If you take a look around back “there,” it seems the tail is in the way.  And there is really no way to sort of lift the tail or something, to expose the fish butt, as you would a horse’s tail.  The other problem of course is that the fish is in a big tank of water.  So I may just have to settle for flattering him by video taping him.

 

 

1/21/07

11 p.m. PST

God, my darlings, I was so tired Saturday night from sleep deprivation, that I was able to go to bed early and actually fall quickly to sleep.  Slept LATE today.  Yesterday Becky Zed and I went to Birch Aquarium in La Jolla, not to far from here.  We’ve never been there before.  Just great if you like fish.  I shot some video with my new, 3 CCD camcorder.  I’ll put it on Youtube for you, if you are dying to see the very same fish that we saw.  We then drove all the way up to Lake Elsinore to eat at a favorite little place called Hunny’s.  Really good, really redneck, but a long drive.  Then we hauled ass all the way back down to San Diego to dig around in Music Trader, a used CD store.  After that it was off to a drive-in theater, to see Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto.  I thought it was good, and definitely as violent and graphic as it is reputed to be.

 

All hell breaks loose this week.  My very heavy teaching load starts, and that damned, winter break intersession that I’m teaching is STILL going.  It’s going to overlap all the other hell this week.  LPL entries could be spotty for a while.

 

Here’s a gross tale.  Too gross to pass up.  I forgot to take out the trash recently, so we had to get along with the same trash bins for two whole weeks.  There was an overload of garbage, so we started using the blue, recycle container for the overload.  I had to put a big bag of some very nasty diapers (no, I don’t own my own baby) in the recycle bin.  When the next trash day finally came around, I left a note on the recycle bin, that it contained regular garbage, and to please empty the recycle container along with the other, regular garbage.  Well, my dears, the note FELL OFF!  Shit.  So the blue container with the nasty diapers was left full, and later collected by the recycling vehicle.  Oh God, recycled dirty diapers.  I sure hope they don’t turn up in someone’s toothbrush.

 

 

1/17/07

11 p.m. PST

Many thanks for the plug, Mark K6FEJ.  When you’re done giving me the finger, please put Cynthia back up for a little while longer.

 

We were over at Best Buy the other night, my darlings, looking for a place to park, when I spotted a prime, parking lot jamming opportunity.  Two big, stupid monster trucks were parked on either side of a more or less unused parking space.  One of the trucks had intentionally parked on top of the dividing line so that it was occupying over a third of the “empty” space.  That’s the kind of situation that makes my inner jammer salivate.  I was foaming at the mouth over that little crack (No adolescent jokes, please.  If you even know what I am referring to, then you need to do some growing up.)  I totally wanted to jam my beat up Chevy Nova, in between those trucks, which would make it impossible for the offender to open his door.  So I did.  I felt very satisfied with myself for a few seconds, but then noticed that the offender’s door had a long, deep, knarley scratch, obviously made by some seriously angry mo fo, wielding a key.  Somebody probably got pissed off at this monster truck for pulling the same parking-hog shit on some other occasion.  But then I realized that that somebody could have made the scratch that very night, in that very spot, and the monster truck driver might not even be aware of it yet.  He might come out and see the scratch, see my car, get pissed at me, and retaliate against my car.  Becky Zed instantly realized all of that, too, and we both agreed that I should back out and find parking elsewhere.  Ah, too bad, but there was some consolation in seeing that the truck had paid a price already.

 

Well, I got my MENSA renewal in the mail.  MENSA is a club for people who are good at taking MENSA tests.  You give the club money, and then they give you a piece of paper that reassures you that you are smart.  Well, somebody involved in this is clearly smart.  Anyway, do I need it anymore?  Why be in it?  Well, local radio celeb and best-selling author Richard Lederer, father to Poker Champs Howard and Katy, is a Mensan and hosts a Christmas party for San Diego Mensans every year.  When network broadcasting star and best-selling author Art Bellllll jumped the Pacific, Becky Zed and I were short one network broadcasting star and best-selling author, on our social circuit, so we obviously needed to hang on to Richard and go to his party, even though he’s small time compared to Art.  But Art is BACK.  So should I renew, even though we can turn our noses up at Lederer, now?  I don’t know.  I’ll think it over.  I just don’t want to do anything that would make me feel shallow, vein, or superficial.

 

 

1/15/07

2:00 a.m. PST

My darlings, I put some videos of our trip to see Art and Ramona, up on Youtube.com, just for you.  Here are the urls:

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nNHKQFFJtk

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySxGlxSIzzk

 

Congrats to Cynthia for losing her hamcams cherry.

 

 

1/13/07

2 p.m. PST

Ok, so here’s the deal, Art OBB suggested a phone call, via email, so I called him.  We had a most enjoyable conversation.  Art told me that his wife’s pregnancy is going well, and that she is happy and excited to be in the U.S., and is having a lot of fun fixing up the house.  The cold, dry weather is a real shock to her, obviously, having come from hot, humid Philippines.  She video conferences with her family back home, but is apparently not homesick.  Art is going to buy her a small, automatic trans car in which to learn to drive.  There is ample room for practice in Nevada.  The cat’s are shipping out soon, if not already.  Art is working on getting the ham station back together.  He has a 7800 and 9000 on the way, and bought his Alpha back from Moody (There is a Moody connection to everything that happens).  He has inspected the antenna, and everything seems to be in good, working order.  We talked some about 75 meters as you might imagine.  Art is looking forward to getting back on the air, but is in no big rush.  He has a lot to do around the house.  It could be weeks yet before the mighty loop lights up the ionosphere once again.  We decided to have an Echolink party with the gang, in the meantime, so everybody get your Echolink chops back in shape.  Art invited Becky Zed and me out for another visit as soon as he and Airyn get settled in.  This will be a good excuse to go into Vegas to see “We Will Rock You,” ONE MORE TIME!

 

 

1/13/07

3:00 a.m. PST

Cynthia, my darling, I let you down, it’s true.  I let ALL the Little People down by not posting my report on the Art Bellllll phone call.  If I tell you everything, we’ll have to go to JAMCON 1 in a single move, and I don’t think we can take it.  I’ll tell you what I can tell you later on Saturday.  I’m too tired right now.

 

 

1/10/07

7:00 p.m. PST

My darling Little People, I enjoyed one of life’s simple pleasures today, one of life’s true luxuries.  I slept until I was DONE!  There is just nothing like it.  I’ve been really tired at the wrong times of the day because I agreed to take on an “intersession” course.  It’s a highly compressed course, jammed into the small space of winter break.  I have to have my ass out of bed by 7 a.m., M – Th.  But I took some “personal necessity” time today. 

 

It’s been tough going at the “Y,” lately.  Hard to find available treadmills, weight machines, etc.  After Thanksgiving, and especially at the start of the New Year, all the pretenders are out to “get in shape.”  These people have used their memberships at the Y maybe once or twice, but the trouble is all these pretenders who only workout once or twice a year are all doing it in the same month, so I can’t get on a machine.  Where they all really belong is at “The Home of the Iowa Porker.”

 

Becky Zed and I finally did “The Porker.”  I think the real name of the place is the Valley House Restaurant.  It’s in the local city of Santee.  Santee: cowboy boots, pick-up trucks, and Coors Light.  You follow me?  Y’know what I’m sayin’?  Yeah.  And there is a particular kind of clientele you expect to see in a town like Santee, at a place that calls itself The Home of the Iowa Porker.  We’d been scoping out the place for a couple of years, and laughing at the implausibility of actually going in there.  So we finally went in, but did not actually see the expected “Porker” patrons.  I ordered “The Iowa Porker Dinner,” and BZ ordered some kind of fish.  Bad move.  The Porker was good, but the fish was old.  Awful.  The waitress axed BZ why she didn’t eat the fish, so we told her that it tasted old.  She gave us half off the fish.  But we were afraid that rejecting the fish might offend the cook, who might be the REAL PORKER.  We were afraid that The Porker would come out and kick our asses.  Happily, no Porker appeared.  My dinner was actually fine.  The Porker dinner was pork tenderloin, “country fried.”  Completely satisfactory.

 

I’m still trying to get my Youtube career going.  I have posted some test videos, but I am having some technical problems.  The aspect ratio is wrong in the video.  I’m too vein to tolerate my face being stretched wide.  But I’ll get there, and I’ll get there for you, my darlings, because you deserve to see me in all my video glory, doing whatever stupid shit that I can think of to do.

 

I had a very nice chat on the phone today with network broadcasting star and best-selling author, Art Belllllll.  We had a lot of laughs.  I’ll tell you about it in the next blog, tomorrow.

 

 

1/5/07

9:00 p.m. PST

I thought about Ramona today.  I didn’t know her long, but she sure made an impression on me.  Damn, Ramona, what a gyp.

 

 

1/3/07

10:00 p.m. PST

You know, my darlings, I really enjoy getting in touch with my “inner jammer.”  My inner jammmer is not a radio jammer, he’s a parking lot jammer.  I really like jamming my dad’s banged up Chevy Nova into a crevice left between some big, stupid monster truck, and some big, stupid SUV.  The other day for example, I was looking for a parking spot in an enclosed parking structure.  There were a couple of these big, stupid vehicles squeezed into spaces that were clearly marked “compact.”  Both vehicles were encroaching on the space between them.  So I jammed the Chevy Nova into the crack.  I could barely get my door open, and had to suck in my gut to get out.  Sticking my shitty vehicle in that spot really inconveniences the people trying to get into the truck/SUV-type things on either side of me, and they, like, SO deserve it.  I’m driving a wreck; I don’t care if they ding my car with their doors, but they sure don’t want to damage their doors on my junker.

 

The most satisfying parking lot jamming of all is shoving my heap in close to some luxury car like a Mercedez that has INTENIONALLY been parked on top of the dividing line in order to prevent someone like me from parking too near the fancy car.  My poor, old, head gasket-challenged Honda Civic is even smaller than the Chevy Nova, and with it I can navigate cracks so tight that you can’t fit a sheet of paper between my Honda and the Corvette along side that is trying to occupy two spaces.  I sometimes have to slide over and exit on the passenger side because I’ve got myself impossibly hemmed in, all for the pleasure of doing the same to someone else who is occupying half of MY parking space.  But I’VE GOT EVERY RIGHT…

 

There is far more reason than the above to think that I’m losing my mind.  One of the colleges I teach at called last night axing me if I could cover an intersession class that started Jan. 2.  Some scheduling mistake resulted in nobody showing up to meet the students.  Well, damn, I was planning on doing some sleeping in and goofing off this winter break.  Against my better judgment, I accepted the gig.  It made me huge points with the department chair.  She in fact told me that she loved me (I had a math student this past semester who also told me that she loved me, simply because I postponed a homework assignment.  I think that loving me is generally a very good thing for people to do.).  And of course the job means a winter break paycheck that I would not normally get.  So after staying up most of the night with The Little People, I had to get my ass out of bed at 7 a.m. this morning.  I don’t think that I have ever seen my alarm clock actually read 7 a.m. before.  It’s really effed me up today.  I took a nap, but I still have a headache, and my stomach isn’t too good, either.  I don’t know how much Little People I can take tonight.

 

 

1/1/07

12:30 a.m. PST

Welcome to 2007, you sweet things.  I guess my New Year’s resolution will be to keep up to date, the oh-so-boring-unless-we-break-a-record Weekend Roundup. 

 

And, Holy Shit, Batman!, Brooks WB6EDK changed his hamcams pic!!!  That so rocked me that I felt the impulse to do something drastic, like increase the JAMCON level, or decrease it, or SOMETHING -- SOME kind of response.

 

Speaking of JAMCON, I recently increased our jamming readiness level to JAMCON 3, primarily in response to recent activity on 3678 by the World’s Drunkest Jammer.  But now that he’s The World’s Deadest Jammer (I guess), the threat is reduced.  Let’s relax a bit for now, anyway, and drop to JAMCON 4.

 

Ladies, McDonald’s is good for your figure.  The “Remind Me” girl on the Royksopp video becomes a D cup when she is shown chowing down on that Big Mac and shake.

 

 

And speaking of Royksopp, don’t you darlings think that their synth-pop sound and detached vocal style pretty much just makes them a cheap imitation of The Pet Shop Boys?

 

 

12/31/06

10:00 p.m. PST

Two more hours of 2006, my darlings.  I couldn’t have made it without you. 

 

Wow, Mark K6FEJ responded instantly once again, to something I said in the middle of the night.  I mentioned that he has nothing but time on his hands, and that he should fill some of it by adding a Perseus theme to the Medusa pic that he created starring yours truly.  In no time, there it was on his square.  Another masterpiece.  Incredible.  Boy, hamcams is really getting weird.  I wonder if Mark ever breaks Cynthia’s vice-grip of passion, deep in the night, to run to the ‘puter to get to work on a pic that he just heard me suggest/demand on the ham radio.  Anyway, thanks, Mark.  BTW, Becky Zed does all the cheating.

 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

 

 

12/29/06

1:00 p.m. PST

The Man is back, my darlings.  Art W6OBB flew in under cover of night, and breathed life back into Pahrump.  The Eye of the Vortex is very close now, Little People, and I can feel it throbbing away, out there in the desert.  The Loop and its Master are One, once again.  Reason enough to call JAMCON 4.

 

The Geese Man is also back.  He just would not stay dead.  To mark the triumphant return of Art Bell, the Geese Man has been given a permanent gig on the Blog page.  Mark K6FEJ saw right through me when he created The Geese Man.  I love high camp, and The Geese Man is over the top campy.

 

The ultra light mast survived the wind just fine.  If it gets through the rest of the winter, then I am going to boost it ten feet this summer.  It still won’t be as tall as Ben KD7BCW’s tower/mast combo, and that just galls the hell out of me, but it closes the gap some.

 

Now for the Chevy Nova.  Recall that when my Honda Civic finally gave up the ghost, my dad (who no longer drives) just handed over his 1988 Chevy Nova for me to drive if I wanted it.  It promptly took a dump, so I gambled on an engine rebuild.  Pouring a lot of money into an old car is risky.  I knew that the smog check was coming up, and I was worried about the wreck not passing after the rebuild.  The engine is torn apart, machined, and put back together.  Who the hell knows what might happen, right?  Well, it’s been running fine, but it did in fact FAIL the smog test.  Damn.  NOx emissions are too high.  And my worst fears were realized: the problem IS the rebuild.  I was warned by another shop that the engine rebuilders around here don’t know what they are doing.  I’ll spare you the details, but it’s going to cost me another $500 to straighten out the mess, and who knows how much of that work is REALLY necessary to get the car to pass the smog test?  The breaks are making noise, so I’m having the same shop take care of that.  I’m guessing it’ll be a grand, total.  So 2000 for the rebuild, 600 for rebuilt air, 1000 for smog and breaks -- that’s $3600 to get that heap back on its feet.  Ok, so I threw a lot of money into the pot, and then threw in more to stay in the hand because I was already in for so much.  If I get enough miles out of the beast, then it will have been worth it.  I’ll let you know down the road.

 

To add insult to injury, while I was confiding my car woes to my “friends” on the air, and seeking comfort and support, Duane AG7G looked up a pic of a 1988 Chevy Nova on the web, and told me the car was UGLY!  Well, thank you very much, Duane.  Thanks for being there for me.  You know, Duane, I think your opossum is UGLY!  And I think your chemical elements are UGLY!  How about that, Mr. Yuppyville?

 

 

12/27/06

4:00 p.m. PST

Windy today, my darlings.  So, what?  Well, this is the first, big wind test of my ultra lightweight construction, 62-foot mast.  Light enough to pick up with thumb and two fingers.  The wind is really giving it a pounding today, but so far, so good.

 

 

12/27/06

3:00 a.m. PST

Oh, God, it’s over, my darlings.  Ho, Ho, Ho is no mo.  It ain’t no mo. 

 

You know, I’m ever so pleased that Mark K6FEJ seems to agree with me that those horrible, inflatable outdoor Christmas decorations are tacky as hell.  I wish they’d go away.  I wish Santa would steal them all and bury them at the North Pole.

 

My mom and dad and brother and Becky Zed and I headed up to Rancho Bernardo for Christmas dinner with my aunt Mickey and cousin Leah.  We had the usual turkey with all the trimmings, and lots of champagne.  But what to do for New Year’s Eve?  I’d like to get tix to the swanky party at the Hotel Del Coronado, but that would mean dropping some serious coin.  I dunno.  I really want to be there.  I’m mean I really want to be there, and I think I deserve to be there, in some sort of Cosmic way.  I think therefore that somebody ought to just PAY MY WAY, somebody like MOODY.  Oh, totally.  Moody, we’re putting it on your tab, and I know you have a tab everywhere.

 

I want to be a Youtube star.  I got a video capture device for Christmas, that I’m going use to put camcorder video on my ‘puter, and then send on to Youtube.

 

 

12/21/06

3:00 a.m. PST

Happy Winter Solstice, my darlings.  This will be the shortest day, and the longest night, of the year.  The northern hemisphere is tilted away from the sun by as much as it’s gonna be all year.  You may be surprised to know that we are near our closest approach to the Sun in our orbit around the Sun.

