Monday Moanin', Volume 1

June 20, 2005 (To Annie on her 34^th Birthday)

An Ode to my Joy
Because it is a particularly difficult time to be a scientist and educator.

    Inasmuch as the following is an homage to my favorite Doctor, it contains only slightly less venom than my typical rants. In truth, it is exactly my affection for Doc that brings out my ire at things that are anathema to her: anti-intellectual attacks on education and jingoistic opposition to science. It seems that occurrences of both have become so commonplace, that no one even blinked when our dear leader recently took the opportunity to offer a vocabulary lesson to the press gaggle.*
    Equally disturbing is the increasingly common practice of casually dismissing the methodical progress of the sciences. This is particularly irritating when decades–even centuries–of careful study are challenged by individuals who clearly missed what little was offered during their scant educational careers. The belief apparently runs that if you don’t like something, you can make it vanish if you get enough similarly minded halfwits to support you. I suspect that the following comic was originally intended as a joke, but the “reasoning” behind it would probably get a fair amount of support if it were introduced on the Senate floor.

    To conclude, I turn (as I often do) to another of my favorite Britons:

And as our vineyards, fallows, meads and hedges,
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness,
Even so our houses and ourselves and children
Have lost, or do not learn for want of time,
Those sciences that should become out country,
But grow like savages – as soldiers will
That nothing do but meditate on blood…

In reply, Henry V says, “You must buy that peace.” Buy it indeed.

    Here endeth the shrillness.

The Big Ten Reasons Why I am devoted to The Doc

[Items in brackets should be read with a West Scottish brogue.]

    1. She steadfastly eschews the latest trend of grilling salads. [“That would be like eating old salad. Lettuce should be crispy.”]
    2. She summons me to watch “Everyday Italian” with her… [“Your girlfriend is on!”]
    3. …despite the fact that she doesn’t really care for the show’s hostess all that much. [“She’s all mouth. I get the feeling she’d still be smiling at somebody when she tells them that her kitten had died.”]
    4. She is paradoxically both thrifty and generous.
    5. She is absolutely unflappable. (Wait until you see the outfit I’ve selected for the Ross Open this year.)
    6. She exhibits super-human tolerance (excepting her intolerance for nuts, which thankfully does not extend to yours truly.)
    7. She is fiercely intelligent…
    8. …and yet prone to delightful malapropisms… [“There are no new ideas; creativation has died.]
    9. …but is very much able to engage in self-deprecating laughter when her gaffes are pointed out. (For instance, when she was reminded that man’s ability to craft new words had not been lost.)
    10. She is more enigmatic than the Soviets.
    11. She continues to challenge me to be my best.

Happy Birthday, Doc.

Love,

Daniel

And now, Your Moment of Zen:

Celebrity Math Lesson #5

 

*Assuming you didn’t want to wait for the payoff, the transcript reads: “Seems like to me, they based some of their decisions on, on the word of uh, on the allegations by people who were held in detention, people who hate America, people that have been trained in some instances to disassemble.  That means not tell the truth.  So it was an absurd report.” No sir, to “dissemble” is to lie. “Disassemble” is what you attempt to do to the English language. And as for taking the advice of prisoners: tell it to Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn.

---

June 6, 2005 (one more year until RaDaHa’s theatrical debut)
An outfight fabrication, to be sure
But such an opportunity only comes around once a millennium.

    I had a much more profound rant in the works but, as often happens with rants, it got a bit shrill. And since we’ve got house guests this week, I’ve put it on the shelf while I modulate my emotions. Besides, there are plenty of other things to whinge about. For instance, the appalling Matt Lauer is hosting a series purporting to recognize the Greatest American.

    So very many of the honored have no business being on any such list. Three of the nominees have no more to recommend themselves than that they were married to someone else on the list. Were that an acceptable criteria, I’d unquestionably nominate the Doc. Anyone who can constantly tolerate the irritable geek that she is married to deserves recognition. Not an American, you say? What of Alexander Graham Bell? Nikola Tesla? Albert Einstein?

    Before I saw the "final" list, I relayed my personal judgment to the good and patient Doctor, which she was kind enough to pretend to care about. I later compared my list with those who have been selected by the unwashed, stupid masses and four of my five picks appear in the top 25 (Teddy Roosevelt being the outcast). What is surprising is the staggering number of numpties who made the Final 25 cut.

    If we could ask Joe Sixpack to put down the Kool-Aid, set aside jingoism and celebrity, possibly read a book or two, and take an honest look at what constitutes greatness, I believe we might reach an overwhelming consensus. As far as I am concerned, you should not be on "The List" if you meet any of the following criteria:

1. You are still alive, or
2. You have been dead less than 25 years (or so) *

Like stamps and coins, it is inappropriate to commemorate the living with great praise, as one really cannot appreciate what their legacy is. With all due respect, the fact that Johnny Carson, Ray Charles, Bob Hope and Ronald Reagan are even on the list speak more to their recent deaths than to their accomplishments. And as one who actually voted for Dutch (when I still held my learner's permit), I can say this without bias.

3. You gained recognition for accomplishments in entertainment or sports.

This should go without saying: "greatness" and "fame" are not synonymous. That "greatness in athle-tainment" translates to actual greatness, is a subject for a later diatribe. I’ll defer to Jesse Owens and Jackie Robinson , whose athletic contributions served a greater purpose. And while Michael Jordan transformed into a marketing juggernaut, and Oprah is ostensibly clever, a century from now, they will be relegated to their appropriate place as historic footnotes, joining the likes of Brett Favre, Tom Hanks, et al.