 

I’ve taken down the nude photo layout.  I looked at that pic and realized how much better Mark K6FEJ made me look when he used that pic for his “Snake Charmer” creation.  So I suddenly didn’t like the untouched pic I had up in the nude photo layout.  When the FEJ family put me up on Mt. Rushmore, they made me look extra good in that pic, too.  At first I felt flattered that someone would take the trouble to make me look my best.  But recently I’ve been imagining the family finishing a masterpiece featuring me, and doing a lot of back slapping and congratulating of one another on their humor, artistry, craftsmanship, creativity, etc., but then exchanging troubled looks and saying, “Can’t we do something about his face?”  As if my face was a blemish on another FEJ masterpiece.  So he/they use my face, but not unless they have doctored it, because it’s unfit for their hamcams square in its natural state.  Now I’m worried about re-examining “The Geese Man” too closely.  I’ve been thinking about resurrecting The Geese Man, you know.  More on that later.

 

 

12/19/06

5:30 p.m. PST

Sorry, dahlings, but these Christmas tree pix are so freaking big that I’ve used up all my web space.  I’ll shrink them down, or get some more space, or just show you the second half of the tree-trimming adventure, separately.

 

                            

12/17/06

3:30 p.m. PST 

 

This entry was updated at 11:00 p.m. 

 

Entry was updated AGAIN at 2:00 a.m. on 12/18.  I keep updating because I keep finding scraps of paper with misty watercolor memories of the way we were, that didn’t get recorded before.

 

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to you, my frosty, little darlings.  The 3765-sendoff party was a qualified success.  We got away with murder for over three hours, but then we got hit pretty hard with a Percy Faith attack.  I guess we got about two thirds of our fifty-two check-ins before the attack.

 

I think Moody WQ6I stole the show.  He really had the most spirit, enthusiasm, and entertaining things to say.  His “virtual time capsule” idea was really good, too.  A number of us came up with memories of the group, to put in the virtual time capsule.  So let’s review those memories offered.  I’m going to call them Moon Crash Moody’s Mind Control Memories.  (The acronym MCMMCM is like a palindrome.) 

 

Lovely Cynthia KG6UHJ topped our bill.  Her virtual time capsule memories are of a group (our group) that is characterized by diversity, humor, and being first with breaking news.  She also adds the KN6Z snakebite story to her memory contributions. 

 

Chico Charlie K6HTM remembered Art W6OBB’s wife Ramona, and the account Art gave (on HF) of her death.  Charlie recalled how moving it was to hear dozens of stations ID after Art had finished.

 

Mark K6FEJ, KN6Z and John W6FE, among others, remembered our friend Art W6NZL.  He is no longer with us, but some of us are making use of some of his gear.  I like knowing that some part of his life is still a part of ours.  John is using Art’s PR-40, and KN6Z has Art’s ten-foot satellite dish.  Every so often I look at that dish and think of Art, and reflect on the good times I had knowing him.

 

Moon Crash Moody reminisced about the group, going way back to 3857 and Orv K6UEY.  MCM remembers those days as a time of discipline and civility.  Moon Crash always gets choked up when he talks about Orv.

 

Perennial Little People star, Mac W7LW, remembers fondly the feasibility studies done on the problem of floating his dog “Archie” on balloons filled with cow-fart methane.  Mac is a big reason so many of the “high brow” crowd are attracted to the Little People Network.

 

Another fond memory offered by someone I can’t seem to recall, is that of the phone patches.  That was really fun.  The callers were always very eager to talk to network broadcasting star and best-selling author, Art Bellllll (hereafter, NBSABSAABLLLLLL).  NBSABSAABLLLLLL would ax them all the obvious questions, then pass it on to the rest of us after there was nothing left to say, and the caller basically didn’t care anymore having already satisfied his hunger for NBSABSAABLLLLLL.  I always thought the caller should be forced to talk to the little people first, because he’d never lose his enthusiasm for a chat with NBSABSAABLLLLLL, even at the end of the call.  Anyway, that’s a nit pick.  The phone patches were a blast and it was fun to hear the callers gush over the chance to talk to NBSABSAABLLLLLL.  It really meant a lot to them.

 

Mark K6MJD remembers the encouragement to upgrade, that he received from Mac and Art.

 

Scott AD9DX also remembers being inspired to upgrade, by group members.

 

Conrad N7EN has happy memories of audio testing, and hamcams pix of Mac’s dog Archie, flying through the air.

 

KN6Z’s fondest memories of the good times are the antenna testing, the audio testing (and just learning so much so fast about audio because of all the knowledgeable people around to help), and the NBSABSAABLLLLLL and Ramona RV trips.  On their RV trips, it was fun talking to the Bellllllls, watching the road pix appear on hamcams, and wondering if there would be anything different in the next pic, like a speed limit sign, a passing lane, etc.  On that trip to Las Vegas they took to get the oil changed in the RV, it was killing me wondering if NBSABSAABLLLLLL was going to go with natural oil, or a synthetic.  My best memory of all is of good ol’ 3765 herself: BLESSED PEACE.

 

In closing, let me mention that NBSABSAABLLLLLL showed up on Echolink as promised, but that was after the Percy Faith attack had begun.  Ben KD7BCW tried to get word to me that he was waiting on another frequency, ready to put NBSABSAABLLLLLL on the air, but as luck would have it, the campus computer network I rely on for email was down that night, so I never got the message from Ben.

 

Ok, I’m not done closing yet.  Moon Crash and Beethoven have reputations for just not being able to end it, so I am in good company.  Anyway, I’ve got god-awful interference on 3690.  I listened down there a few times when we were discussing where to make our new home, but I don’t know if I heard the interference or not.  It’s a periodic buzzing.  Very annoying.  I may have just dismissed it before as simply one of the transient buzzes, clicks, whistles, or farts that you might hear at any particular time on any particular frequency.  Anyway, it ain’t goin’ away.  I am axing The Little People if they wouldn’t mind moving down to 3680 kHz.  If the move is supported, then we need to start planning the 3690 kiss-off party!!!  We’re going to need fifty-THREE check-ins to break the record…

 

 

 

12/13/06

3:00 a.m. PST

This is it, my little darlings, today’s the day.  Tonight we send off 3765.  So, we’ve gone to JAMCON 1.  Our jamming readiness level is maxed out.  But what does that mean?  If we get jammed, just what are we going to do about it?  Get on echolink and bitch?  Oh, oh, I know.  Let’s call Riley!  Well, I dunno.  We’ll just have to see what happens.  It may not be pleasant, but I think we can at least get the check-ins we need to break the one night record of twenty-seven.

 

 

12/12/06

2:00 p.m. PST

My darlings, I know you are anxious to hear about my four-hour stint on the double yellow line, at Christmas in the Village, in La Mesa.  Well, we stopped for fish tacos at La Salsa, just before 6 p.m. last Saturday, then headed over to La Mesa Blvd.  I showed up at my intersection and identified myself to some official-types standing there.  They just gave me a quick review of my duties, which were basically to drop logs on the fire as necessary, and keep the public from effing with the fire.  The official girl who was going to “start” my fire got the duty because she was rumored to have been a Girl Scout.  Hmm.  I’ve been to some Girl Scout outings, and I don’t recall ever seeing one of the girls light a fire.  I’m pretty sure this one never did.  She laid the logs down parallel to one another; in such a tight pack that I doubt a single oxygen molecule could pass between them.  I guess she had a few sheets of newspaper stuffed in there, too.  She doused the top of the pile with lighter fluid, and then left for about fifteen minutes, returning at start time.  Lighter fluid is volatile.  Most of it had evaporated by the time she came back.  Anyway, she got some flames going, but there was no oxygen flow through the fuel, so the fire started dying right away.  I got in there and stacked the wood in a teepee, letting oxygen in, which saved the day.

 

There were a few folding chairs around the fireplace, more comfortable I think than the average ass-busting folding chair.  Throughout the four-hour period, people seemed unsure of whether to join our fire circle.  They would often looking longingly at us, and then walk on by.  Sometimes they would ax if they could stand by “our” fire.  Next year I am going to put out a sign welcoming one and all. 

 

An SDSU sorority had volunteered to help, so we had four different sorority girls hanging out with us during the evening.  I brought my boom box, and some music to play, but we had some lame musicians nearby that were interfering, so I didn’t play much music.  We were sitting out front of an ice cream store, which was handy (Well, for Becky Zed, anyway; she was the one waiting on my ass.) when I got in the mood for desert.

 

As I feared, we were on the outskirts, and didn’t get as much attention as I wanted.  It looked like some of the other fire tenders at the happnin’ intersections had brought their own parties.  There were big crowds around their fires.  Well, as I move up in seniority, I will eventually get one of the center stage locations.  The two girls in the pic above, hung with us to the bitter (cold) end.  We were not given enough wood, so we were down to just a few embers by the time the event ended.

 

A nice old lady tending the free popcorn machine, standing nearby, was handing out free popcorn.  She kept pushing it on me, but I was full of fish tacos and didn’t want any, but I didn’t have the heart to reject it.  She was trying so hard to get people to take it.  So I accepted it, but I was secretly dumping it in the fire.  We desperately needed more fuel, so the popcorn didn’t go totally to waste.  Look, we needed calories to stay warm, ok?  Either calories of energy released within our bodies (as in metabolizing the popcorn), or calories of energy released outside our bodies (as in the fire).  It takes calories to digest the popcorn, so you pay a price up front for the energy you finally get out of the popcorn, plus the popcorn is full of indigestible fiber.  The fire CAN get the calories out of the fiber, and we don’t have to pay an energy tax if we let the fire “metabolize” the popcorn for us.  So I wasn’t REALLY wasting food, was I?  And there REALLY isn’t much nutrition in popcorn, anyway, is there?  No.  SO WOULD YOU MIND GETTING OFF MY BACK?!  Jeezus.

 

Ok, now that that’s cleared up, I’ll continue.  My buddy Dave showed up with some coat hanger wire, and marshmallows.  So we roasted marshmallows with some of the people who stopped by our fire.  He also took the pix that I posted to the link on this page.  So, thanks to Dave (Astrostop.com) for the pix.

 

There was the cutest little toddler standing near our fire, pointing at something she seemed very taken with.  She had the fingers of her unused hand in her nose.  We laughed about that and made the following generalization: Toddlers always insure that any unused fingers are filling bodily orifices.

 

 

12/09/06

2:00 a.m. PST

So, lovers, what’s the next wave of Holiday shit going to be?  The city of La Mesa’s “Chrismas in the Village,” that’s what.  The main drag through La Mesa is a quaint stretch of five or six blocks of small bidnesses.  This Saturday night the La Mesa Village Merchant’s Association will be hosting Christmas in the Village.  “The village is transformed into a Victorian Wonderland.  With strolling Minstrels, Carolers, and Street Entertainers.”  I think there are some horse-drawn carriage rides, too.  Running down the middle of La Mesa Blvd for its full length is a line of stand-alone fireplaces, in which bon fires burn.  I volunteered this year to tend a bon fire.  My gig will run 6 – 10 p.m., Saturday night.  This will be my first time as a volunteer.  Officials will start my fire, and then leave me to tend it.  It will be my duty to keep it going, and keep the public from effing with it.

 

Now, here’s the deal.  I volunteered back in October, and was assigned the intersection of Palm Ave and La Mesa Blvd.  That is a happnin’ intersection, right in the middle of the shit, which is just where I want to be.  Well, my darlings, I got an email in November informing me that I’ve been bumped from my primo real-estate at Palm and La Mesa, to the intersection of 4th Ave and La Mesa Blvd.  Ohmigod, that is WAY out on the edge of things, way out on the edge of CHRISTMAS!  I’ll be way out in the dark, on the outside of Christmas, looking in.  Like the Grinch.

 

Well, I don’t know what to make of this, or what to do about it.  There are probably volunteers with seniority, who have been volunteering for years, who squawked that THEY wanted the center stage intersection.  So the rookie gets bumped.  Oh, man, I should’ve played the Art Bell card.  I totally should have.  Then they would have given me anything I wanted, and any place I wanted.  They would have built me a stage on which to burn my fire. 

 

Well, too late for all that.  I’m going to have to generate some excitement my own self.  If only I could have The Little People with me.  THEIR star power would do the job.  Oh, hell, why bother with that?  Booze and strippers would do the job even better.  But nope, it’s going to be Becky Zed and me, and I guess my buddy Dave will show up.  If we had some lights to string up on poles, that would help.  Maybe we could bring some music, a phony tree, extra seating, etc.  Bob K6AII suggests that I fill balloons with flammable liquids and throw them at the fire.

 

I will take some pictures of the scene for you, my darlings.  JUST FOR YOU.  I know you think these humble pages are just mindless self-indulgence, but no.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  At the end of the day, it’s all for you, my darlings, it’s all for you.

 

 

12/06/06

3:00 a.m. PST

Well, my darlings, another “December Nights” is in the books.  “Christmas On The Prado” is what the event used to be called, held every year in San Diego’s Balboa Park.  It’s one of our favorite seasonal things to do.  The emphasis is on food -- cuisines of the world.  Lots of outdoor vendors sell all kinds of different foods from other countries.  My favorite is plantain fritters, served by the Puerto Ricans.  There is all kinds of other shit going on at the event, including free museum admission, and free musical and dance entertainment.

 

We typically start by getting a Christmas glow going with some Christmas cheer in a bottle, and then watch our favorite dance act, The Penis Head Dancers (our name for them).  They are men from some country like Lithuania (but probably not Lithuania), and they wear these tall, bizarre, dome-shaped hats that sure do make the guys look like they have penis heads, but on their SHOULDERS.  We somehow missed them this time, and were very disappointed. 

 

At one point, Becky Zed was having a jones for pierogen (singular: pierogi).  They are pasta things stuffed with mashed potatoes.  We were wandering around the International Cottages (built for the 1935 California Pacific International Exposition).  A nice lady from the House of Ukraine axed us what we were looking for.  We axed her if Ukraine was serving pierogen.  Well, she said House of Poland was, but that Poland’s pierogen were not “home made.”  She said that the Ukraine sauerkraut was home made.  She was not pleased that were turning our noses up at her sauerkraut in favor of Poland’s prefab pierogen.  God, I had no idea there was so much bad blood and rivalry between House of Ukraine and House of Poland.  Let me tell you, those Pierogen were DELICIOUS, home made or not.  The Ukrainian bitch did allow that the Poland borsht was home made.

 

We checked out the potato pancakes at House of Israel, but that was a pathetic scene.  There was a guy with a very poor griddle, trying to heat up some prefab potato pancakes.  They looked like any hash brown patties that I’ve ever seen.  The griddle wasn’t getting them hot because the “potato pancakes” were frozen, and one customer in line was complaining about it.  So we blew that off, like we blew off Norway’s Viking soup.  Viking soup?  Yuck.

 

Other highlights: The Irish dancers really rocked, the San Diego Gay Men’s Chorus (they’re homo-sexshuls, ya know) was really good, the Scotch Whiskey cake was great, and the glog (hot wine with strong spices) was good I guess, but weird (imagine hot mouthwash).

 

 

12/04/06

3:00 a.m. PST

Thanks for the nod, Robo.  You certainly picked an odd number to celebrate.  I was ambivalent about thanking you for the recognition, because I just got through ranting about how I was not going to celebrate 15000, and I don’t really want to draw any attention to 16000.  I shun the limelight as much as I can.

 

 

12/02/06

1:00 p.m. PST

Well, my darlings, here’s another guy who got his ass bit because he just couldn’t keep his hands off of snakes.  But this poor bastard didn’t make it.

 

 

 

From “The Star Online:”

Snake king Ali Khan dies from cobra bite

By CHRISTINA KOH

TAIPING: Malaysia’s snake king Ali Khan Samsudin, 48, died as he had lived – handling the reptiles that he loved. His eldest son Amjad Khan, 21, said his father had been performing at a show in Kuala Lumpur on Tuesday when he was bitten by a King Cobra. Ali Khan, who regularly performs with his beloved snakes for charity and for a living, died at 1am yesterday at Kuala Lumpur Hospital where he had been recuperating. Amjad Khan related that when his father contacted him on Tuesday to tell him he had been bitten, the family had not been too worried.“He had been bitten by snakes many times before, including three times by King Cobras. The first King Cobra bit him in Taiping when he was 21. “So we didn’t think anything would happen. I was just relaks saja (calm),” said Amjad Khan at their flat in Kampung Boyan here yesterday. On Thursday night, his condition took a turn for the worse. Family members here received a call from Amjad Khan’s uncle to go to the hospital. “We rushed from Taiping at 11.30pm, but by the time we arrived he was already gone. We didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye,” said the son. “Maybe his body couldn’t take it any more because of his diabetes.” He leaves behind five children aged 13 to 23 from wives Mau Boh Bee, 48, and Jumabee Mohd Ibrahim, 33. Amjad Khan, who also works as a snake handler, said he would continue his father’s work despite the tragedy. “Many of my father’s shows have been cancelled, but this is a trade that has been passed down for five generations,” he said, adding that his uncle Husein Dasthagir, 48, also worked with snakes. “It’s our way of life and we can’t imagine doing anything else.”  Well known for his daring feats with cobras, Ali Khan had also made it into the 1997 Guinness Book of World Records, living in a glass enclosure filled with more than 5,000 scorpions for 21 days. He set another record by living with 400 snakes for 40 days.  