4. You gained recognition because you are a politician.

As opposed to being a statesman .

5. It cannot be demonstrated (to me) why you belong on "The List" while the following individuals were overlooked:

Frank Lloyd Wright
Walt Whitman
Ernest Hemingway
Norman Rockwell
Henry David Thoreau
Andrew Jackson

    If common sense suddenly overwhelms our dear Republic, following the guidelines, the Top Eleven List will look much like this:

Daniel E. Bollman’s Big Ten List of Greatest Americans

1. Thomas Jefferson
2. Benjamin Franklin
3. George Washington
4. Theodore Roosevelt**
5. Martin Luther King, Jr.
6. Abraham Lincoln
7. Albert Einstein
8. Franklin Roosevelt
9. Eleanor Roosevelt
10. Thomas Edison
11. Henry Ford

And in contrast:

The Big Ten List of people whose inclusion on "The List" is acceptable if said list is printed on Kleenex

1. Rush Limbaugh
2. Condi Rice
3. Dick Nixon
4. Michael Jackson
5. Madonna
6. Dr. Phil McGraw
7. Sam Walton
8. Donald Trump
9. Laura Bush
10. Barbara Bush
11. Brett Favre

Anon,

Daniel

*--Allowing me to cross off a couple of obvious knuckleheads without suffering the accusation of overt politicization or racism.
**--Scandalously already out of the Top 25 listing.
 

---

May 16, 2005 (Whit Monday)
Four on Flowering Peach and three into Rae’s Creek
Wherein your humble correspondent confronts the demon of potential humiliation

    If you sensed a rift in the fabric of the universe Friday, May 13, 2005 at about 1:30 PM, mark it down to my implausible appearance at Augusta National. As you will know if you’ve ever had the misfortune of stalking the links with me, I can be my worst enemy, attitude-wise, when approaching the game. In fact, I understand that the following showed upon this year’s SAT:

Select the most appropriate analogy

Daniel Bollman : Golf ::

A. Long-tailed cat : Roomful of rocking chairs
B. Whore : Church
C. Christian Scientist : Appendicitis
D. Any of the above

    The weather was brilliant and I devoured a patty melt par excellence for lunch. So despite my initial jitters, I figured that nothing could possibly go wrong. I knew I had nothing to be nervous about. It wasn’t as if my game was suddenly going to fall apart, as I’ve been maintaining a consistently low level for years. Of course, the butterflies came as I stood in the first tee box, particularly when I thought about how many people were probably watching and the awesome history that had preceded me to that very spot.

At the Hogan Bridge                                                                                               Tiger-like at #16 (no PhotoShop involved)

    This was the first time I’d ever played with a caddy, and it made a considerable difference. At first, I was a bit uncomfortable having someone tending to all my needs. But I quickly (perhaps too quickly) got used to handing him one club and holding out my hand for the next. By the turn, Jock could select the right one without my input, even handing me a lay-up club for #15, where a small pond guards the green. From the crucial advice on approach shots, reading the greens and calculating distances to the pin, to filling divots and cleaning off the ball, his assistance was invaluable and very much appreciated. After a few holes, he even suggested an adjustment with my grip, which made a significant difference with my accuracy. But, thinking of the summers that Tomich spent “on the bag,” I just couldn’t bring myself to ask him if I was looping.

Rae’s Creek claims its first (#12)…                                                                       …and its second (#13)*

    After my typical three-fairway warm up, I felt like I played pretty well. And while it doesn’t show on the card, I was actually putting for par about a half-dozen times. With the exception of #2, which was a pitiable series of downhill lies, and #13, where Rae’s Creek claimed two balls, I was pretty happy with the round. In fact, you might say that the score was just…beautiful.

And now, your Moment of Zen**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anon,

Daniel

*Not that it matters much, but the ball went into the creek at the dog-leg in the middle distance, not at the crossing in the foreground.

**This is my actual card. I later added the “High” column, which shows each hole’s high score posted by Masters’ competitors (presumably not all by one person during one round.) But I feel like it puts me in pretty good company.

---

May 2, 2005  (Hooray! Hooray!)
Extreme Makeover: Versailles Edition
Now, I don’t want to go off on a Ty-rant.

    With the over-abundance of home improvement shows, you must expect that I have very definite opinions about some of them.  The latest to raise my ire is Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.  The show’s parent program ministers to marginally stable, physically self-loathing individuals and usually applies a panacea in the form of sizable breast implants.  Only slightly more philanthropic, Home Edition ministers to (and usually builds a new home for) truly unfortunate individuals, as opposed to those who are unfortunately endowed.  But it tends to their problems by constructing the architectural equivalent of saline implants:  homes that are far too big.
    The show has a great deal not to recommend it.  Its construction crew features individuals with job titles such as “Glamour,” “Attitude” and “Big Ideas.”  Equally perturbing are the sensitive (read: Y-chromosome challenged) crew members who utilize their Safe Room confessionals to sob over the gravity of the occasion.  Dammit, if there is no crying in baseball, there is certainly no crying in construction, particularly if you are the Attitude consultant (excepting the odd-possibility of firing a ring shank nail through your index finger.)
    The host, former Trading Spaces bad boy Ty Pennington, has deftly shifted to network prime time.  And he is capitalizing on his fame with a superior play at brand extension, now serving up adverts for Sears’ “Ty Pennington Style.”*