The moral is, next time you want to grab one of those bad boys, don’t do it, my darlings.  Just say no.

 

 

12/01/06

2:00 a.m. PST

My darlings, we must prepare for uncivil defense, in case of uncivil operating.  I propose a series of five different jamming alert conditions (JAMCONs) that can be called in the event of a jamming emergency.  These would be similar to the defense readiness conditions (DEFCONs) used between the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the commanders of unified commands.  JAMCONs are phased increases in readiness for evasive action. In general terms, these are descriptions of JAMCONs:

 

JAMCON 5 Normal clear frequency conditions
JAMCON 4 Normal, increased monitoring for trouble and heightened evasive readiness
JAMCON 3 Increase in evasive readiness above normal readiness
JAMCON 2 Further increase in evasive readiness, but less than maximum readiness
JAMCON 1 Maximum evasive readiness

 

In anticipation of jamming, we should call the appropriate JAMCON.  For example, on the night of the 3765 sendoff party, because of heavy promotion, because of all the shit that will be going on, and because we will be talking to network broadcasting star and best-selling author, Art Bellllll, we should definitely go to JAMCON 1.  I think we should gradually increase our jamming alert condition as we approach 12/13.

 

Tonight on 3765, we had no trouble at all.  So I think we can reasonably set our jamming alert condition to JAMCON 5 for now.

 

 

11/30/06

2:00 a.m. PST

Omigod, so I gave the algebra exams.  There was one girl left working long after everybody else had finished.  She’s very sweet and nice, and we have an excellent rapport.  I told her very nicely that the damn test was over, and that she should just fill in randomly the remaining bubbles on her Scantron answer sheet.  It makes no sense to leave answers blank; students should always take a guess.  Well, she simply refused to finish up.  I should have just walked out of there and given her a zero, but I didn’t have the heart.  I wanted her to at least get the points for the problems that she had worked (She pulled this on me last exam, too.).  So, I walked over to her desk and tried to pick up her answer sheet.  She put her hand on top of it so that I couldn’t pick it up.  I tried to pull it out from under her hand, but she wouldn’t let go.  I took hold of her wrist, briefly, but then let go.  I didn’t want wind up wrestling on the floor with her.  There was no anger in the struggle.  The whole episode was just ludicrous.  I intended to get that damn answer sheet from her, and then fill in randomly FOR HER the bubbles that she left blank.  Well, I told her that she would lose one point for every minute that she continued to delay.  She proceeded to piss away another minute, so I assessed her a penalty point.  She gave me a broken-hearted look, but did finally relinquish the still incomplete answer sheet.  You’d think that I would be completely out of patience by that point, but I still took the trouble to randomly fill in the blanks on her Scantron for her so that she would get every point possible (And that’s what I did on her last exam!)  Turns out that the guessing I did for her got her 8/10 right!  Well, she was very pleased about that.  The battle was a cold war if there ever was one, and we walked out smiling.  But I’ll be tougher next time, you can bet on that.  Yes sir, just wait til next time.  It’ll all be different then…

 

 

11/29/06

3:30 a.m. PST

Ok, my darlings, here’s some boring blog.  Wednesday I’ve got a four-hour stretch of algebra, which is normally hard on my back and feet, but tomorrow I am going to sit on my butt and give exams.  That’ll give me some time to read “SETI Pioneers,” a book of interviews.  Wednesday night I’ve got three hours of Astronomy, and I’ll have to kick ass because we have a lot to cover.  We have to cover our own galaxy, the Milky Way -- a spiral system of about 400 billion stars -- and Galaxies in general.  I will then give them two quizzes on the Milky Way and Galaxies.

 

I really like the pic of FEJ’s family that I have on my hamcams square.  You can only get quality stuff like that here on my site.  I got that pic from my super secret, super bizarre shrine to other people’s wives and daughters.

 

 

11/28/06

2:30 a.m. PST

Hey, many thanks to Mark K6FEJ for plugging the Little People Log/Blog on his hamcams square.  So far the BIG NAMES we have for the 3765 sendoff party on Wednesday, 12/13, are Cynthia KG6UHJ and Art DU1/W6OBB.

 

 

11/27/06

2:00 a.m. PST

Well, dears, Orv K6UEY emailed me and pretty much put me in my place for my last entry.  He says it’s pointless patching a hole in the side of a sinking ship that is already mostly submerged, meaning this: The Blog’s biggest problem is that it isn’t updated much lately, so little problems like PST/PDT are of no interest.

 

In view of the above, I might mention that I have considered experimenting with “boring blog.”  Now, some of you cruel types are probable thinking, “No need to experiment, he has boring blog honed to a fine art already.”  Well, screw you.  Here’s the thing.  Some very popular blogs that get thousands of hits per day are nothing but accounts of people’s boring, daily routines.  I don’t usually write anything unless something funny/interesting/amusing has happened that I think I can turn into an entertaining paragraph.  But maybe I’ll try some boring, routine stuff for a while and see what the hit counter does.

 

Today was a big day for me.  I took my first ever balloon ride.  And I don’t mean in a hot air balloon.  I mean in a Jules Verne-type helium balloon.  The balloon is a new attraction at the San Diego Wild Animal Park.  It carries up to thirty people, up to 475 feet high, on a tether.  Twelve bucks for a fifteen-minute ride.  I think it was well worth it.  The balloon pilot and I enjoyed an animated conversation, which got our group a longer ride.  Our group had only about ten people, and we only went up to about 400 feet, but that was because of wind.  If it’s calm, they carry more people, and go higher.  My buddy got cold feet and so stayed on the ground, but we will double date with his girl and Becky Zed on another day, and presumably the four of us will ascend together.

 

 

11/25/06

4:00 p.m. PST

Hi, my darlings.  Just a quick note axing you all to be sure to check in on 3765 the night of Wednesday, 12/13, for the 3765 sendoff party.  She’s been a good ship, but she’s sinking, fast.  We really ought to give her the sendoff she deserves.  I’m hoping to arrange a line up some very special people.  Catch The Little People on 3690 after 9:00 p.m. PST, Thursday. 

 

You know, I just realized that I’ve been giving the time as PDT, instead of PST, for quite a few weeks (I’ve fixed a few back entries in the Log and Blog.).  I’m sure that some of you noticed the mistake, but nobody ever informed me that I was being an idiot.  Now, some of you probably just didn’t think it was a big enough deal to bother with, but it sickens me to realize that others of you no doubt intentionally let me keep making a fool of myself in public, just for the JOY of seeing the mighty Snake Charmer fall.  Well, isn’t that special?  Even Orv K6UEY didn’t email me about this, and he NEVER misses a thing.  Et tu, Orv?  OMG, that was the unkindest cut of all.  You the guilty are on your honor to kick yourselves out of the cult.

 

 

11/18/06

2:00 p.m. PST

I’m sorry my darling Little People, but I’m going to have to say no to a more revealing nude photo layout for the 15,000 hit celebration (Mark K6FEJ was disappointed that there was no nipple in evidence on the last shoot).  You see, there will BE no 15,000-hit celebration.  We celebrated 5K and 10K, but celebrating every multiple of 5K is just too much.  I just can’t do it because of my legendary distaste for showboating and self-promotion.  Well, ok, maybe not legendary, but certainly very well known; or even if not very well known, some have heard of it, for sure.  It can’t be that NOBODY has heard of it, but even if THAT were true, which it isn’t, um, I myself am acutely aware of my revulsion for spiking the football.  I’m NOT gonna do it.  NO 15,000 hit celebration.  Ok, maybe you think that I’m just kidding myself about my own humility, modesty, and general aversion for the spotlight.  Well, even if you were right, which you ain’t, because nobody is truer to me than me, the bottom line is the same.  NO CELEBRATION.  Now, if you are cynical to the point of insanity, gentle reader, then you may think that I am most certainly NOT kidding myself.  You may think that all of the foregoing bullshit is pure pretense, designed in fact to CALL ATTENTION to the 15000 hits.  You, dear reader, may be so twisted as to actually think that all this bullshit is merely a phony veneer of modesty, intended to celebrate the very thing that it insists WILL NOT BE CELEBRATED!!!   Well, if you think that, then you are sick.  You are truly sick.  We’ll do something sincere for 25,000 hits, sometime in March.

 

 

11/17/06

2:00 a.m. PST

Becky Zed Update.  Becky Zed had to go back to the quack for a THIRD time.  She was feeling much better, but was STILL coughing.  The doc x-rayed her chest again, and saw marked improvement, but the image of the one lung still showed some haziness.  So he prescribed more antibiotics for her.  She’s been on the new meds for a couple of days, and is returning to normal, or at least as normal as she can be.

 

 

 

 

 

The streets of L.A. as seen from Griffith Park Observatory, by Dave Schmahl.  Astrostop.com

 

11/14/06

2:00 a.m. PDT

Sunday I went up to L.A. with a couple of friends of mine to visit the newly renovated Griffith Park Observatory.  It’s been closed for restoration for a few years.  Becky Zed had to stay home to work on a Shakespearean sonnet that she has to write for a course that she is taking at UCSD.

 

Because of the hoards of people expected, they don’t let you drive up and park at the observatory.  You have to catch a shuttle bus at Hollywood and Highland, and then take a fifteen-minute ride up to the observatory/museum. 

 

The air was really clear on Sunday (at least for L.A.), and it was a real treat to look out over the city and actually see something.  It seems ironic that the most looked-through telescope in the world sits beneath skies so polluted with light and smog that it is nearly impossible to see any stars without optical aid.  But the view of L.A. was spectacular.  The city lights at night were just amazing.

 

We fought a traffic jam all the way up to L.A., then there was parking and catching the bus, the bus ride, long lines to stand in at Griffith, then doing everything in reverse to get home.  All the standing made my lower back and joints stiff.  I was too lame today to do my full distance jogging.  But it was all worth it.  We had a great time.

 

 

11/05/06

1:00 p.m. PDT

Becky Zed Update.  Becky Zed is back from the Ded (I know it’s misspelled, so for the love of God don’t email me.)  The antibiotics are working their magic.  Becky Zed thanks Mark K6FEJ for his well wishes.

 

 

11/03/06

10:00 p.m. PDT

You know, my dears, the last few weeks haven’t been the best around here.  First, there was the Famous, Totally Unprovoked Snake Attack unleashed against yours truly by a crazed, foaming-at-the-mouth Southern Pacific Rattlesnake that snuck up behind me and launched itself through the air, biting me on the finger; then my Honda took its death throws dump; then the Chevy Nova that my dad just handed over to me to drive, took a very expensive dump; then I fought a hard, two week battle to keep my massive pumpkin from rotting away before Halloween; and now, poor little Becky Zed is sicker than a dog, and has been for nine days.

 

It started out as seemingly routine flu -- fever, body aches, cough, chills and such.  She saw a doctor a week ago, and was indeed diagnosed with the boogie-woogie flu.  Some of the symptoms seem to have run their course, but the cough and fever is as bad as ever, if not worse.  So she went back to the doc today.  He diagnosed her with walking pneumonia, and prescribed antibiotics.  Oh, man, she has been sooooo sick.  She’s such a pro’s pro that she got her ass into work on Thursday because she had shit to do, but that really kicked her ass.  I wish she had stayed in bed. 

 

I again prevail upon you all to temporarily suspend your prayers for Dave K6LDO’s ham friendly-apartment hunting, and put your effort into praying for Becky Zed’s full and speedy recovery.  When she’s well, I will return control of your prayers to you, at least until my next problem.

 

 

11/02/06

2:00 a.m. PDT

Pumpkin Report – Final.  My darlings, The Noble Pumpkin at last had its night of glory.  There was still plenty of healthy, firm pumpkin flesh left, out of which to carve a decent face.  I kept the pumpkin on ice til the last minute.  I got home from school late in the afternoon on Halloween, with very little time left before nightfall and the arrival of the goblins.  I grabbed a kitchen knife and hastily carved the face, without too much planning.  I put three candles inside, which provided all the light needed for a most luminous face, shining in the dark, out on the front lawn.  The giant pumpkin drew constant comment from the kids and parents.  The gaping wound was above and behind the face, with aluminum foil over it.  We had 25 kids come to our door.  One kid axed me if I was a “girl witch.”  Hmm.

 

The pumpkin still sits out on the lawn.  I haven’t had time to do anything about it.  It’s really going to seed, now.  Maybe Thursday I’ll take a big knife and give it several good hacks, toss the pieces into a garbage bag, and dump it.  After all that tender loving care for over two weeks, the payoff was just three hours on the lawn for 25 kids to see, and then a few hacks, a garbage bag, a garbage can, and that’s it.  That’s all there is to love.

 

 

10/30/06

1:00 a.m. PDT

The annual Halloween ritual for Becky Zed and I, and a few of our friends, is to go the Haunted Trail in Balboa Park, here in San Diego.  They really put on a good performance, and there are lots of scary structures and graveyards and stuff to walk through, and monsters jump out at you from every corner.  God, we are always the oldest people at this thing.  Well, my darlings, this thing all but fell apart in a way that paralleled The Noble Pumpkin’s falling apart.  The Haunted Trail outing is either a metaphor for the pumpkin, or visa versa.

 

We were all set to go to the Haunted Trail on Saturday night with our friends Cris and Michael and their son Max, and Dave and Jaqui.  Well, Cris and Micheal often don’t get their act together til the last minute, and due to lack of communication, we found out at the last minute that Cris had to work her nursing job Saturday night.  Ok, so we moved the outing to Sunday night.  Becky Zed wasn’t feeling well Saturday, and by Sunday she was death warmed over.  Terrible chills and body aches.  She spent the day in bed.  Ok, so she was out for Sunday night.  Well, turns out Jaqui had to work Sunday, including early Sunday evening, so that left her out.  So we were down to Cris, Michael, Max, and maybe Dave, and me.  Dave thought about going without Jaqui, but that meant she would get home early in the evening, and have to spend it alone.  So Dave bailed out.  Ok, so now it’s Cris, Michael, Max, and me.  Max had a ton of homework to finish, and he wasn’t getting it done.  It was getting late, and Max’s family had an hour’s drive to get down to San Diego.  Max had some trig identities to prove, but it wasn’t going well.  Michael was helping him, and I was helping out over the phone.  Well, no go.  We made some headway on the math, but the homework was not going to get finished in time.  So Cris and Michael abandoned Max, and hauled ass down to San Diego from Temecula.  And now there were three.

 

Cris and Michael called me from the road to tell me that they had taken their two-seater sports car, and could not pick me up.  So I had to fire up my dad’s old Chevy Nova, and putt-putt down to Balboa Park to meet them.  The line to the Haunted Trail was horrendous, but we toughed it out.  I’d say we must have been in line for an hour.  Well, we finally entered the Haunted Trail and had a good time.  Cris pissed herself a few times along the way.  She’d been guzzling coffee, had a long wait in line, and the monsters just scared it out of her.

 

 

10/29/06

1:45 a.m. PDT

Pumpkin Report.  Well, my darlings, my fellow Little People, it is less than 72 hours til Halloween night, and I do believe The Noble Pumpkin is going to make it.  There WILL be a face carved, and the pumpkin WILL greet the kids as they make their way to our front door for candy that they probably don’t deserve.

 

The dry ice really shut down the decay processes ongoing in the troubled areas of The Noble Pumpkin.  The Beast still smells great.  I think I will tip it on its side, with the holes, up.  The usual bottom and top of the pumpkin will be on either side of the face.  The pumpkin has already been all cleaned out in the process of trying to preserve it.

 

I always wish I could meter the quantity of candy that I dole out to the kids, on the basis of cuteness -- the same basis I use for deciding from which girl to buy Girl Scout cookies.  But the kids are mostly masked.  Should I start axing them to lift their masks?  Do you think the parents or the kids might suspect what I’m up to?  The kids will resist because part of the fun is being incognito.  Should I make the assumption that the masked kids are more likely to be the unattractive ones?  Well, I’m really starting to feel heartless, and shallow, and depressed about this whole thing, now, so I’d better stop.  I kind of feel like I want to go out there and kill the pumpkin…

 

 

10/28/06

1:30 a.m. PDT

Pumpkin Report.  My dear Little People, fruit flies have invaded the pumpkin.  Oh, well, I just scrape them out each day along with any new mold, or unusually soft meat.  It’s the area around the holes where the original wounds were, that is the problem.  The rest of the pumpkin is doing ok.  Still smells fine, but is more pungent than when it was fresh.  I have added dry ice to the arsenal.  I’m using it to really put the deep freeze on the problem areas around the holes.  Carbon dioxide from the sublimating dry ice is denser than air, and will flow down through the holes, into the pumpkin, displacing oxygen.  The oxygen poor environment will be unfriendly to mold, fruit flies, or other life hostile to The Noble Pumpkin.  The Little People and The Noble Pumpkin are ONE.