Celebrity Math Lesson #4

    Admittedly a very charismatic guy, Ty has considerable ground to make up, content-wise.  I enjoyed his antics enough when he played second talent on Trading Spaces, especially when he was circumventing the machinations of the harridan Hilda Hyphenate.  But he is more showman than carpenter, as evidenced by the clumsy, inelegant details of the show’s grand constructs.
    My greatest objection stems from a stream of facts that I found at Veritas et Venustas. As I noted above, the crew (producer, sponsor) seems determined to super-size things that might be better left smaller, apparently equating additional size with quality.  Given that I grew up in a 1500 ft² home with seven other people sharing one bathroom and that I seem to have turned out relatively stable,** I have a very different perspective on what constitutes “enough space.”  I think it would not be unfair to say that this limit was far surpassed by a house that was proclaimed to be 5 times larger than the house the family had been living in.  (To their credit, the crew continued other,  presumably smaller, improvement projects throughout the neighborhood.)
    On another show, a 6-bedroom, 7-bath, 7-television house was built for a family of 4. This is a typical occurrence.  In fact, 1 in 5 homes now built in the US is larger than 3,000 ft² – the size at which it becomes unmanageable to clean without hired help.  This very issue got little traction when I tried to explain it to our retired corporate clients at Reynolds, but it is one condition that I expect to confront head-on at Hammond’s.
    It would be interesting to see just how people cope with the sudden glut of extra space and the undoubtedly sketchy construction methods that allow Glamour, Curly and Meriwether to throw up a house in a matter of days.  But I doubt I’ll ever see that, since I’m addressing my disdain for the architectural and emotional pap with American resourcefulness.  And not in the fashion of a whiny puritanical censor who insists that, since he doesn’t care for something, it should be removed from everyone else’s sight.  I have employed a much more powerful device: the off-button.  And I have found that its liberal use gives me a lot more time to ponder the following:

 My Big Ten not-so-deep ruminations:

1. Did anybody think skinny leather neckties were a good idea?
2. Why were the poles for our Scout Troop’s dining fly made of Purpleheart wood, which costs several times more than Yellow Pine?
3. And whatever happened to those posts?
4. Why weren’t there many Nazis named Steve?
5. What if I had stuck with English or Physics?
6. Exactly when did coffee (or beer) start tasting good?
7. Did “The Buzzard” actually want us to confront him?
8. Did we ever retrieve that time capsule with the $5 bill that we buried in Watters’ backyard?
9. Far more importantly, did anyone ever find the small stack of lad’s magazines I left under the loose floorboard of my dorm closet at the end of the 1984 school year?
10. Why don’t I give a fig for televised sports?
11. What does my Karmic ledger look like?

And now, Your Moment of Zen:

    I captured this shot of Hammond’s on a flight back from Chicago (via Columbia, SC).  As you can see, we broke ground on the roads last week. 

Anon,

Daniel

* What exactly is the “style” of a circus roustabout: floppy shoes and clown pants?  I had that look nailed in the late eighties. Just ask Chef Paul.

** I considered using first person plural in this sentence, since I had previously presumed that, with the exception of Doc, Tomich and Tonka, faithful readers were probably there with me.  However, I was recently told by a professional associate that he follows these humble meanderings and even offered his compliments.  So you never know.

---

April 18, 2005 (Einstein’s Brain World Tour begins 50 years ago)
That’s good eatin’
The culinary adventure that has become my existence

    This is really a fantastic time of year here. The azaleas have exploded with great pink color and the days are pleasantly warm.  We started our gardens this past weekend, and should start grilling out soon. One thing I’ve learned about this season is that, if you are grilling out, don’t tell people that you are barbecuing.  “Barbecue” refers alternatively to a type of restaurant, a collection of food or an event featuring pulled pork served with side dishes that can include fried chicken, stew, coleslaw, bread, pickles, hush puppies and rice.  Though I’d never tried proper barbecue before moving here, as I’ve noted before, I’ve grown quite fond of it.  And I’m finding that my associates are very generous in their mission to get you to try the local fare, particularly when they find out that you haven’t tasted something that they fancy.

The Big Ten things I’d never sampled before moving to Georgia

1.       Brunswick stew
A side dish often served with Barbecue, this is made from “the rest of the pig,” plus corn and okra.  Doc arranged to have it served at my going-away lunch at Reynolds Plantation, bless her heart.

2.       Hash (not corned beef hash)
This is another typical BBQ side dish.  In fact, it is very much like Brunswick stew, but does not include the veggies.  I tried this recently at a classy Columbia, SC establishment called the Palmetto Pig (pronounced “Pal-[rhymes with ‘shall,’ not ‘shawl’]-MET-uh”).

3.       Grits
Of course, I’d eaten this mush at Winter Camp.  There, the grits were intended as a punishment and, as such, were served without any condiments.  Nearly everyone believes that only his recipe is correct, though the first batch I enjoyed was made from instant mix.  When they are properly prepared, grits can be really tasty.  And they are even better when garnished with cheese, onions and/or shrimp butter.  While I still prefer potatoes with my breakfast eggs, I will occasionally choose grits so as not to offend.

4.       Moonshine
Actual moonshine, appropriately proffered up in a Mason jar and, in this case, with a few raspberries floating in it.  It tasted like warm raspberry lighter fluid.  Nic, nic, nic.  Fire!

5.       Fried chicken for breakfast
Typically served on a biscuit, this is delightful.  At about 10 AM, couple it with a cuppa, and you can work straight through lunch.