 

 

10/26/06

2:00 a.m. PDT

Pumpkin Report.  I had to perform emergency surgery on the pumpkin today, my little darlings.  The two smaller sites of damage were so badly rotted, that I decided to just cut them out.  The rot was spreading.  The wall of the gaping hole that was left from the collapse of first wound, described previously, is still in pretty good shape.  I’ve been keeping the pumpkin very cold.  I push a plastic trash bag through the big hole, and fill it with twenty pounds of ice.  I replace the bag with a fresh one every day, and fill it again with ice.  Then I cover the whole pumpkin with a blanket for insulation.  That mamma is cold; I’ll tell ya right now.  Not frozen cold, but much colder than refrigerator cold.  Sort of like dead-body-from-the-morgue’s ‘fridge cold.  Nothing says good health like the cold, firm feel of a dead body, eh?  Well that’s how the pumpkin feels, and it’s hangin’ in there.  Still smells all right.

 

I’m seriously considering attempting to mind meld with the pumpkin.  It might be able to tell me how to help it.

 

The pumpkin sits out there on the front porch, exposed and vulnerable.  “The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him…” Animals might be interested in chewing on it.  Hoodlums might steal or vandalize it.  But my greatest fear, my darlings, is this: A pumpkin is round, and smooth, and feminine.  And now it has a moist, inviting opening.  I fear that that might be enough for a lonely man.  I shudder to think what might happen on my own front porch, to my very own pumpkin.  Please do not waste your prayers on Dave K6LDO’s ham-friendly apartment hunting.  Pray for the safety of the noblest pumpkin of them all.

 

 

10/23/06

6:00 p.m. PDT

Pumpkin Report.  Calamity!!!  The large wound has collapsed inward.  There is now a six-inch hole in the pumpkin.  Oxygen has been admitted into the interior.  I have sealed the hole with plastic, and piled high the ice.  Check back for the latest details.  This story is breaking fast.  So is the pumpkin.

 

The Battle for Pumpkin Wall is over.  The Battle for Middle Pumpkin is just beginning. 

 

 

10/23/06

12:30 a.m. PDT

Pumpkin Report.  The Battle For The Noble Pumpkin goes on, my darlings.  Getting involved with this thing in the first place, and the resulting struggle, brings to mind the Iraq War.  The whole effort is going to hell, but what to do?  I have escalated the fight, my friends, for better or for worse.  The “blue ice” frozen packs don’t keep the pumpkin as cold as it could be.  They warm up and have to be changed, and they are not very big.  So, I bought a 20 lb bag of ice and plopped it on top of the pumpkin’s wounds.  I moved the pumpkin from just inside the front door, to out on the porch, because the ice bag leaks and makes a mess.  I put a blanket over the whole thing for better insulation.  San Diego is having one of the warmest, late Octobers that I can remember, just what I don’t need when trying to salvage a rotting pumpkin.  I think I have significantly slowed the spread of the two, small rotten areas, but the site of the large spoilage is still growing too fast.  We’ll see how the ice bag does.  Obviously, the face will have to be carved well away from the bad areas.  I’m not giving up on that pumpkin.  If need be, I will resort to dry ice to freeze the injury, and thereby halt the spoiling.

 

10/22/06

2:30 a.m. PDT

It’s late, my darlings, really frigging late.  So what?  Saturday night, right?  Well, I’ve let Becky Zed talk me into getting up early on Sunday to do an ALS walk to help raise money for ALS patients, and ALS research.  See, BZ’s boss raises money for ALS because BZ’s boss’s boyfriend has ALS, and BZ will score brown nose points if she and I walk in this thing.  I was also conned into donating $25.00.  The ALS walk normally competes for press coverage, with the Breast Cancer walk that takes place nearby, but the Breast Cancer people are not walking tomorrow, so ALS rules.  There will be a catered party at the boss’s house after the thing is over, so I guess I will be able to salvage something for myself out of this.

 

Hey, pretty cool, huh, that the venerable Chico Charlie K6HTM has thrown off the terrible yoke of Advanced Classmanship, to stand once again with The Little People?  He’ll be a great addition to the group: smart, erudite, and a real gentleman.  Too bad his jokes are so hard to figure out.

 

I’m afraid I do have some bad news.  The 187-pound pumpkin is in trouble.  It had some wounds when I bought it, which I told you about previously.  Those wounds are starting to spoil (rot is such an ugly word, I am avoiding it) and mold.  The pumpkin is really fighting for its life.  I’m keeping frozen packs on the wounds.  Every few hours I switch them out with new, frozen packs.  I wish I could just roll the beast into a meat locker and freeze the whole damn thing.  I have filled the wounds with orange wax, but I don’t know if it’s doing any good.  I doused the wounds with baby powder, and let me tell you something, my darlings; mold DOES NOT LIKE baby powder.  The baby powder is very drying, and is retarding the surface growth of the mold.  The rest of the pumpkin is in good shape, and there are no bad smells, but the damaged area could be quite a mess by Halloween.  I’ll keep fighting the good fight though, with the wax, the baby powder, the frozen packs, for The Noble Pumpkin -- and for you, my darlings -- at the end of the day, it’s all for you.

 

 

10/18/06

3:00 a.m. PDT

Well, my darlings, as I mentioned a couple of entries ago, last Saturday Becky Zed and I went to Bates Nut Farm here in San Diego County, to buy a big pumpkin.  They grow a lot of pumpkins there.  The pumpkins were not too good this year.  They were damaged, or looked rotten or diseased.  The Nuts told us that they could not get seeds from the usual vendor.  It showed.  The only decent, huge pumpkin was a 187 pounder.  Well, we simply HAD to have a huge pumpkin, so we were forced to go with that one.  I don’t usually go larger than 100 pounds on a pumpkin.  I mean, I’m not completely nuts, you know?  The pumpkin was sixty bucks.  We got a few bucks off because it was damaged.  Someone had tried to load it into a wheelbarrow, and in so doing damaged the pumpkin.  There are some gouges in the pumpkin, which I intend to fill with melted wax in order to help preserve it until carving time.  I guess we’ll carve it on the 29th or so.

 

It was quite a job getting it out of the old Chevy Nova hatchback.  I sat on the street next to a large, flat plastic storage box that we were using as a safety cushion in case we lost control of the Great Pumpkin.  Becky Zed is a strong, athletic girl, and did a wonderful job of helping me lower the pumpkin down onto the landing pad.  She put her young, strong lower back to work, while I just sort of did a reverse bench press, to bring the pumpkin in for a soft landing.  It went very well, indeed.  Once on terra firma, we just rolled our huge orange baby up the driveway to the front porch.  We put seat cushions on the two front porch steps to protect the pumpkin from the edges of the steps.  The Orange Crusher now sits just inside the front door.

 

When we have that baby carved, I’ll post a pic on hamcams.  I think that before I do that, though, I will post a pic of last year’s pumpkin.

 

Sunday we went to Legoland in Carlsbad.  I wouldn’t normally be interested in paying thirty bucks for that, but we got hold of a couple of free tickets.  It was fun seeing New York City, San Francisco, New Orleans, Kennedy Space Center, etc., all made of Legos.  I’ll put up a few hamcams pix of it.  But, God, NO ART BELL HOUSE!  No Art Bell house made of Legos.  Can you frigging believe that one?  We couldn’t.  We made some inquiries about it, but we didn’t get any satisfaction.  They’ll waste a million Legos on Washington, D.C., and the Capitol Building, and the White House, and all the monuments, but blow off Art Bell’s house.  Go figure.  Man, we were just dizzy when we realized that we were not going to find the Pahrump Pad in Legos, anywhere.  Well, what the hell, it was free.

 

 

10/16/06

3:00 a.m. PDT

I am posting an erratum on the update to the electricity article.  Wherever mV/cm appeared before, it now reads micro volts/cm.  The lower case Greek letter mu for micro appeared as an “m” in the html document.  Sorry for any confusion.  Thanks to Bill WB6BNQ for pointing out the error.

 

 

10/15/06

3:00 a.m. PDT

Just a quick note, my darlings.  I updated the basic electricity article.  The update is not exactly basic electricity, however.  I’m about done with the article, but I may add one more thing.

 

Becky Zed and I went to a pumpkin farm on Saturday and bought a 187-pound pumpkin.  Sixty bucks.  There will be hamcams pix of it.

 

You know, something went unnoticed in the LPL entry for 8/28.  We smashed; I mean we DEMOLISHED our one-night record for stations on frequency.  There were twenty-three Little People Network stations on frequency that night.  I don’t think it’s too late to celebrate, do you? 

Of course not, so bring on the girls!

 

 

10/09/06

12:05 a.m. PDT

Well, sweethearts, Becky Zed and I knocked off a couple of Octoberfests this past weekend.  We have one in the nearby city of La Mesa, and another one in the local city of El Cajon.  The La Mesa Octoberfest is a giant, street fair-type deal.  Not obviously German theme at all.  A lot of BBQ bratwurst is sold, however.  There are lots of vendors selling all kinds of crafty stuff, and holiday season stuff.  Aside from that, it’s really a beach town beer brawl as far as I can tell.  So we go, walk the four-block gauntlet of happening shit, watch all the crazy people, have a beer, listen to the band, then leave.  That’s enough.

 

The El Cajon shindig is a kinder, gentler Octoberfest, and actually has German flavor.  It is held at the German/American club in El Cajon.  People go and hang out at this club all year long, not just at Octoberfest.  I guess they enjoy being German, together, in a club environment.  What good is it being German if you can’t do it at a club?  I happen to be German myself (Thurman the German), and have found it to be wholly unsatisfying.  An empty bag, really, probably because I can’t practice my German-ness at a club.  I have plans to take over the world, but no one to discuss them with.

 

Anyway, the El Cajon Octoberfest is small, actually has a selection of German food, German music, and people walking about in traditional German garb.  We both love potato pancakes, and they’ve got ‘em at the El Cajon fest.  So I waited in the long, Bratwurst and sourkrout line, and BZ waited in the short but agonizingly slow, potato pancakes line.  Timing was perfect, and I had the bratwurst in hand just as BZ arrived at my table with the potato pancakes.

 

We were sitting next to some elderly people talking about potato pancakes.  One old guy who fancied himself some kind of grand lover of potato pancakes was talking potato pancake B.S. all over the place.  He thinks loving potato pancakes makes him some kind of connoisseur.  Don’t you find that true of lots of people who say they love something?  Loving something makes them a connoisseur, and that means hating most examples of what they love.  This guy hated every potato pancake he talked about, and wasn’t impressed with the ones at the El Cajon Octoberfest.  Now, I claim to love potato pancakes.  I have never met a potato pancake that I didn’t love.  You can’t love something if you hate that something most every time you encounter it.  What if someone tells you they love kids, but you find that they hate 90% of all kids they meet?  Would you say they love kids?  No effin’ way, dude.  I love potato pancakes because I don’t turn my nose up at almost every potato pancake in existence.

 

I was hanging loose last night with the beautiful people up on A.M. 3870.  Mike Dorrough KO6NM had some very nice things to say about The Snake Charmer.  He was explaining to his droogs how terribly important I am (And he doesn’t even know I’m a Little People!).  He said, “I can’t hold my hand up high enough; he’s one of the big, big, Hi Fi SSB stations on the band; competition for Art (Bell).”  When Mike was done, I was most impressed with myself.  Mike said he had lost track of the old 3840 gang, and missed them, but he was very pleased to hear that the largest part of the smoldering ruins of the old Art Bell group carries on down on 3765.

 

 

10/06/06

12:30 a.m. PDT

The Geese Man is dead, my darlings (well, never hatched, really); long live The Snake Charmer?  I feel really bad about the demise of The Geese Man, because I was very attached to him/her/it, but The Little People have spoken.  I am being referred to as “The Snake Charmer” even when no one knows that I’m on frequency.  Mark K6FEJ’s vision of The Geese Man is, I strongly feel, a much better reflection of the true me, but it’s a moot point if the nick name never catches on.

 

Mark’s Medusa-like vision of The Snake Charmer required much more skill and craftsmanship than did The Geese Man, so he explained.  I initially failed to notice that he has actually woven in images (from the pic I posted on hamcams) of the very same snake that bit me.

 

I have now told the snakebite story more times than I can count.  Word about it is spreading faster than I can tell the story myself.  People who work in the same building as Becky Zed are hearing about it and calling her for more details.  I never expected people would be so fascinated with this shit.  I wonder if I could make myself an even bigger star by finding something even more exotic to bite me.  I wonder if Art Bell would bite me.

 

 

10/03/06

2:00 a.m. PDT

I’d like to thank all you wonderful Little People for your get-well messages, and expressions of concern following the bizarre, totally unprovoked attack on my finger by a Southern Pacific Rattlesnake.  I really did suffer more from the overnight stay in the hospital than I did from the snakebite symptoms.

 

Now, what is to become of The Geese Man?  The Snake Man/Snake Charmer is taking over.  Hell, The Geese Man was stillborn, anyway.  Never caught on.  Shall I consign The Geese Man to oblivion?  Shall I send him to the Land of Useless Alter Egos?

 

I rode down to Tijuana on Sunday with a friend.  We bought some prescription drugs.  Those meds were indeed prescribed for us by our doctors, but we didn’t have the paper prescriptions with us.  We never needed the paper before in order to bring the stuff back into the States.  This time we got a major hassle at the border, and we got sent to secondary inspection.  The border patrol officers were really nasty.  They told us that if we didn’t have paper prescriptions with us next time, they would seize the meds.  I still don’t know what the law is.  And is a border patrolman qualified to evaluate the authenticity of a written prescription?  Well, I’ll let you know how it goes next time.

 

 

10/01/06

8:00 p.m. PDT

You darling Little People have no doubt noticed the excessively long transmissions made by Moody WQ6I during signal strength shootouts.  To minimize QSB effects, short transmissions are called for, not long-winded Moody Marathons.   I’ve been doing some speculating as to the reasons that he finally does stop talking, and hands the frequency over to the competition:

 

10.  He is secretly monitoring a nearby QSO, and hears the QSB beginning to worsen.

  9.  It’s time for the group to identify.

  8.  His amplifier is getting too hot.

  7.  He needs a bathroom break.

  6.  His solid-state rig has drifted off frequency.

  5.  FCC regs have changed, and he’s operating out of band.

  4.  He is worried that Riley will write him up for broadcasting.

  3.  The sun is coming up.

  2.  His license has expired.

  1.  His wife whispers in his ear, “I love you, LDO.”

 

 

9/30/06

1:00 p.m. PDT

Many thanks to hamcams masters Mark K6FEJ and Dan VR2HF for their tributes to The Snake Man.  Now, do you see the problem that this snake thing is causing?  The Geese Man never caught on, but the snake persona clearly already has.  Is it because snakes are just sexier, more glamorous, and more charismatic than geese?  You know, I was a huge hit with the ladies at the hospital.  They are terrified of and fascinated with snakes all at the same time, and so were intrigued with me.  Anyway, The Geese Man now has this Snake Man alter ego.  I’m just not sure what to do with it.

 

 

9/29/06

6:00 p.m. PDT

The Geese Man is one, dumb mo fo, my little darlings.  Sorry to bust your bubble.  Yeah, Wednesday night there was a snake, about 18 inches long or so, stretched out on the patio.  I took a picture of it.  The Geese man isn’t dumb enough to knowingly pick up a rattlesnake, but he IS dumb enough to pick up an unidentified snake.  So I grabbed that mo fo by the back of the neck, and tossed it over the back fence.  Next morning he was back, beside the house this time.  It was cool the night before, and the snake was sluggish, so I had no problem.  But Thursday morning he was sitting in the warm sun, and had come back to kick my ass.  And kick it he did. 

 

The snake probably just meant to kill a mouse, and instead, he nearly killed a “goose.”  (I’m sure you get the “goose” pun, on its most superficial level, but do you get the reference to Ben Franklin’s remark on his attempt to kill a turkey with electricity?  I hope you don’t find the hint offensive because you think that I think that you are too dumb to get it, but Becky Zed sed The Little People wouldn’t get the joke.  So blame her.)  I tried to grab him by the back of the neck, but the little bastard turned and bit me on the end of my right index finger.  Motherfucker.  Damn.  I went inside to the kitchen sink and washed the wound.  Didn’t hurt much at all.  By the time I had finished rinsing off my finger, I was beginning to feel tingling in my lower lip.  I thought, “Oh, shit.  A venomous snake.”  (On review of the picture I took, I do see a pitiful bit of a rattle on the snake, but I didn’t notice the tiny rattle during either encounter with the snake, and the snake certainly never “rattled” it.)  I got my brother to drive me to the emergency room.  Becky Zed was at work and didn’t find out until some time later.

 

On the way to the hospital, not even knowing if I was going to live or die, I took the trouble to call the college at which I was going to be teaching that morning to tell them to cancel my class because I might be too dead to come in.  The dumb ass at the switchboard evidently did not get the info straight, or did not post the note, because I got an email from the school, later, axing what had happened to me. 

 

We got to the hospital in about ten minutes, but by then I had numbness, tingling, and sensations of swelling, in my face, lips, tongue, hands, and feet.  As my tongue got numb and began to feel swollen, I started to worry that my throat would swell and constrict.  Happily, breathing was never a problem.  After about an hour at the emergency room, I finally received the antivenin.  My face felt as big as a balloon.  My lips felt five times normal size, and felt like they stretched half way around my head, like an extreme face-lift.  The doctors said I looked good, completely normal.  Remember what Billy Crystal’s “Fernando” always said: “It is better to look good, than to feel good.”  It took at least an hour to feel any benefit from the antivenin, but when it finally kicked in, the symptoms went away fast.

 

Eventually I was moved upstairs to an ordinary hospital room.  About a million vials of blood were drawn over the next twenty-four hours.  They were watching my platelet count and clotting factors very carefully.  The snake venom can reduce the blood’s ability to clot.

 

All of the people taking care of me were really fun and nice.  I was a really big star (and without even playing the Art Bell card) because snakebite cases are so rare around here.  That hospital only has about two per year.  They turned me loose from the hospital about 3 p.m., Friday.  Said I was well.  Mmm hmm.

 

 

9/27/06

10:45 p.m. PDT

The truth is, I thought it mattered - I thought that music mattered. But does it? Bollocks! Not compared to how Little People matter.

 

Good evening, you darling little cultists.  Hey, I have some exciting news to share with you.  I cut my toenails!  Yeah, no shit, and I am ever so pleased with the outcome.  Now I can pull my socks on all the way, on the FIRST TRY!

 

Hey, that was a blast having OBB back on the air with us last night, was it not?  You know what’s really cool?  Art told us that he mentioned The Little People on his broadcast.  It won’t be that long before the entire Little People Cult will be guests on his show.

 

 

9/24/06

11:50 a.m. PDT

Good morning, you darling Little People.  Saturday night we drove an hour north to Temecula to hook up with Moody WQ6I and Norma at Pechanga Resort & Casino.  They were at the RV Park with their huge coach and a group that looked suspiciously like WARFA/OMIK, called “Rolling Wheels.”  It wasn’t necessarily a ham radio group, but those people sure did look like WARFA/OMIK.  WARFA and OMIK are two completely different things of course, which are both completely different from Rolling Wheels (LOL).

 

So Moody escorted us into his beautiful coach.  That thing is so comfortable.  It really is like a cruise ship; or a plush living room, with a steering wheel.  M & N are wonderful hosts, and they gave us the royal treatment that we have come to expect, and deserve.  They probably heard somewhere that Art Bell had fed us Moet & Chandon all night, so Moody broke out a bottle of the stuff for us.  I took the opportunity to remark that Art Bell had plied us with M & C champagne (the very same Burt Imperial Moody was pouring), too, just in case Moody had forgotten how important we were (because we had been to see Art).  M & N are just 100% class all the way (Well, most of the way.  They fessed up that they had gotten the M & C for only ten or fifteen bucks at Grocery Outlet.  Same stuff Art gave us, but at least Art’s was expensive.).  The four of us made a champagne toast to ourselves, and to our first Temecula meeting. 

 

We nibbled on finger food, and drank fine champagne and other Moody booze (what a great name for a band, The Moody Booze) while watching multiple football games on his plasma TV.  Moody broke out a $160 bottle of Prince Hubert de Polignac Cognac X.O. that he had been given as a birthday present.  God, I was splashing that stuff around like it was soda pop. 

 

Next, we went outside to where the Rolling Wheels gang had a huge BBQ buffet.  Ribs, chicken, fish, the whole deal.  We loaded up our plates, and took our food back into the coach, like the snobs we were.  Left the nice people who cooked the food, outside.  We watched more football.  Washington, a team with a line up of especially large players, was losing to a “smaller” team.  Moody blamed the phenomenon on the spread of “my” Little People.  Little People were taking over.  After we finished eating, Norma made coffee.  Moody said to her, “Is this your regular bean thing coffee?”  Hmm.  I correctly surmised that she must have ground beans for the coffee.  They had a bottle of some incredibly good, Paul Masson Mocha Caramel liqueur.  We put it in the coffee, and it was out of this world.  A perfect topper to a great meal.

 

It was time for the casino.  Becky Zed and I drove over; M & N rode the shuttle.  BZ and I planned on driving home straight from the casino.  We had a fair amount of trouble finding Moody once we were there.  He wasn’t at the agreed upon meeting place, so we did considerable walking around.  That was fine because we wanted to explore, anyway.  We did joke a bit that maybe they were intentionally ditching us.  We comforted each other with forced laughter.  We finally did run into Moody.  We caught him right out in the open.  He’s a big guy and probably couldn’t find a suitable hiding place.  We axed him what he wanted to do, so he told us about a particular bank of slots he liked to play.  He gave us directions to Norma’s location at some poker machines in the non-smoking gaming area.  He waved his hands around and told us to “follow the walls.”  Follow the walls.  Hmm.  When someone tells you to “follow the walls,” you get the feeling that they want you to be gone for a very long time. 

 

We joked uneasily about that while we walked along the perimeter of the huge casino.  Believe it or not, we found Norma exactly where Moody said she’d be.  We told Norma we were going off to do some playing, ourselves.  It was unlikely that we would find them again, so we said goodbye, and axed her to pass along our goodbyes to Moody.  I hope she didn’t ball him out for ratting out her location to us.

 

 

9/21/06

2:30 a.m. PDT.

Ten thousand hits on the Little People Log in less than 100 days.  Thank you, my darlings.

 

 

9/19/06

9:00 p.m. PDT

Oh, you darling Little People, you look so extra small and cute as I soar high overhead, astride my goose.  Ah, the Geese Man “phenomenon.”  Never has so silly a thing so completely failed to “take off.”  Heh, heh.  I hope the quotes aren’t offensive, my darlings.  I hope you don’t think that I put “take off” in quotes because I think that you’re too dumb to get the pun.  So, why then DID I use the quotes?  Let’s move on.

 

Ok, where was I?  Oh, yeah, the Geese Man thing.  It really has not caught on at all.  It’s a phenomenon only in my mind and on these pages.  Is it just an excuse to refer to myself in the third person?  Is the presentation of myself in a dress and ridiculous goose mount just shameless self-promotion in “drag?”  Heh, heh.  (I hope the quotes aren’t offensive…).  That is, is the presentation of myself in a dress and ridiculous goose mount just shameless self-promotion in the guise of self-deprecating humor?  Is that all the Geese Man non-phenomenon is?  I’d say judge for yourselves, but it seems you already have.

 

It’s reminiscent of Michael Jackson’s insistence on being the “King of Pop.”  He kept arranging for others to promote him as such, until everybody just sort of gave in.

 

I never followed up with you on the whiskey tasting.  Becky Zed and her work friend and I all went downtown to the Gaslamp Quarter, as planned.  We had reservations at The Field pub for the event.  All the furniture at The Field is imported Irish pub stuff.  Our table had benches for seats.  Not comfortable enough for a long dinner and whiskey tasting, so we axed for other accommodations, and got them.  As expected, I had half of Becky Zed’s whiskey, and two thirds of her food.  I was sooooo boozy and bloated and stuffed.  But, the food and booze was great (You can see the menu, below.).  The first time we did this, a rep from the Wild Turkey company gave a presentation, and that was fun and interesting.  And there were silly drawings and prizes.  This time some rep of unknown affiliation just walked around to tables, axing for questions.  Lame.  Still, everything was great and we had a good time.  Hell, if you leave anything drunk, how bad could it have been?

 

 

 

9/17/06

2:30 a.m. PDT

Hello, Hello, my darlings.  I’ve been out playing, so I didn’t get on the air Saturday night.  Going up to Big Bear Lake on Sunday to tour a solar observatory with some friends.  Poor Becky Zed has to go in to work on Sunday.  BTW, BZ is worried that if I keep up the “Geese Man” bit, Mark K6FEJ is going to be offended.  See, on a recent hamcams square that addressed me, he spelled “Jeez Man,” “Geese Man.”  I’m just having some fun with that.  It’s a funny sounding nickname, but I seem to be the only one enjoying or using it.  Anyway, if FEJ can’t hack it, then he’s out of the cult.

 

Below is a variation on the lyrics to Pulp’s “Common People,” by The Geese Man.

 

 

BZ came from San Diego she had a thirst for knowledge,
she studied bidness at a local College,
that's where I,
caught her eye.
She told me that her Dad was loaded,
I said "In that case I'll have a rum and coca-cola."
She said "Fine."
and in thirty seconds time she said,

"I want to live like Little People,
I want to do whatever Little People do,
I want to sleep with Little People,
I want to sleep with Little People,
like you."

Well what else could I do -
I said "I'll see what I can do."

I took her to a supermarket,
I don't know why but I had to start it somewhere,
so it started there.
I said pretend you've got no money,
she just laughed and said,
"Oh you're so funny."
I said "yeah?
Well I can't see anyone else smiling in here.

Are you sure you want to live like Little People,
you want to see whatever Little People see,
you want to sleep with Little People,
you want to sleep with Little People,
like me."

But she didn't understand,
she just smiled and held my hand.

Rent a flat above a shop,
cut your hair and get a job.
Smoke some fags and play some pool,
pretend you never went to school.
But still you'll never get it right,
cos when you're laid in bed at night,
watching roaches climb the wall,
if you call your Dad he could stop it all.

 

You'll never live like Little People,
you'll never do what Little People do,
you'll never fail like Little People,
you'll never watch your life slide out of view,
and dance and drink and screw,
because there's nothing else to do.

Sing along with the Little People,
sing along and it might just get you through,
laugh along with the Little People,
laugh along even though they're laughing at you,
and the stupid things that you do.
Because you think that poor is cool.

I want to live with Little People,
I want to live with Little People etc...

 

9/14/06

2:30 a.m. PDT

Hi, you wonderful, crazy Little People.  I updated the Vegas story.  I really just ran out of gas on it.  No big finish.

 

The Log counter is closing in fast on 10,000 hits, and I am way behind on my nude photo layout for the 10,000 hit celebration.  Somehow I need to lose thirty pounds before the shoot.

 

 

9/12/06

3:30 a.m. PDT

God almighty, what am I doing up?  It must be you, my darlings.  Of course it’s you.  It’s ALL for you. 

 

You know when I think about it, there really is a pattern to these plane crashes.   Loss of altitude is the culprit almost every time, unless the plane crashes into a mountain or another plane.  I’ve been poring over NTSB accident reports, and it’s the same thing every time: loss of altitude.  I think if we could just keep planes from losing altitude, they’d stay up.  Logical, huh?

 

Tonight we are going to a whiskey tasting dinner at an Irish pub that we love called The Field, downtown.  One of Becky Zed’s girlfriends from work is coming with us.  The pub’s entire interior was imported from Ireland.  The food far surpasses any pub food around.  They serve each course of the meal with a whiskey that is paired to the food.  We did this once before and it was really fun.  I get most of Becky Zed’s food and whiskey.  Oh, man, last time I was so looped and so gorged by the time we were done.  Ugh.  A greezy whiskey company type from some distillery speaks to the guests about the whiskeys.  Last time a guy from the Wild Turkey makers spoke to us.  I can’t believe all the bullshit they come up with to say about some damn whiskey.  There are also drawings for silly prizes.

Here’s the menu:

 

Cocktails

Chivas Regal 12 Year Old

With soda
With ginger ale


Scotch Eggs

Topped in a mustard mayo

Scapa


Pan seared Peppercorn Chicken

Chicken Breast pan seared in Whiskey, served atop a bed of Saffron Rice and smothered in a Peppercorn Sauce

Glenlivet 12


Breaded Salmon

Fillet of Salmon coated in a herb bread crumb then covered in a creamy cucumber sauce, accompanied with Roasted Red Potatoes

Glendronach 12


Lemon Whiskey Cheese Cake

Glenlivet 18 Year

 

 

 

 

9/11/06

3:30 a.m. PDT

Just a quickie before bed, my darlings.  I was watching the local San Diego news tonight, and a news anchor made the following quote, “In Ensenada, witnesses reported a small plane lost altitude before crashing.”  Imagine that.

 

 

9/10/06

3:00 a.m. PDT

Didn’t get on the air tonight.  BZ and I went out to dinner at the local El Torito.  The waitress axed us if we wanted an appetizer.  At a Mexican joint, a typical appetizer is a quesadilla.  That’s melted cheese between flower tortillas.  I got to thinkin,’ if I’m not hungry enough to eat, am I going to GET hungry by filling up on a plate of cheese?  I did order the quesadilla, but only because I was already hungry.  As expected, I was less hungry, not more, when I finished it.  In Britain they call appetizers starters.  I think that name makes more sense.  I remember on one visit to the U.K., a waitress in a pub kept axing me if a wanted status.  I couldn’t figure out what the hell she was talking about, or implying.  “Look lady, I’ve got all the status I need,” is what I felt like saying.  Finally, I figured out that she was saying starters, not status.  We had a good laugh over that.

 

Later in the evening we took a drive down the main drag in Tijuana, Mexico.  It’s wild down there on Saturday nights.  The line to get back across the border was long, and that pretty much blew the rest of the night

 

I am very pleased with my new nickname, given me by Mark K6FEJ.  He’s a very sensitive and perceptive guy, and evidently sensed my affinity for water foul (Oh, how I’ve longed just to have a good molt, like the real geese.).  He thus dubbed me “Geese Man.”  John W6FE doesn’t think it suits me, however.  Maybe he thinks I need a longer neck.  Well, I do think Geese Man fits just fine (It’s a damn sight better than Duck Man.).  Honk, honk.

 

I am the Geese Man,

I am the Geese Man,

I am the Walrus -- koo koo, kachoo.

.

 

9/8/06

1:00 p.m. PDT

Murphy’s Law never fails, eh?  The one time in a blue moon that Mark K6FEJ gets on the Little People Network is also the one time in a blue moon that I do NOT get on the air.  Well, at least Mark makes the Weekend Roundup.

 

I’m dragging my feet on the Vegas Hilton story because, frankly, I’m running out of story.  I don’t have a big finish.  I wish I could say that I was beaten up by casino mobsters, and then dumped in the desert to die, but that just didn’t happen.

 

 

9/8/06

12:30 a.m. PDT

Well folks, the storm of the new semester has hit full force, and has knocked me on my ass.  I’m just too whipped to blog much.  I’m not even going to get on the air tonight.  Going straight to bed after I finish this entry.  I got a last minute offer of another class, so I took it, but I’m really loaded down now.

 

The race for Little People Mascot has really gone south; really taken the low road.  Y’all might recall that on FEJ’s last hamcams pic, Emily called my tortoise Scooter, a “turtle.”  That was a low blow, but not as low the shot given by Archie’s stooge, Mac W7LW.  Mac sent me an email in which he referred to Scooter as my “amphibian.”  Amphibian?  Um, I seriously doubt that Mac thinks tortoises are amphibians.  That was clearly a cheap shot.  If the Scooter campaign responded in kind, we would call Archie a feline.  But the Scooter campaign is above it.  Mac also suggested that Scooter is promiscuous because of the egg she laid; in contrast to Archie who is cherry because he was “fixed.”  Scooter’s eggs never hatch, even when incubated, because she is pure.  I’m sure that that rat Olive is a real slut, though.  Archie is only cherry because he had no choice in the matter.  If Archie wasn’t “cut,” I bet he’d be a deadbeat dog, humping his way across Idaho, leaving a trail of starving puppies in his wake.

 

It couldn’t be clearer my darlings, Scooter best symbolizes the purity and righteousness of heart, mind, and soul, so typical of the Little People.  Support Scooter the tortoise for Little People Mascot.

 

 

9/3/06

4:00 a.m. PDT

Hello all you darling Little People.  The blog has really slowed down, I know.  I used to write it while on the air with the gang, but now I’m too busy logging stations and other info to write blog.  Frankly, I feel like I’m being crushed under the wheels of the Little People Network juggernaut.  It’s now the biggest thing on 75 meters.  Well, at least I have updated the Vegas Hilton story.  John W6FE is helping me out with the logging now.  Thanks, John.

 

 

8/30/06

11:00 p.m. PDT

My darlings let me ax you something.  What the hell is going on with that dog, Archie?  Yeah, you know, Mac W7LW’s dog.  It seems like he wants to ascend the thrown of Little People Mascot, uncontested.  Keeping in mind that no critter has held the orfice before, it would seem that Archie is taking a page out of my book.  He watched me make a ballsy power grab of my own, when I seized the never before held orfice of Little People Secretary.  Archie has had a lot of hamcams exposure recently, and I think he wants to cash in on that quickly.  If we don’t watch out, Archie and his stooge Mac will have Archie in power before any of us knows what happened.

 

Word on the street is, Emily K6WGB’s rat Olive plans on making a run for the crown, herself, but she may not get the chance if the Idaho mob have their way.  Archie’s ambition has blinded him to the best interests of the Little People.  The Little People have a habit of making people (and why not dogs, too?) go away who say and do shit that the Little People don’t like.  So Archie, pay attention.