6.       Steamed oysters
Our office’s holiday party last year was a traditional oyster roast.  The server, who was part cook, part entertainer delivered a small sea’s worth of oysters to the tables, where the masses waited with shucking knives.  Veteran oyster roasters actually brought their own knives.  The whole affair was very casual, with holes in the middle of the plywood-sheet tables, so you could discard your used shells into the barrels underneath.  Rounded out with saltines, hot sauce and barley sodas.

7.       Fried okra
A co-worker ordered these as a side dish at a “meat and three” and insisted that I try one.  Tasted like breading.

8.       Quail
Looks like a pigeon, tastes like gamey chicken.  The generous contractor whose office is next door to ours prepared this last month.  He occasionally claims that if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t break for lunch.  Fortunately, he has a barbecue grill and The Egg at his office, and he cooks a lunch about once a month, for which he accepts donations and delivers the proceeds to a local charity.

9.       Low country boil (aka Beaufort Stew or Frogmore Stew)
Also introduced to me by the “amangi wdehin” contractor.  This is a tasty recipe which will likely become the main meal at the next gathering of the Order of the Glass.  Consisting of potatoes, corn, onions, kielbasa and shrimp, it is brilliant in the way it is cooked, served and cleaned up.  The ingredients are staggered into a very large pot of boiling water, seasoned with Old Bay, potatoes first, shrimp last.  To serve, the contents are drained and ceremoniously dumped onto a table covered with newspaper.  Typically, everyone grabs a bev and a seat at the table and tucks in.  When finished, the newspaper is rolled up and pitched.  Easy, peazy, lemon squeezy.

10.    Crackling (aka Fat Back)
From the look of the sample secured by Tomich, this appears to be bacon without the red parts.  I tossed a bit into my hash and rice at the Palmetuh Pig, more for the gratification of my companions than for any desire to test my daily children’s aspirin (Doc’s orders).

11.    Pimiento cheese sandwich
The Doc and I enjoyed this apparently traditional dish on white bread as a late morning snack at Augusta National* last weekend.  Two bucks worth of sharp history.

    While my colleagues enjoy their food, they apparently do not know their drink.  Perhaps this may be because that even here in the Peach State, Peach Faygo still tastes like butt.  Add to that the beloved and vile concoction called “Sweet tea.”  From the gent in the next booth who requested to have his margarita served in a to-go cup, to the innocent who was impressed that a store offered so many flavors of wine (not flavors a la Arbor Mist, but “flavors” as in varieties of grape) the issue of alcoholic libations has provided numerous laughs.

    Most recently, the good Doc and I frequented a local pub where she ordered a glass of white wine.  The waitress hesitatingly offered White Zinfandel, and I presumed that she knew enough to know that White Zin is not white.  In actuality, she was uncertain what was really available, so she went off to verify with the bartender.  Upon returning, she offered “Cherlot, Burgundy (presumably red) and something else [sic] that starts with a C.”  Give her credit that she didn’t refer to the Chablis as “something that starts with an S.”  And if that incident didn’t seat us at the top of her snobs list, my order absolutely secured our position.  They used to have Amber Bock on tap, so I ordered a pint, only to be told that they no longer carry it.  On tap:  Bud Light, Michelob Light and Michelob Ultra Light.**  Non-light bottles: Bud and Corona.  I ordered the latter bottle, no doubt establishing myself as “the guy who is too good for Budweiser.”  Which, of course, I am.  Next time, I’m asking for this.

 And now, Your moment of Zen

Check out Page 5 of 24

 Anon,

 Daniel

 *I must admit to an embarrassing epiphany that I experienced at The Masters.  Last fall, when we were playing golf at Mount Vintage, Tomich and Zeb separately remarked that a bridge on one of the holes looked liked Rae’s Creek.  I had no idea what they were talking about, and thought they had said “raised creek,” since the bridge at Mount Vintage runs across the top of a weir, and the water drops several feet after passing under.  Now that I’ve seen Amen Corner in person, I know what they’d referenced and I am a better person for it.  This may serve me well, come Armageddon on May 13.

**One wonders if the beer taps are right next to the water spigot.

---

April 4, 2005 (Early morning…shot rings out in the Memphis sky)
Travels with Doc
Why I couldn’t be arsed to write last month 

    Please accept my most sincere apologies for the absence.  Our out-of-state travels, coupled with one weekend’s head cold and the recent possession of a strategy game (that now possesses me, thanks Brodoc) have chewed up a fair amount of my free time.
    As you may know, the good Doc and I spent a long Birthweekend in the Florida Panhandle.  We left the day after I was greeted on the first day of my fifth decade by the following “abuse” from my co-workers: 

The culprits and their unsuspecting victim                                                 The misdeed

    They further presented a basket of apparently age-appropriate gifts, including prunes, bunion pads, foot powder and Cialis.  The basket also included a bifocal magnifying glass that one of my co-workers drolly commented should be used when the Cialis runs out.  I tried to interject G-daddy’s comment about pepper and tweezers, but the group was too busy giggling to hear me.