 

 I’m going to further muddy the picture by leaking my tortise Scooter’s plans to run for Mascot, as well.  I’d like to point out that Scooter has had more experience of all kinds, by far, than either Archie or Olive.  Scooter is over forty years old, and has been with me since I was a kid.  She has also just laid an egg in the backyard, which clearly shows that she is a family oriented candidate.  I know Scooter doesn’t want to run a negative campaign, but I really must point out that she doesn’t do weird shit like vibrating on top of wooden posts, or putting her head in people’s mouths. 

 

 

8/28/06

11:45 p.m. PDT

Sorry, my darlings, but my Internet connection was down for about a day and a half.  Two Little People Log entries will be posted very close together.  The Vegas Hilton story is updated.

 

8/25/06

2:45 p.m. PDT

Well, hello there.  Hello, all you darling Little People.  My ass has been kicked this week for no other reason than that I finally had to get off it.  Get off my ass, that is, and teach.  I’ll get acclimated to the old routine in a couple of weeks.  Not all of my classes have even started.  Next week all my classes on all the campuses will be underway. 

 

The other day I did my forty miles in the local park rather than on the treadmill at the Y.  Oh, man, that was a dose of reality.  I’ve gotten spoiled on that cushy treadmill, in that air-conditioned gym, watching TV while running.  Doing the distance in the park was suddenly so much harder than it had been.  Out in the real world, you have to pick up your feet.  The rectangular sections of sidewalk don’t always fit flush; there are uneven places, and rocks and debris around sometimes.  The treadmill is perfect.  You don’t have to pick up your feet much.  Picking up your feet more over thousands of steps takes its toll.  Just having to watch where the hell you are going requires more effort than zoning out to the TV.  The incline varies also, out in the real world.  That’s more work.  There are turns to make.  That, too, is more work.  Obstacles such as kids, balls, bikes, and anything else that requires evasive action, add more work.  Shit chasing you, such as dogs, wear you out more, too. 

 

Have you noticed the shadowing adjustments that Mark K6FEJ has made to his hamcams pic, the one that he ripped off from my square, which is the very same one that I ripped off from Mac W7LW?  Pretty cool.

 

Well, as you know by now, Pluto has taken a hit.  It’s been downgraded, demoted to dwarf planet.  Pluto and its moon Charon are now rejects out on the fringe, looking in.  Pluto was discovered about 75 years ago, but takes almost 250 years to go around the sun, so the poor little planet didn’t even get one, single victory lap after its discovery, before being busted down to dwarf.  And now the other planets won’t let it play any reindeer games.  Sorry, Pluto.  You lived your life like a candle in the wind.  You lived in constant fear of being exposed as a fraud, and finally you were.  You used to look down your nose at asteroids like Ceres, but Ceres has been upgraded from asteroid to dwarf planet.  You and Ceres are now basically the same kind of scum: dwarf planets.  How does that make you feel, Mr. Big Shot former planet?  There are millions of Kuiper belt objects just like you, Pluto.  You are nothing special.  Reality bites, eh?  Even when you had everybody fooled, masquerading as a planet, they still named you after a dog.  It must feel terrible to know that you always sucked.

 

 

8/22/06

2:30 a.m. PDT

Oh, boy, do I EVER need to get to bed, but I know you all expect something from me, my darlings, so I’m biting the bullet for you.  I feel guilty that you keep pinging this site with such frantic regularity, even though I don’t come through for you every day.

 

Well, Tuesday the jig is SERIOUSLY up for me.  My summer vacation is sooooo over.  I think I’m ready to go, though.

 

I’m spending more and more time helping my dad with his affairs.  I needed to get at his homeowner’s policy today, but it was in a small safe in his bedroom.  The safe has a four number combination lock on it.  After some searching, we found the little book where he had written the combo.  But, after much struggling, I could NOT get the damn thing open.  He had the combo numbers marked in bright red, right on the lock itself (I guess for the convenience of burglars who might not have the combo), and the marked numbers matched the combo he had written down, but no go.  I couldn’t open it.  I found out from my mom later that he did get it open, after a long battle.  I don’t know how he did it yet, but I guess I’ll fill you in.

 

One of our finest Little People hopes to eventually see a video of me typing the Little People Blog.  He said he thinks my long, flowing hair would make good video.  Well, I told a couple of hair stories a while ago because of general, on air interest in my hair.  This latest interest stimulates me to grace you oh-so-deserving of Little People with another (oh God not another) HAIR STORY.

 

Back when I was a grad student in Astronomy at SDSU, I had a summer job as a science counselor for a day camp for kids, on campus.  The campers did all kinds of activities, including science, and I was The Man.  Anyway, we had some free time one day, and several pre-teen girls axed me if they could play “barber” with my long, golden locks.  I sat down on a step and watched some of the other counselors playing with the other kids.  The girls had some combs and a pair of scissors, but assured me that the clipping was just NEAR my hair, and that no hair was being cut.  The combing felt good, so I just zoned out awhile.  Oh, God, what a fool, what a chump I was.  Those little bee-atches HACKED ME TO PIECES!  And I had to teach a class that night at SDSU.  I looked like Thulsa Doom, only worse.  That night I did my best to disguise the disaster, with my comb, and then marched into class.  Nobody said anything.

 

 

8/19/06

11:45 p.m. PDT

Hey, my little darlings.  I know I’ve been lagging on the blog, but I’ve been busy getting ready for the new semester, which starts Tuesday.  I thought I was in jam for a while, because I had been thinking that the first day was Monday, but that turned out to be a happy mistake.  Tuesday!!

 

I hit the Y today as usual for my thirty-five miles on the treadmill.  After the run, I was soaked to the bone, and went into the locker room to change my shirt before lifting weights.  I hate getting the exercise benches covered with sweat, and I’m sure the other patrons don’t like it either.  It’s a really nice club.  So I walked into the locker room, where I was hit by the most unpleasant nakedness.  God, it was just awful.  People look best when they are mostly covered.  It got me thinking about how nice it was to graduate from high school, and not have to deal with naked people anymore.  I really don’t handle them well.  Ok, unfortunate choice of words.  It’s just that my eyes aren’t fit for 99% of the naked population, and I’m quite sure that my naked self is not fit for 100% of their eyes.  So, by keeping my clothes on as much as possible, I don’t subject them to the sight of me, and to protect myself, I avert my eyes and conclude my locker room bidness as quickly as possible.  I would not be bothered by the sight of some of the female gymnasts, but I am never in their locker room.

 

8/16/06

11:30 p.m. PDT

Kind of a slow news day, lovies.  Did a long drive home from Vegas recently, as you all know.  When passing the Pahrump turnoff, I was reminded of another desert drive I did through the Pahrump valley, years ago.  I was on the highway, headed out the backside of Pahrump, on my way to the I-15 via Baker, Ca.  I was really out in the middle of nowhere.  It was a daytime drive, late spring, hot.  The landscape was monotonous and dreary.  As I rolled along, I noticed a metallic object that appeared to be flying from right to left, low over the desert.  It was most definitely not a plane.  The shape was indistinct, but it was very reflective.  The bright sun was really blazing off its surface.  I watched it for a bit, then saw another one following it.  And then another.  My God, there was a whole stream of these metallic objects, lined up like planes flying into an airport, descending from upper right to lower left.  I looked off to the left, trying to see an airfield.  Even if there was an airfield, and even if I was looking at planes, no airfield could possibly accommodate planes landing at the rate that these UFOs were passing me. 

 

Oh, man.  I was chuckling to myself, thinking, “Jeezus, I can’t even drive within a few miles of Art Bell’s house without seeing an alien invasion.”  Anyway, I just kept driving, getting closer and closer to the UFOs.  Suddenly, the real story crystallized out.  I was looking at trucks on a road.  Incredible.  The road under these trucks was a good distance away, on the other side of a shallow valley; but at that distance, there was no way to see the road against the drab desert surface.  The trucks were too far away to be recognizable as trucks, and besides, they were glaringly bright.  The angle of the sunlight was just perfect for making these trucks look like UFOs, especially against the washed-out desert background.  They looked like they were flying because the bright reflections made them look close, appearing to be out over the middle of the shallow valley, rather than on the far side where the road was.  It was just amazing how everyday objects such as trucks, moving along the ground, could look like an armada of extraterrestrial vehicles, flying through the air.

 

 

8/15/06

11:00 p.m. PDT

I drove up to the Y today to put in my thirty-three miles on the treadmill.  A nice family walked past the front of my car and looked my way.  They caught me sniffing my steering wheel.  See, my hands smelled funny, maybe like exhaust.  As you know, exhaust is getting into the passenger compartment of my Honda Civic because of the blown head gasket, but I am in denial about it.  I was hoping my hands smelled odd because of holding onto the plastic steering wheel.  I thought maybe IT smelled weird.  So I was sniffing it.  Well, the steering wheel smelled fine, but I still got a pretty good buzz.  The exhaust seems to be coming in through the windows.  The car smells pretty good with the windows rolled up.

 

Someone was axing me about some problems they noticed with my spelling, such as using “ax” instead of “ask,” etc.  I’m just screwing around.  I use “ax” for “ask,” “axing” for “asking,” “bidness” for “business,” and Becky Zed “sed” for Becky Zed “said.”  If you see me making nonsystematic mistakes, then you can go ahead and trumpet it to the world that KN6Z can’t spel.

 

 

8/14/06

12:30 a.m. PDT

Well, we had a pretty good time on our road trip, but there was a snag early on.  We hit Vegas late Wednesday night, and by the next morning, I was pretty sure I had an ear infection.  I’ve had many outer ear infections in my life.  The ear didn’t feel too bad, but I was nauseous and fatigued as well.  I recognize the symptoms right away, and waste no time getting to the quack.  So, we spent most of the afternoon Thursday getting me some medical treatment.  I was very pleased with the doctor.  I usually just get antibiotic ear drops, but this doc gave me the drops, systemic antibiotics (pills), and a shot in the ass to jump start the healing process.  He even dealt me some Tylenol with codeine.  I was well on my way to recovery in 24 hours.  Felt much better. 

 

So, we had to get busy having fun on Friday, because we were going to be leaving Vegas on Saturday for someplace else, maybe home.  Becky Zed wanted to bake some cookies in the car; I wanted to ride the New York, New York coaster, and we both planned on some Texas Hold‘em at a game we like at the Excalibur, where there are lots of fish.

 

We stopped at a market for some ready-to-bake cookie dough, and a cheap, disposable baking tin.  We then drove to the top floor of the NY, NY parking structure.  BZ put the dough on the tin, and we left it on the dash.  We went into NY, NY and road the coaster.  $12.50 a head to ride that mo fo!  It’s a great coaster, but damn, what a price.  For the cost of four rides, you could go to the mouse park.  After that, we were off to the poker tables at Excalibur.

 

I’m afraid the fish did get the best of us, but they didn’t get much.  We had lots of fun for a long time for very little.  Any trip is better with weird people, and we had’m at our table.  Here’s the best story:  Our table was full, and there was a total a-hole at the end opposite us.  The dealer was no sweetheart, either.  Ok, so on this one hand, there was a pretty good-sized pot after the flop, and the only people left were the a-hole and myself.  A-holes are no fun when they win, but they are a blast when they lose.  I was on the defensive, checking to the a-hole, and then calling the a-hole’s bets.  I got a good card on the river, which made me a hand.  Three Jacks or something.  So, I figured if I checked, he’d bet again, then I’d check-raise.  That’s exactly what happened.  I threw down my cards, and that dude shit.  I mean he really shit.  He actually threw his cards at the dealer, hitting him.  And that was a pretty freakin’ disagreeable dealer to begin with.  Oh, man.  The cards bounced off the dealer and fell on the floor.  The dealer was sooooo pissed.  Very soon after that, that dealer was begging his bosses to replace him.  He was pissed off at the a-hole, and at the tiny pots at our pussy table.

 

I know, I know, you don’t give a rat’s ass about the poker.  You want to know what happened to the cookies.  Well, they didn’t cook.  Didn’t even flatten out.  They were just slightly warm lumps of dough.  I knew nothing would happen.  No way would the car get hot enough.  So, BZ put the tray of dough on top of the trashcan next to the elevator, in case the casino patrons wanted a yummy snack.

 

Normally, I would have been out in the desert after midnight to view the Perseid meteor shower, but the moon was bright, and there were some clouds, so I blew it off.

 

 

8/13/06

1:30 p.m. PDT

I’m back, my darlings, and I extend to myself the warmest of welcomes home.  I am humbled to see that you have been hitting this page frequently in my absence, and in the absence of any new material.  I may re-read it all, myself.  It must be great stuff. 

 

I’ll have more to say later, but for now I’m off to the gym to put in my thirty miles on the treadmill.  I’m fat and out of shape after days of sin, partying, and debauchery.

 

 

8/7/06

11:00 p.m. PDT

Well, General Zed really had me by the balls, but she did too much smack talkin’, and not enough ass kickin’.  “Risk” is a game of skill and chance.  Like “Monopoly,” it involves both cards and dice.  But the cards and the dice suddenly turned against her, and it was no accident.  Her little black plastic army was truly a Black Plague on the board.  Only the hand of a greater power could have stopped her.  Those who follow the Path Of The Righteous will have their reward, and I had mine.  She was an evil, ruthless aggressor, attacking any country within her reach.  Power mad, that’s what she was.  She even tried to cheat by gluing more stars onto her hat than I had on mine.  She got her just deserts.  I now rule the little cardboard world, and she cleans toilets in my palaces (with her toothbrush).

 

I know, I know, my darlings -- you want to know what’s going on with the filthy, dented Honda Civic.  As you know, the head gasket is so very blown.  Though the car has been running pretty close to normally, the check-engine light is now ON.  Well, I know what the problem is, so I doubt that I’m going to take it to the shop.  But that’s not all.  I now smell exhaust in the passenger compartment.  That can’t be good.  The car is running fine, though.  Ok, ok, so I get a little nauseous and headachy when I drive it.  It’s a small price to pay for all the extra miles I’m squeezing out.  Isn’t it?  Of course it is.  Now, just wait, every time a passenger gets blurred vision, or starts vomiting, everybody is going to blame the car.  They won’t even consider carsickness.  It’s always so easy to just go with the most obvious thing.

 

 

8/6/06

3:00 p.m. PDT

The other night, my little darlings, we had an atypically loud, but typically shy, peanut gallery station on frequency axing me questions about my HAIR.  Hmm.  He wanted to know if I ever washed it, and if it was soft.  Hmm.  Could it be that the world wants to hear more about my hair?

 

Well, maybe I should offer a couple of short, hair tales.  Or should I say longhair tales?  Or perhaps short, longhair tales.  Pony tales?  Heh, heh.  God, I’d write this blog for free.

 

You know, my dears, people sometimes mistake me for a female, believe it or not.  It happens if they are not looking directly at me, or are seeing me from behind, or in darkness, or are very young, or are looking at me through gray bars, etc.  Here are two instances:

 

Years ago I was traveling across the Navajo Reservation in Arizona, and bought up a bunch of the hand made jewelry that they sell along the road.  I bought in quantity, so I got a good deal.  I took it to a local swap meet and sold it for an obscene mark up.  Anyway, one Sunday I was sitting at my humble table with my necklaces and bracelets spread out on display.  My head was tilted forward as I read a book.  My hair was undone, and hung down over the left side of my face.  A thirtyish woman walked up to me from the left side, and started whispering to me the sexual favors that she was going to do for her husband if he would buy her one of my cheesy necklaces.  Boy, was she surprised and embarrassed when I looked up, to find that she was talking to a MAN!

 

Another time, a few years ago, Becky Zed and I were returning from a beach bon fire.  We stopped at a liquor store.  I think it was a Saturday night.  There was a lot of shit going on.  BZ and I were about to get back into our car after completing our bidness at the liquor store, when young man in a pickup truck pulled up and parked along side us, on the passenger side.  BZ was standing near him on the passenger side; I was standing next to the car on the driver side.  There was a very bright light behind me, meaning that the young dude would probably only see us in silhouette.  He could see BZ’s entire figure, but all he could of me was my head above the roof of my Honda Civic.  He could only see my silhouetted halo of hair.   Well, he started hitting on us.  I think he was addressing us as “ladies.”  He was hammered, by the way.  The really funny thing was, HE ALREADY HAD TWO OTHER GIRLS IN HIS TRUCK!

 

 

8/6/06

2:30 a.m. PDT

Wow.  It’s amazing how the hit rate spiked after Mark K6FEJ and I put BIG messages on our squares telling people to click my square for the LPL.  The hit rate didn’t go up because I’m offering a better product; people are simply doing what they are told.  Like “Drink Coca Cola.”  That’s all it takes.  A lesson in avertising.