Chapel at Seaside                                                             Elegance at Rosemary Beach

    I’ve decided that instead of saying that I am forty (or older), that I will now claim to be “better than forty.”  And with that in mind, I set to compiling the following list of dames:

The Big Ten Women I’ve never met who are Better than Forty

      1. Dana Delaney (13 March 1956)
2. Diane Lane (22 January 1965)
3.  Holly Hunter (20 March 1958)
4.  Julianne Moore (3 December 1960)
5.   Julie Christie (14 April 1941)
6.   Kelly Preston (13 October 1962)
7.   Laura Linney (5 February 1964)
8.  Nigella Lawson (6 January 1960)
9.  Patricia Clarkson (29 December 1959)
10.  Sela Ward (11 July 1956)
11.  Teri Hatcher (8 December 1964)

    If I found myself in the company of any of the preceding, I’d figure to be in good company indeed.  I was going to provide links, but since you’re presumably on-line already, you can look them up yourselves.
    March travels continued in South Carolina and concluded with a trip to Chicago for the Bryck-O’Brien Wedding.  The ceremony was held in a truly awesome structure – St. Francis Xavier church in LaGrange.  Coincidently, the first pastor of the church was one Joseph A. Bollman.  We arrived for the rehearsal on Friday evening and were treated to a clever bit of mischief.  At the rear of the building is a sign that reads SFX Parking, presumably for Saint Francis Xavier, and not Special Effects.  Well, some hooligan scratched a horizontal line in the sign at the bottom of the “F” thereby changing it to an “E” and creating an entirely different message – one that Joe Watters might find particularly funny.  The real beauty of this prank is that the scratch-exposed metal barely contrasts with the white background during the day, but when you cast a light (such as a headlamp) on the reflective background in the evening, the joke can be appreciated in its full glory.
    I picked up and finished Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons at Seaside and if you haven’t read it yet, now might be a good time, as it revolves around the death of the Pope and all the ceremony and tradition of the upcoming Conclave.  Sure, you can get the information from other sources, but I doubt many are as entertaining.
    Speaking of which:

 And now, your Moment of Zen.

 “Weeeeeee!”

 As they say, another turn on the spit for you if you laugh at Attaturk’s last comment.

 Anon,

Daniel
 

---

February 21, 2005  (President’s Day)
Zeb and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
The “results” are finally made public 

    Since several months have passed since the staging of the 2004 Ross Open, I felt it was time to identify the winning team.  I did not want a gap at 2004 in the (eventual) Ross Commemorative Plate, but the idea of a virtual Open–figuring handicaps, participants phoning in their scores, factoring slope ratings–became too tedious to contemplate. So the Executive Committee elected to choose the winner based on an extremely simplified contest.   

    During the 2004 meeting of the Order of the Glass, a medium distance, over-water, Par-3 hole was selected and it was decided that whoever hit their drive closest to the pin would have their “team” declared the winner.  All competitors used an official 2004 Ross ball and–remarkably–all drives hit the green.  But Zeb’s was the closest and the 2004 winning team will henceforth be referred to as “Zeb’s Team.”  Given the ferocity of the competition (see below), the winning team’s victory was a noteworthy accomplishment. 

    Had he been reached for comment, Skipper Zeb (shown above from the official team photo) surely would have said something witty and biting, winning the hearts of the continental United States and much of Eastern Europe, further demonstrating his reputation as a scrapper with spunk. 

    The entire field* is noted below.  Given the winning skipper’s fondness for Lego®, the field is depicted below in the appropriate medium.

    And now, (in keeping with the established theme) your Moment of Zen

The Minimizer

Anon,

Daniel

* I tried to provide some balance in selecting  the teams, which include the Captain, plus one each of a Good, a Bad and an Ugly (more or less) fictional character that reflected the personality of the individual Captain (more or less).  Anyone who wishes to captain their own late-entry virtual team need only send me their roster.  Pending editorial approval and access to appropriate images, I will do my best to post the “teams” in future missives. 

---

February 7, 2005 (+/-)
Vodka, Winter and the Cry of Violin
The approach of my birthweek leaves me feeling anything but listless 

    A former co-worker once remarked–unbidden–about how he would periodically assess his progress, “both personally and professionally.”  He further confided that he enjoyed occasional evenings checking the ticker in the Wall Street Journal with a bottle of white Zinfandel, so I learned to question the basis of his self-assessment.  In truth, he was in a state of perma-fade, so I place little value in his habits.  However, I do subject myself to his practice of periodic self-reflection, stopping just short of the point that it morphs into self-loathing.
    I remember an old article in GQ that compiled a list of things to do before you are forty.  I couldn’t find a copy, but I discovered that there is apparently a burgeoning industry in this dreary exercise, given the number of hits I got when I Googled for it.  One of the more upbeat lists is a new best-selling book that list 100 things to see, selected from a list of the world’s top 1000 wonders.
    Reading these lists, I was struck by three things:

1)      The author of the lists has a seriously distorted idea of the cost of travel and–despite their apparent credentials–a distorted view of what constitutes a “must-see.”  Some strike me as being either touristy or self-important (“I was in Rio during Carnival, don’t you know”).  And since a non-Muslim could be subjected to public execution if they attempted to visit Mecca (#43), I presume that most people should make it the last item on their checklists.

2)      I haven’t seen very much of this small planet of ours.  While I consider myself relatively well-traveled, I recognize only 75 of the list of 100 and I’ve only seen six of them.  Strictly speaking, since I didn’t go into the Louvre and I’ve only seen the New York Skyline from New Jersey, it is a stretch to say that I’ve really seen them.  I remembered a link that Brodoc had posted that generates a map of “my world,” which clearly illustrates this.  What’s more, “my world” seems to include all of North America, but I’ve really only seen about 50% of the US and a half dozen cities in Canada and Mexico.

3)      It will do me little good to cross off stuff on someone else’s list, so I started to create my own collection.  The ten places I’d like to see.  The ever-growing list of illustrations I plan to do.  The hobbies I’d like to spend more time on.  And while compiling, I realized that, instead of doing all these things, I was really avoiding actually doing them.  I’ve got books of others' sketches but I hesitate to compile my own.  I know a score of places I’d like to see, but don’t make the effort to see them.  The lists keep growing, but I don’t check stuff off. 

    So I compiled yet another To Do list, but set the deadline for the first week of March.  As you may know, I choose to observe the whole week of my birth.  I’m told that I was born at 7:04 PM on March 3, but I don’t limit my celebration to that particular minute or to the 20^th hour of that day  (I  recently observed the 21 millionth minute-versary of my birth, don’t you know.*)  And while I don’t expect others to observe this unorthodox practice with me, it gives me more time to beat the deadlines enumerated below. 

Big Ten things that I’ve tackled or will complete by the week of February 27, 2005

1) End my sedentary habits
2) Cased out the Master Bath cabinets and doors
3) Install the Master Bath lav.
4) Organized an extended weekend trip with Doc in early March. (Thanks to the Cake Assassin
5) Finish the design of my Achievement
6) Signed up for PhotoShop classes and begun practice on my illustrations
7) Complete the plan of the Memory Palace
8) Selected one monthly item on my list of drawing/building Projects
9) Make reservations for ballroom dance lessons
10) Restarted research on my “Fact book” (secret doors and sliding stairs) and “Fiction book”**
11) Finish EGB’s Birthweek gift.

And not that you asked – but just in case – my Big Ten Birthweek list (in no particular order)

1)Traditional Construction Patterns by Stephen Mouzon
2)An entourage (who I will call Mr. Money, Miss Giggles and The Bulldawg)
3)Levenger pocket calendar/journal
4)Hennessey cognac, ginger ale and a lime
5)Civilization III “Play the World” or “Conquests” (for the Celts and them Mayans)
6)An original commission by Heather Martin
7)Replica of Edward Teach’s flag
8)Mercury head dime
9)Framed poster of the Big House, preferably minimizing Robert Venturi’s deplorable “Halo”
10)Charlemagne edition Mont Blanc fountain pen
11)Self-directed Spanish language aids

And now, your moment of Zen: In honor of the breast-free 2005 Super Bowl and Powell-free FCC:

 http://thegreenman.net.au/mt/archives/000787.html

Now, I’ve got to get back to that Modesty Blaise sketch.

Anon,

Daniel

* By the time you read this, Mark will already have edited it for accuracy, so save yourself the time and trust that the tally is correct.  (Note from Mark-->: He's right.  I did.  It is.)

**I have a theory that everyone has at least two books in them: one lesson to teach and one story to tell.

---

January 17, 2005  (Coronation Week)
Lessons courtesy of  the Executive Branch
Not amused? Then you are in good company, as I don’t consider it a laughing matter either.

    What follows is an admitted departure, as it is decidedly snarky and even borders on being mean spirited.  I had second thoughts about the whole effort, until I saw that the “Hunt for Yellow Cake-tober” was silently ended about a month ago.  I presume that announcing that one had squandered millions in a search that was trumped up to begin with and ultimately futile wasn’t the best way for the former “Party of Fiscal Responsibility” to ring in the new year.  Couple that with this graph, particularly the data point of March 26, 2004.  If you recall, Furious George joked about not being able to find the elusive WMD’s under his desk.  Billions spent and thousands dead.  Ha Ha.  Would that he had found weapons there.  And, paraphrasing Cecil Adams, would that he actually sat down at that desk now and then.
    But I am able to get beyond all this.  In fact, we are planning a celebratory bash - a Bush Bash if you will.  Last week, I got a note from Ken Mehlman with instructions on how to host a House Party* for the crowning.  They provided useful links for commemorative swag, including yard signs and rocks glasses.  Though I find the latter to be somewhat ironic, I admit that they are sharp looking tumblers, and ordered a set so as to provide the appropriate festive atmosphere.  I hear tell of a house in AP that might also be suitably stocked.
    Like the Presidential Balls, anyone can attend, though our gig will be markedly better: 

    To balance the festive atmosphere of this glorious week, I submit the following educational portion of our program, for which I humbly request an exemption to Godwin.

Celebrity Chemistry:  Lesson 1
The Transformation of an Institution

 

• Heat required: 2.752 K

• Produces an unstable reaction, with several precipitates and evaporations

• Known catalysts: Reaction accelerated with reports of Aluminum tubes or fictional Uranium sales

Whatever your chemical of choice during this week’s shindigs, please choose a Designated Driver.

And now, your Moment of Zen:

http://www.whitehouse.org/dof/marriage.asp

Anon,

Daniel

 *  I should note that none other than J. Geils is appearing at one such Inaugural Ball
 

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December 20, 2004 (Solstice Eve)
Mid-month math mirth
Laugh if you must, but if you are reading this, you'll probably be here eventually

    As promised two weeks ago, starting this month, I'll be doubling my posting frequency with a short, generally light-hearted entry (assuming a certain amount of cooperation from the owner of these pages).  And speaking of whom, I present the first of what should be a series of mathematical equations, featuring individuals who enjoy varying degrees of celebrity.