 

 

8/4/06

4:30 p.m. PDT

Don’t be too freewheeling with your nose picking, my darlings.  I’ll give an example of why:

 

I had to take care of some bidness today on one of the campuses at which I teach.  I was sitting at a stop light out in front of the school, absent-mindedly fishing around in my nose with my pinky.  A couple of sweet, young things pulled up next to me, and tooted their horn.  Well, I am pretty used to this sort of thing, so I pulled my finger out of my nose, rolled down my window, and readied my “Mr. Cool” act.  The pretty driver smiled and waved, and called out, “Astronomy, last semester!”  A former student.  Hmm.  I bet when she pulled up, she said to her passenger, “See that guy picking his nose over there?  He was my Astronomy prof last semester.”  They probably sat there for five or ten seconds watching me chase that bugger all the way up to my brain, with my little finger.  The sudden realization of all that, totally short-circuited my Mr. Cool act.  I stiffened and sat up a little straighter, trying to look more dignified in my filthy, dented Honda Civic, with oil still splattered all over the front.  I could only hope that nothing was hanging out of my nose.  I smiled and nodded in recognition, and waved back.  Thankfully, the light quickly turned green.  So, wiping my finger on my shirt with a flourish, and dramatically tossing my hair off my brow, I gracefully exited the sticky situation.

 

 

8/4/06

2:00 a.m. PDT

Good morning all my darlings, and a special good morning to Mark’s Minions.  Just a quick note:  There has been some confusion about Cavendish’s dik dik.  It’s an animal.  And I’m not making a value judgment.  It’s a frigging animal.  We saw it at the zoo.

 

 

8/2/06

11:30 p.m. PDT

I took a walk with Becky Zed tonight, my darlings, at a local park.  The Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA) always meets there on Wednesday nights.  The SCA are grown men and women who dress up in armor and chain male and such, and have sticks that look sort of like swords, and bonk each other over their helmeted heads with the sticks.  Anyway, it’s always a treat to run into some weird shit like that when we go out.  BZ looked at them, then looked at me, and said, “Wow, almost as kooky as hams.”

 

I’ve gone to a fair bit of trouble finding a place that can build a part for the A/C in my dad’s old Chevy Nova.  BZ and I are going to have to take his car 40 minutes away to the shop that can do this.  She’ll have to drive separately so that I have a ride home.  Anyway, my dad is going to take our whole family/gang out to the Bali Hai on Shelter Island for a nice dinner, as a thank you.

 

The Honda Civic continues to behave normally.  I wonder if the leaky head gasket really was the cause of the strange temperature behavior.  Sometimes investigating one problem, turns up another, unrelated problem.  Well, onward toward 300,000 miles.

 

 

8/2/06

3:00 a.m.

Ok, this is nuts, I gotta get to bed.  I shouldn’t be writing blog.  But I did have fun today (well, yesterday) on my new 40-meter inverted vee.  It’s kicking huge amounts of ass.  I worked our boat buddy Susan W7KFI on 40.  She’s back in Pearl Harbor.

 

The Log has taken 5000 hits, so the grog is on me, and I’ll start planning the nude layout of myself for the 10,000 hit celebration.  That should knock down the hit rate, some.  People will be staying away out of fear of what they might see.

 

Went for a run Tuesday night around local Fiesta Island with Becky Zed.  There are fire pits there, so people have fires.  There was a huge party going on around one of the pits.  Some very nice people invited us over to the fire for some brewskis.  There were huge amounts of shit going on, besides the party.  A ginormous, four-wheel drive tow truck was about to winch a huge truck out of the bay.  Driving off the road is strictly prohibited on Fiesta Island, but lots of dumb-asses do it anyway, and they get stuck in the sand or mud.  They like to tear-ass around in shallow water along the bay shore.

 

So, everybody at this party was watching the spectacle, along with us.  Cops had arrived on the scene.  This truck dude was in serious trouble.  His big-ass truck was, like, half submerged.  The truck was jacked up high off the tires, but water was still above the bottom of the door.  The inside of the truck was flooded.  Anyway, this dumb ass emerges from the truck to greet the cops, WITH A BREWSKI IN HIS HAND!  Oh, man, he was in enough trouble just for driving around in the water.

 

It was fun watching the cops write that guy up, and watching that big tow truck winch, drag that screwed up vehicle out of the mud.  The other funny thing was, the dude’s girlfriend/wife was on the beach, livid, mortified, watching her drunk-ass boyfriend deal with the cops, and watching that effed up truck pour water out from under the doors as it rolled backwards up the beach, under tow by the winch.

 

There’s always something weird happening on Fiesta Island.  That’s why we go there.

 

 

7/31/06

10:00 p.m. PDT

Hey, you sweet thangs, FIVE THOUSAND HITS on the Log since June 20, is coming up fast.  Seems like I should do something to celebrate, and to thank Paul and Art and all you Little People for your support.  I’ll study on it.

 

I put up my 40-meter dipole (inverted vee to be)-in-a-bag today.  Hoisted down the 75-meter inverted vee so that I could move it up the hoisting line about 5 feet, and attach the 40-meter inverted vee at the end of the line, about 5 feet below.  1:1 baluns on both.  I’m testing it out on the  40-meter late net, as I type.  Seems to be getting out great.  God I just love tuning up resonant antennas.  My poor tuner can’t hack tough matches anymore.  It just sparks and smokes like crazy.  So now I’ve got a 370-foot loop at 40 feet that tunes up ok on 160 meters.  The tuner can hack it.  I’ve got a 75-meter, resonant inverted vee at just over 60 feet, and now a 40-meter resonant inverted vee at just below 60 feet.

 

I’ve done some calling and listening on 3765 between 9 and 10 p.m. PDT, recently, but I don’t get much action, so I’m sliding back to later and later operating habits.

 

 

7/30/06

1:30 a.m. PDT

Played some Scrabble with Becky Zed tonight.  We’ve played many times.  She’s a terrible sport.  When she wins, she dances and spits on my grave.  When she loses, she ridicules and berates me, suggesting that I “try using some actual English words” sometime.  She could challenge my words, meaning we would have to look them up in the dictionary.  But if the word is good, she loses her turn.  Well, she’s not willing to challenge much because most of my words ARE in the Official Scrabble Dictionary.  When she loses a challenge, she goes temporarily berserk, slamming the dictionary shut, then slamming it down on the table.  God, what a baby.

 

As I’ve told you, my darlings, the old Honda has been diagnosed with a blown, or at least badly deteriorated, head gasket.  The mechanic said that he considers the car undrivable.  The temperature gauge had been showing some unusual behavior, but it has settled down.  The car drives normally.  It is pushing 270,000 miles.  Well, I’m going to just keep driving.  I’m going for 300,000.  I may try torquing down the head just a bit for a better seal.  We’ll see what happens.

 

7/29/06

1:00 a.m. PDT

Well, my darlings, I didn’t think it possible, but Mark K6FEJ has outdone himself.  I thought his previous best hamcams pic was the one of Art W6OBB as “Superman,” flying up to a UFO.  It was the best combination of message, humor, composition, and technical execution that I had seen from him.  But his current hamcams pic is the topper, I think.  That I am prominently featured in his pic has, of course, had no effect whatsoever on my judgment of it.

 

Becky Zed and I are members of the San Diego Zoo Society, so we can go to the zoo for free (that is, no extra charge beyond what we paid to be members).  So, we go for an hour here, two hours there.  We were there Friday night in the early evening, a really nice time to be there.  We ventured into an area that we hadn’t been in, recently.  Suddenly, we found ourselves staring at Cavendish’s dik dik.  BZ was shocked shocked.

 

I didn’t get on the air at all Friday night.  We watched a movie with Becky Zed’s mom, called “Rounders.”  It was fine; didn’t change my life.

 

The hit rate on the Log/Blog dropped about 20% when I finished the Art Bell story.  I obviously need some more Art Bell material.  Maybe I could just drive back to his house and sit out front for a while.  Maybe if I hung around long enough, something might happen that I could write about.  Maybe a bird would land on The Loop.  I could tune in KNYE, and tell you all what a bummer it is not hearing Art’s voice doing the announcements.

 

 

7/27/06

10:30 p.m. PDT

The debate over cat consciousness and cat self-awareness rages on.  Becky Zed said she’s glad John W6FE has some common sense about cats.  BZ also now says that two of her cats are NOT self-aware, but one of them, her favorite, IS.  Hmm.  That’s one helluva variation within a species.  I think Orv K6UEY has gotten straight to the heart of the matter.  He says, “I am of the opinion that cats are only aware of their own presence, anyone else immaterial.”

 

From what Log readers are telling me, they read the Log, but don’t notice/remember the Blog link.  So, expect a new look sometime soon.  I think I’ll rearrange things so that clicking on my hamcams square will take you to a front page that offers a Log link, and a Blog link.  That will put the Blog on an equal footing with the Log.  It will make readers more aware that there are TWO options.  Raising awareness calls for some little ribbon that we all ought to wear around.  I’ll think up the design and post a pic, then you all make your selves one, and wear it around.  Explain to people that the ribbon is supposed to raise awareness that there are two treasures behind KN6Z’s hamcams square, the Little People Log, and the Little People Blog.

 

I’ve started an electricity and magnetism article at the top of this page, and will be starting another story, so keep an eye on the top of this page.

 

 

 

7/25/06

12:00 p.m. PDT

Becky Zed is digging in on this one.  She wholeheartedly disagrees, and insists that cats are self-aware.  Well, none of us can get inside a cats head to find out, but it seems pretty far-fetched to me.  Only dolphins and chimps realize that their own reflections are not another animal, and stop reacting to the reflection.  Chimps start using the mirror to look inside their own mouths, etc.  BZ thinks that her observations of her own cats clearly indicate self-awareness.

 

On a sadder note, it looks like the old Honda Civic is near death.  Exhaust is getting into the cooling system.  That means a blown head gasket, or even a cracked block.  The car has about 265,000 miles on it, more than the distance to the moon.  It’s still getting me around just fine, but soon I will have to say goodbye to an old friend.  On the bright side, the headlight is fixed.

 

7/25/06

11:30 p.m. PDT

Becky Zed had the nads to disagree with my assertion that I could play a tennis point without being self-aware for the duration of the point.  She thinks that someone would be most definitely be self-aware if they were running around the court, tracking the ball, making the shot, etc.  I believe that I have accurately conveyed her opinion, but if not, then I am sure that I have improved it (no charge, BZ).  Anyway, I would counter that a cat executes a complex sequence of moves in stalking and running down a mouse, or catching a sparrow in flight, yet most would agree that the cat is not self-aware.

 

Now, I ain’t sayin’ that I don’t sometimes think, “Oh, shit, I’m in trouble,” in the middle of a point.  That is definitely self-reflection, but it’s not necessary, and isn’t going on most of the time.

 

Regarding Art’s Sunday show, here’s a far out thought:  If non-randomness appearing in the Princeton Eggs’ (electronic noise generators) noise output really is due to the reaction of mass consciousness, to some important event, and if there really is a distance dependence as some new results suggest, then mass consciousness elsewhere in the universe would be unlikely to cause non-randomness in our Princeton Egg-type experiments here, because that consciousness would be too far away.  I’ve been thinking lately that we should be seeing extraterrestrial contributions to non-randomness in the Eggs, if indeed any ET’s are out there, but they may be too far away.  If the consciousness effect on noise generators is real, then I am really floored that there appears to be a distance dependence.

 

The discussion of insulated wire for antennas, at the end of the visit-to-Pahrump story, is clunky and out of place.  I’ll leave it there for a bit, then I’m going to remove it from the story, and put it somewhere more appropriate.

 

7/24/06

11:30 p.m. PDT

God, it’s been too hot to blog.  And just too damn hot to do ANYTHING.  Doing something provides cannon fodder for the blog, but it’s too hot.

 

I’ve noticed the hit counter is more active on weekdays than on weekends.  Naughty, naughty, Little People.  You are more willing to waste The Man’s time reading my blog during the workweek, than you are willing to waste your own time reading my blog over the weekend.

 

On his show, Art was discussing some experimental results that suggest self-awareness in dolphins.  Art, however, was equating self-awareness with consciousness.  I make a distinction between the two.  I am convinced that a lowly cat is fully conscious, but probably not self-aware.  I believe the cat really is having an experience, even though the cat may not be aware of its own existence.  I might play out a brilliant point on the tennis court, but not reflect on myself the whole time.  I was definitely conscious, but not self-aware.  In contrast, if I am axing a girl out on a date, or interviewing for a job, my self-awareness is excruciating.

 

7/23/06

12:15 a.m. PDT

I’m so very sorry that I couldn’t get on the air with you tonight, my dears.  I missed you, but Saturday is date day, so I was out having fun while I was missing you.

 

It was just so frigging, unspeakably HOT in San Diego today, that we high-tailed it for the local mountains.  At 6000 feet, it was hot, but not as bad as down in the city, and it is always dryer at high altitude, which made it very comfortable up there.  We sat on a peak in the Laguna Mountains, next to a huge radar station, and looked out over the desert toward the Salton Sea.  If it’s reasonably clear, you can see the Salton Sea from there, but there was too much haze today.

 

We drove back down to the city for dinner.  Afterwards, we did some generic Saturday night stuff.  We drove out onto Fiesta Island to watch the Sea World fireworks around 10 p.m.

 

After we got home, I tried to get through the movie, “The Producers.”  God, what a turkey.  A half hour was enough.  I may try again.  I was completely sober on the first try.

 

Well, I just heard Moody WQ6I call me, so I answered him.  Now Mike AA8KB is calling me.  So, I guess I’m on the air for a while tonight.

 

Anyway, to finish the “date” entry, I want to mention how “tastefully tacky” Becky Zed was tonight.  She got this new little string top, light blue with sparkles.  Very cute.  But there is no way for a girl to conceal bra straps while wearing one of these little string tops, so she just wore the top with the pink bra straps in full view.  Sort of tacky, I guess, but it’s a look that a million women sport every day.  No big deal.  Well, she pointed out that she at least wore pink shoes to pick up the color of the bra.  I think that color-coordinating bra with shoes demonstrates real taste and style.  That’s what I call tastefully tacky.

 

7/21/06

4:30 p.m. PDT

I’ve inserted a link, above, to Becky Zed’s recipe for her now famous chocolate peanut butter cake, at Cynthia’s request.

 

On a less positive note, I took my filthy, dented car to get it washed today.  I wanted to get it washed before I took it into the shop for some work, including a new headlight.  I have a theory about this.  My theory is that a shop will give a car better service if it appears that the owner gives a damn about the vehicle.  A clean car looks like the owner cares about it.

 

Oh, the indignity!  Oh, the HUMANITY!  Well, the inhumanity to man, anyway.  My car was rejected at the car wash for being TOO DIRTY!  Gawd, that’s like a doctor rejecting a patient for being too sick.  A very polite, young gentleman who worked at the car wash, walked up to the front of my car, and rubbed some greasy oil off the front of my car with his finger.  He rubbed his fingers together with a look of extreme distaste on his face.  He walked up to my window, and, looking down miles of nose, informed me that it was a “hand” car wash, and that they would not deal with the oily mess on the front of my car.  He suggested that I putt-putt over to a nearby do-it-yourself car wash, and try getting some of the slime off the front of the car, myself, then bring it back.  Well, if you want to know what it feels like to have your tail between your legs, try pulling up to the vacuum cleaner station at a car wash, then have to make a U-turn and slowly slink out of there in your too-vile-and-disgusting-for-their-fussy-rags car.  God.  And it was so busy, too.  So many people pointing and staring.  Some kids were even openly laughing.  Little bastards.

 

Screw the wash.  I took the car straight to the shop. 

 

The reason for all the oil on the front of the car was that a few weeks ago, I put some oil in the engine, but forgot to replace the oil cap.  So, I was driving around with oil spraying out the top of the engine.  It was getting out the front grill, and splattering all over the front of the car.  I discovered the problem weeks ago, but just didn’t ever get the car cleaned up.

 

 

 

7/20/06

10:30 p.m. PDT

Ok, so it hadn’t been more that five minutes since gassing up at a local station, that I saw the flashing lights in my rear-view mirror.  I pulled into a little strip mall parking lot.  A very nice lady cop got out, came to my window, axed for license and registration, which I provided with a smile.  I love getting hassled by cops.  She axed if I knew why she stopped me.  I said no.  She said my right headlight was out.  I did not in fact know the light was out, but I didn’t want to seem like I actually did know, or that I just didn’t give a rat’s ass, so I feigned surprise.  She axed me if I didn’t notice darkness on the right side, but obviously I did not.

 

While she was having her partner “run” my license, she grilled me some more.  She axed me where my street was located, and if the residence was a house.  She wanted to know what I was doing cruising around so late.  I told her I couldn’t sleep, went out to gas up, and decided to go looking for trouble.  No, that is not exactly what I said.  I said I couldn’t sleep, got gas, and went for a drive.  She continued to express puzzlement at my late hours, and my late-night choice of entertainment, i.e., cruising.  I volunteered that I teach at several campuses around the county.  That I keep weird hours, stay up late, teach for a few hours early in the morning, nap in the afternoon, then sometimes teach until fairly late at night.  She axed me where I taught, and what subjects.  So, I filled her in.  She seemed skeptical.  I pointed out all the parking permits for various campuses, on my dash.  She said, “Don’t worry sir, I’m not going to bust you for parking.”  Huh?  What?  I was just trying to be helpful.  I felt like telling her she had a smart mouth.  That would have been a mistake, however.  She continued to press me on the subject of my peculiar, night joy riding.  I told her I probably would have driven around for about fifteen minutes, and then would have headed home.  She said, “Do you always put time limits on yourself?”  Huh?  What?  Who said anything about time limits?  That’s an old lawyer’s trick.  The Fallacy of Interrogation. 