Celebrity Math #3

 

And finally, with the approach of the Yule season, I mount my Ivory Snow box and submit:

The Airing of the Big Ten Grievances of 2004

1. The FCC's issuing fines for anatomical non-exposure and its threatening to investigate the Opening Ceremonies of the 2004 Olympics.
2. Flavored coffee.
3. The self-proclaimed social scold that is the American Family Association.
4. Drivers who pass on the right or sit in the left lane and refuse to pass.
5. That universal health care is declared "socialism" when proposed for the United States, but "humanitarian" when applied to Iraq.
6. My self-loathing, that when I see comments about "Simpson's lip-synching episode," I know that they refer to Ashlee Simpson and not her equally vapid sister.
7. The fact that I know that Ashlee Simpson has an equally vapid sister.
8. John Ashcroft as librettist.
9. Although the effort is attracting a number of Fundamentalists, only 2½ of the Ten Commandments are--or probably even should be--codified into law.
10. That for all the editorial and programmatic rubbish they produce, Fox Network canceled "Keen Eddie."
11. Jimmy Kimmel

And now, your moment of Zen

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Festivus

Anon,

Daniel

---

December 6, 2004 (The Previous "Day Before Everything Changed")

Ramblings
Pride and Self-importance
Are we really any different from Bede, Beethoven or Bramante?

    I recently finished reading The Name of the Rose, about a 14th Century abbey and the investigation of several monks' murders. The book repeatedly notes the monks' belief that theirs was a vital historical era and they were witnessing the Last Days. The book is an accurate, if fictional picture of the time and of human nature in general, particularly our belief that we are a breed apart from the quaint folk who preceded us. The idea that "The Modern Age" is one of momentous events of never-before seen impact is drummed into us each day. We so desperately want to be part of something important that we seek out events and infuse them with unearned weightiness.

    This practice was exercised to an apex five years ago [sic] with the approach of the Millennium. The fear of the unknown permeates the things we eat, the vehicles we drive and the buildings we occupy. Fluoride is noxious. Deodorant causes Alzheimer’s. But modern advancements are generally just that: advancements. We focus on the bad that we must endure and fail to acknowledge the many blessings we enjoy. While we learn of new pandemics, we disregard the medical miracles unknown to our ancestors. If the Internet provides easy access to pornography [sic] and violence, it also provides unequalled access to information and world events. And when we combine our uncertainty with prophesies of doomsday (the Queen Mother of "The Day that Changed Everything) we are confronted with the truly absurd. A former colleague once explained the Biblical "predictions" that "prove" that the establishment of the State of Israel marked the end of the Diaspora and the eventual reconstruction of the Temple of Jerusalem. Cassandra-like, he knows that seven years of tribulation will soon befall mankind. Unlike Cassandra, he and his are often believed and are always wrong. So far.*

    In a similar rush to prove our self-importance, we plow through trends as quickly as we devour that first bowl of tortilla chips at a Tex-Mex restaurant. Once we have a definable style assigned to the current era (enough for VH1 to make an "I love the x-ties"), we move on to define the next, as if each style neatly stopped at the end of a decade to allow another to prevail. I find it remarkable that musical trends - from rock to disco to hair-synth to grunge - seem to fit so damn neatly to a corresponding decade. Of course, no such bright line exists.

    Regarding my field, architectural styles can pass like yesterday's fish. The Gothic era lasted nearly 400 years and netted civilization some of our most enduringly beautiful buildings. Even in the 19th Century, we can study the slow shift through styles, each culminating with high-styles that reflect technology or culture. But that slow cycle changed in the early 20th Century, where we witness no fewer than four distinct stylistic upheavals, with abrupt breaks between the modes. Neoclassicism gave way to Modernism (Allen Park Public Library) to Postmodernism (Target® darling Michael Graves) to Deconstructivism (the ubiquitous Frank Gehry). This need to express the Zeitgeist is driven by very powerful egos of architects who take their tasks way too seriously. Life indeed has its troubles, but they are no more difficult than those our predecessors dealt with. We need only study history to confirm this.

    There are no buildings (that we know of) built during the Black Plague that evoke flea-infested sewer rats. Nor is there a great heap of cinders preserved to commemorate London's Great Fire. In fact, the monument of the rebuilding after the Fire that nearly destroyed London is a simple, if large, detached column referred to as "The Monument." (I find even that to be remarkably restrained, when you consider that the capital-F Fire actually extinguished the last remnants of the non-rat-shaped-building-inspiring Black Plague that had been devastating London during the previous year.) Yet we – we important Moderns – need to express our angst in our buildings.

    My struggle against this current is reflected both in my work at Hammond’s Ferry and in an upcoming design competition. As noted above, architectural styles morphed slowly from one to the next until around 1930. Around that time, our nation's apparent infatuation with Europe caused many practitioners to cast out the baby, the bath water and the basin. Anti-bourgeois, flat-roofed glass boxes of increasingly contrived construction were widely embraced by the naked Emperor and his architects. And this paradigm became the basis for progressive architecture until the late 1980’s. About the time I was starting architecture school, a very small voice of opposition - now called New Urbanism - was making itself heard. Traditional forms, details and building typologies began to return to the professional vocabulary. This will be the pattern at Hammond's; it is a return to reason that is seen by the pro-Modern architectural community as a nostalgic longing for a non-existent past. But I feel it is more like waking up from a 60-year bender, looking around and asking, "We built what?"