 

I almost told her about the late hours I typically keep on the ham radio, but I didn’t.  If I had told her that I was a ham, she probably would have gotten off my case.  She probably would have thought, “Hmm.  Middle-aged guy with long hair, in a white undershirt, driving around aimlessly at 3 a.m. in a filthy, dented Honda Civic, with one headlight out.  Yeah, that fits.  I’ll let him go.”  But I didn’t want to blemish the image our great fraternity, so I kept quiet and took the heat.  Took one for the team, you might say.

 

I could have played the Art Bell card, but that probably would have required that I play the ham card, too, so I skipped it.  I just rode it out, all for you, my darlings.  I heard her partner’s radio say that the license was valid, so she let me go with no ticket.  She told me that she would be on duty for the next few nights, and that if she caught me again, driving with the headlight out, she would ticket me.  I told her she wouldn’t be seeing me at all.

 

She really was the nicest lady, but she was adversarial.  It almost felt like she was trying to get me to lose my cool, given some of the odd remarks she made.  Heh, heh.  Impossible.

 

7/20/06

3:30 a.m. PDT

I should NOT be up.  I’m trying to kick the night creature habit.  But, here’s the deal.  I just had the harrowing experience of being hunted down like an animal, by the cops.  What was I doing out at this hour?  I couldn’t sleep, I knew I needed gas, and I didn’t want to have to stop on the way to my morning class, so I decided to just go out for gas.  Got the gas, went for a drive.  Pretty late to be joy riding, though.  And with a headlight out, the cops were unhappy with my joy riding.  I’ll save the rest for later, but I just had to let you know about this right away, my darlings, because I know you worry about me.  You worry because you know I sometimes go too far, especially in this blog.

 

7/20/06

12:30 a.m. PDT

I’ve got two research projects stalled, that I’m trying to get going on.  One I have all written up and ready to submit for publication, to the Journal of Chemical Physics.  I collaborated with my Ph.D. thesis advisor on the project.  It was a theoretical/computational project, concerning an important chemical reaction in the stratosphere.  My advisor currently has a position in Oregon.  Anyway, she’s been slow giving her ok on the paper, so I’ve got to start prodding her again.  If the paper sits around too long, somebody else might do the same work and scoop us.  As it is, I’m going to have to do a search of the scientific literature to see if any new work has been done that would impact our paper.  The paper may need to be changed. 

 

The other project is just getting started.  It’s a collaboration with somebody at San Diego State U.  The project uses the same computational techniques as the atmospheric project, and calculates the same quantities (basically, measures of the reaction rate of a particular chemical reaction at various temperatures), but these calculations are being done on a very exotic reaction, involving a molecule found in giant molecular clouds, far out in space.  These clouds are so big that a beam of light could take years to cross them, and they are almost as cold as is possible for matter to be.  Hundreds of degrees below zero.  The molecules in these clouds are so far apart, that two of them might only collide every thousand years or so.  That is a slooooow reaction.  Exotic molecules like those involved in this project are only possible in a rarified environment.  The molecules involved are so unstable, that if they were in a crowded environment, such as the Earth’s atmosphere, they would quickly react and be destroyed.  These weird beasts are only around in nearly empty space.  So, anyway, I gotta get busy.  I wanted to put pressure on myself by telling you about it.  I’ll keep you posted.

 

7/19/06

10:00 p.m. PDT

Becky Zed axed that a clarification be added to the gross cemetery story, so one has been tacked onto the end of the story.

 

7/18/06

9:00 p.m. PDT

Bad news.  I’ve gained ten pounds over the last six months.  Damn.  It only takes about a half a candy bar a day, all other things being equal, to put on about ten pounds over six months.  Well, I owe it to you, my darlings, to stay as beautiful for you as I can, so I have decided to increment my daily mileage on the treadmill, from 23 to 25 miles.

 

7/18/06

1:00 a.m. PDT

Driving around college campus parking lots means doing a lot of waiting for student pedestrians to get out of the way.  Most of the pedestrian traffic is typical of what you’d encounter in a shopping mall parking lot.  People yapping at each other, or yapping on cell phones, not paying attention to the cars.  The girls are the least aggravating.  Some of the young men are more of a pain.  They often walk as slow as possible just to enjoy the power trip of holding you up.  But there was this one guy holding me up one time, who was really a trip.  He was walking soooooo sloooooow, but I don’t think he was effing with me.  He was taking these little tiny baby steps.  I couldn’t figure out his deal, until I noticed that he was one of these guys who wear their pants half way down their asses.  They also always wear very long shirts because their asses are hanging out.  So, he was taking little baby steps so his pants wouldn’t fall completely off.  I guess I have seen this fussy little walk before, but I didn’t notice much because nobody was holding me up.

 

The young guys also like to wear hooded sweatshirts, with the hood, up.  Even in hot weather.  What if on Halloween I dress up like one of those low-riding pants dudes, pants hanging half off my butt, long stupid shirt, maybe a dumb hooded sweatshirt, hood up, and walk with mincing little steps, into the classroom to teach one of my classes?  Would it be funny, offensive, or just stupid?  I could horrify everybody by skipping the long shirt.

 

This brings to mind something sort of sick that really happened, about twenty-five years ago.  I was taking a walk through kind of a run-down cemetery, with my girlfriend at the time, Cris.  We were just farting around, reading headstones, killing time.  I happened to be wearing a pretty long tee shirt.  So, I slowly inched my pants down until most of my bare ass was exposed under the shirt.  I suggested, in a nonchalant sort of way, that she ought to pull up the back of my shirt.  So she did.  She suffered some kind of shock or trauma, I guess.  I can’t remember the sound that came out of her.  It wasn’t good.  I think at first she was horrified that some of the bereaved who may have been on the grounds, might have seen an unsettling sight.  Perhaps even a disturbing one.  Well, Cris recovered, but she told me that the shock started her period.  And she wasn’t kidding.  My backside, and only my backside, was exposed, and only for an instant.  And we were virtually alone in the cemetery.

 

7/16/06

6:00 p.m. PDT

I was up at Toby Well’s YMCA, today, my darlings, putting in my twenty-two miles on the treadmill.  I was reflecting on something you occasionally hear from scientists or philosophers: that consciousness is just an illusion.  Well, if so, would one of you Little People please tell me who, or what, is experiencing the illusion?  I’d appreciate any insights you may have, as long as it’s what I want to hear.

 

The brain certainly can do all kinds of chores without conscious participation.  I remember a few months ago, I somehow bumped a glass off the kitchen counter, and as it fell I stuck my foot out to break its fall.  That saved the glass, but my mind was a million miles away.  I really don’t remember being involved.  I was in a daydream, as I often am, but my brain processed the visual information, made the calculations necessary to head off the glass with my foot, and issued an order to my leg and foot muscles to commence the intercept mission, all in about one second.  I remember reflecting upon the memory of what happened, but I wasn’t consciously aware of the event while it was happening.  It’s interesting that the neurons that fire when we reflect upon a memory, are the very same ones that fire when we experience the event that caused the memory.  But in the case of the glass, I don’t believe I really had any real time experience.  It was all memory. 

 

The glass experience brings to my mind two questions.  First, if the brain can do so much without conscious participation, why did consciousness evolve?  Why does it have survival value?

 

Second, was there an act of will?  Saving the glass seemed automatic.  I was not consulted about saving the glass.  Was the act of will just some general order I issued decades ago about minimizing breakage in the kitchen whenever possible?  I don’t know.  Maybe free will is just an illusion.  Maybe my brain does what cause-and-effect forces it to do, and I have some bullshit sense that I had something to say about it.

 

I’ve heard about some depressing experimental results that bolster the argument against free will.  Subjects instructed to push a button whenever they choose to, exhibit activity in neurons involved in moving the finger muscle, BEFORE the subject is aware of his/her decision to push the button.  The implication is that the machine in your head does what it does, and then you become aware of it, but you THINK you made the call.

 

 

7/14/06

12:30 p.m. PDT

 

Whooowee!  I’m sweating like a pig, and it’s not over thoughts of you, my darlings.  It is murderously hot in San Diego, today, with no let up in sight.

 

Last night I had the pleasure of meeting Bob K6AII from Alta Loma, in town for the OMIK convention.  He’s a fresh-blood Little People (pardon the grammar).  He’s just a great guy, completely normal.  I’ll put a pic of him and myself on hamcams.

 

Got an email from David WA6DAC.  He axes if Becky Zed ever smiles.  Hmm.  Maybe I’ve made too much use of bitch pix, lately.  It’s not easy keeping people in line.  I have run lots of smiling Becky Zeds on hamcams, David.  I will re-run a series of smiling BZs.  Watch fer it.

 

7/14/06

12:30 p.m. PDT

Mark K6FEJ is suggesting some early activity on 3765.  Nine-ish.  I’m trying to get to bed earlier, anyway, so I’m all for getting started earlier.  I’ll be looking for early birds tonight, from home, or possibly from the OMIK convention station.

 

7/13/06

10:30 p.m. PDT

Hi, my darlings.  I’ve been thinking about you.  I’ve been thinking about how this winter, we can have a huge pajama party, play dumb games, crawl into bed together to cuddle, and have hot cocoa. 

 

We drove over to the World Famous San Diego Zoo this evening, for nighttime hours, but we were too late.  So BZ wanted to stop in at Tower Records.  It just happens to be right next to the OMIK (spelled W-A-R-F-A) convention Holiday Inn.  I drove into a parking area, and she was very surprised when she looked up from her reading, to find the huge Moody Mobile sitting right in front of us.

 

We went over to Tower and went in.  After a while, she said, “The people who work here think that they don’t have to bathe, and can just smoke pot all the time, and no one will notice.”  That’s our good ol’ Tower Records in a nutshell.

 

Did some shopping recently at a local Crown Books Liquidation Center.  Those are really weird places.  Ours is an empty supermarket.  All the food signs are still up.  There are self-help books in the pasta section, and romance novels in produce.  You can get some great deals in those places.  I got three great titles fer cheap (five bucks each):  The Last Man on the Moon by Eugene Cernan, Three Roads to Quantum Gravity by Lee Smolin, and The Quantum Self by Danah Zoha.

 

You might think that those Crown Books Liquidation Centers are for selling off Crown Books assets after they went belly-up in 2001, but that’s not the case.  Somebody bought the name and slogan, but none of Crown’s assets:

 

http://www.nctimes.com/articles/2005/06/10/business/news/12_00_326_9_05.txt

 

 

7/12/06

9:30 p.m. PDT

Hello, all you Little Joys, you little beauties.  Just got back from OMIK, down at the Sea World Holiday Inn.  Ohio-Missouri-Indiana-Kentucky.  What a joke.  OMIK is nothing but WARFA in drag.  Same guys, different hats.  Moody, what are you trying to pull?  I was at WARFA down at the Sea World Holiday Inn.  Anyway, I hooked up with Dave WA6UHA at this OMIK thing -- which is totally different from WARFA (LOL) -- and his wife, Cathy, and her son, Henry.  They took me out to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, the Bali Hai, overlooking San Diego Bay.  Beautiful view, beautiful day, beautiful restaurant.  Also saw Moody at OMIK, and some of the rest of the usual WARFA guys.  No wonder, it’s WARFA.  Moody, what the hell?  Moody had his giant, rolling Taj Mahal, as usual.  I was axing those WARFA guys, oops, OMIK guys, how they got the OK to crawl around on the Holiday Inn roof to put up their WARFA, oops, OMIK antenna.  Turns out wheeler/dealer Reggie, another WARFA guy, is long time friends with both the hotel manager, and the engineer.  Jeezus.  Moody and his cronies have the whole damn hotel in their pockets.  At a meeting in the hospitality room, I was “introduced” to the OMIK guys.  Of course, had they been wearing their WARFA hats, no introduction would have been necessary.  But at OMIK, they would not have recognized me.  Becky Zed blew the whole party off.  She says she won’t go to OMIK until they fess up that OMIK and WARFA are the same thing.  She says that OMIK was invented as an excuse for more funny hats and secret handshakes and stuff.

 

I guess I’ve got some more ass-kicking to do.  It appears that Terry KB5B, and Mac W7LW, have not signed Emily’s guest book.  Well, boys, how does having each of your butts mounted on the bidness end of a pointy-toed girl boot, sound?  I know just the hard-bitten, pipe-hittin,’ ass-kickin’ momma who can do the job.  Now, I didn’t want any rough stuff when I first appealed to the inherent goodness in you, and in all Little People, but if goodness isn’t up to the job, then Becky Zed is going to have to provide some additional incentive.

 

Oh, but I just hate ugliness, don’t you?  I just hate it when people make me get ugly.  I get ugly just thinking about how much I hate it when people make me get ugly.  And criticism.  I just can’t stand criticism.  I really can’t deal with it at all.  Have I told you about that?  Yeah, I think I told you about that.

 

FEJ family, thank you for putting me on Rushmore, and then in the moon.

 

Emily, your site has momentum now.  Keep the momentum going by updating.  Write about school, your music, friends (especially that evil, rat-eating friend), rats, interesting QSOs, movies, etc.

 

 

 

 

7/11/06

11:50 p.m. PDT

The OMIK convention is in town this week, my darlings.  I wish you all were going to be there.  I’d hug you, and comfort you, and lovingly listen to your boring problems.  We’d eat Guamanian food, and listen to worn out old Carpenters hits, together.  I’ll be hooking up with Moody WQ6I, Dave WA6UHA, and new-blood Little People, Bob (pardon the grammar) K6AII, at OMIK. 

 

 

7/10/06

10:30 p.m. PDT

Jollibee has Breakfast Joys, and Chicken Joys.  Well, my lovelies, you are all my Little Joys.

 

Thanks to all you Little Joys who signed into Emily’s guest book.  http://k6wgb.white.prohosting.com/.  Thanks for giving the kid a break.  Emily is our Ham Joy.

 

I hit the gym tonight as usual, with Becky Zed, to put in my twenty miles on the treadmill.  When I got out, this was on my car:

 

Dear YMCA member,

This parking space is reserved for parents of our preschool children between the hours of 4:00-6:00 p.m. daily.  Please be so kind in finding an alternate parking space if you are using our facility during the hours mentioned above.

 

Preschool Director

 

Damn preschool Nazis are effing with me now.  God, it was, like, 5:40 or something, and lots of reserved spaces were open, so I get harassed.

 

My mom, dad, brother, Becky Zed and I all took my mom out to dinner the other night for her 80th birthday.  BZ was grossing me out again with her bizarre eating disorder.  She had this beautifully presented bowl of chicken-tortilla soup.  She just kept stirring and stirring and stirring until it looked like a cesspool.  Each time a piece of chicken passed a particular point along the bowl’s circumference, she pushed it over the edge of the bowl and onto the plate.  Soon she had a pile of wet chicken pieces next to the cesspool.  I was warned not to write about this.  If she accuses me of writing this, I’ll blame it on a hacker.

 

Art extended an invitation to a bunch of us to come see him in PI.  I want to go.  I want Becky Zed to sell her car so we can go.  But I can’t believe her negative reaction.  Gawd.  So much negativity.  It’s like the other day she told me I still owed her five bucks.  So I handed her a wad of ones.  She then pointed out that I had only given her four dollars.  Can you believe that?  That she counted it?  That she didn’t even trust me?  Man, I couldn’t effing believe that one.  A relationship should be built on trust.

 

7/9/06

1:30 p.m. PDT

Emily, I’ve failed you, my darling.  Two thousand hits on my site, garnered you a measley four additional messages in your guest book.  I have failed you, and your friends have failed you.  So, now I’m gonna kick some tail.  I’m gonna name some names.  I want you, BECKY ZED, and you Ben KD7BCW, and you Orv K6UEY, and you Mike AA8KB, and you Duane AG7G, and you Karen W6SO, and you Robo K7BBX, and you Jack N6LN, and you Terry KB5B, and you John W6FE, and you Moody WQ6I, and you Art W6OBB, and you Scotty N6EDV, and you Chuck KE3KR, and you PETE K6XL, and you Greg W6EZV, and you Richard W7SVP, and all the rest of you Little People hiding in the cracks, to show some support for one of the best hopes for the future of ham radio, Emily K6WGB, and go to http://k6wgb.white.prohosting.com/  to leave her a message in her guest book.  I told you people, in a message at the top of this page, a couple of weeks ago, to leave her a message.  Now, if I don’t see some impressive results pretty soon, I’m not going to let you read my blog, anymore.  Furthermore, I am likely to rank you much lower on KN6Z’s One, True, Absolute, Cosmic Scale of Morally Superior Behavior.

 

7/9/06

1:00 a.m. PDT

It appears from WQ6I Moody’s Hamcams square, that he has some kind of secret about Art W6OBB.  Before somebody beats me to it, let me make a prediction.  Either Art has plans to move back to the states at some point, or we are going to be seeing bouncing baby Bells on Hamcams, early next year.

 

7/7/06