    The National Park Service is sponsoring a competition to design a Memorial to those individuals who died on Flight 93 in Pennsylvania. I am developing my submittal with the proposition that this was not a civilization changing event. We should try now to view it with the detachment that time will eventually allow. But I fear that some noise like that shown below will prevail, no doubt claiming to express the chaos and tumult of the day. Like Jim, too many people deserve better.

http://www.september11victims.com/september11Victims/VictimInfo.asp?ID=1153

    I cannot release any images of my scheme at this point. Given the circulation of this site, I fear that my awesome ideas might be stolen. As of today, it employs classical hierarchies and features the works of Walt Whitman and Capra Hircus. And while it won't gloss over the undeniably terrible events, nor will it overlook the way those events have been co-opted and abused.

    This brings me back to the snarky comment at the top about the latest " Day Everything Changed."** Until 9/11/01, I suggest that we as a nation probably thought of December 7, 1941 as our pivotal, defining moment. The days have much in common: an unprovoked attack by foreigners is followed by stiff retribution; some US citizens are made to suffer the infringement of their civil rights; and those who oppose our militant response are marginalized as treasonous. Had FDR been prescient enough to order the invasion of China in response for Pearl Harbor, the parallels might be complete.

    A few years ago, I remember reading an article about Wynton Marsalis. In it, Miles Davis said that Wynton talks as if someone has asked him a question, when no one actually had. My fear is that this undertaking will start to be viewed in the same way. If all of the above comes off as preachy, it is because I care deeply about our cultural condition. I trust that those of you who take the time to read my humble opinions will have no problem hemming me in if I get out of line.

================

    In closing, I am planning on posting bi-monthly in the future. I realized that I've got more material than I thought I would when I started this endeavor. And as you can see from above, the Ramblings are growing quite long. Now having publicly indicated my intention to provide a mid-month entry, I will be more or less obliged to follow through. It will likely be less pedantic than that at the first of the month. For instance, last month, I included a list, and it was so enjoyable, I may make a habit of it.

The Big Ten Things I miss the most about the Midwest

1. Vernors ginger ale (this can be found, but only sporadically)
2. Pizza House pizza
3. The Diego Rivera court at the Detroit Institute of Arts
4. Nearly anything Zingerman's, but especially "Tom's New Job" and "Magic Brownies."
5. Bell's beer, particularly the seasonal "Best Brown Ale"
6. Cranbrook: Saarinen the Greater’s composition of structures and gardens, axes and paths, with art integrated into the buildings.
7. The significant changing seasons, from the Fall color to the silent snow to the Spring buds. People give me the queerest looks when I say this. I suspect that they are the very people who move from air conditioned home to air conditioned car to air conditioned restaurant in early May.
8. Chicago: My kinda town, including–perhaps especially–The Hawk
9. The unattainable, perfect lunch: The Red Hawk’s "Midnight Snack," Casey’s French fries with vinegar and a cool pint of Guinness.
10. Coming in close second: short queue to a Miller’s ground round with cheese, pickles and onions, plus a shell or two, wax paper and the honor system.
11. Cedar Point in the summer (or Halloweekend)

And now, returning to Pride and Self-importance, your Moments of Zen:

#1. Ro Sham Bo, anyone?

http://www.rockpapersaddam.com/

#2. Do you think Dick is smiling because he knows that while his two companions have their very own action figures, he still gets to pull the strings?

Anon,

Daniel

* If indeed we are the generation that is to witness the End of Days, let me now go on record to state that I would very much like a front row seat when Thor introduces Mjolnir to the Midgard serpent's head. Are there Scottish Valkyries?

** Again looking for the larger picture, I think nothing has really changed. Disagree if you like, but then ask yourself exactly what you are doing differently. Victory garden? Recycle your lard? Rationing petrol? After all, if everything has changed, something must be done to address this perilous, fragile condition.

---

November 1, 2004  (National Anti-beautiful, Just Beautiful Day)

The South

Dear Ol' Dixie
Laments on genius and stupidity.

    One of Doc's students, named X, recently admonished me for what she perceived to be a negative attitude in these musings, particularly a negativity toward the South.  While I'd hoped to make it clear that I highlight differences and intend no derision, X saw it another way.  So as a nod to her, I'll say that there are many things here that I truly enjoy.  To wit:

 The Big Ten things Daniel E. Bollman loves about the Southeastern US 

1. Numerous historical sites from The Civil War The War Between the States
2. Monticello
3. The Allman Brothers' "Jessica"
4. Abundant real barbecue, with Brunswick stew, white bread and dill pickle chips
5. Charleston--home of the United States' historic preservation movement
6. The eschewing of the bureaucratic, invasive Intern-architect Development Program<
7. Savannah--Antebellum city of squares, Spanish moss and a brilliant College of Design
8. Extended golf (cycling, gardening, building) season
9. Nutbush City, particularly the salt pork and molasses <mwah>
10. Chicken n' biscuits for breakfast
11. The natives' charming belief in the superiority of SEC football

    There are other things that I find comical, and I hope to note them without sounding mean-spirited.  For instance, one restaurant in Augusta believes that macaroni and cheese is a vegetable.  Such anecdotes and those in future months are not particular to Georgia or South Carolina.  Beauty and idiocy abound and are by no means limited to any one location.  But we are not in Hartford, Hereford or Hampshire, so I write about things here.

    Nor would I suggest that I am personally without faults (even beyond the obvious pedantry and capriciousness.)  I was recently directed to design a storage building for Hammond's Ferry's River Place.  But years of modifying others' designs and managing the process of construction have caused my design skills to atrophy.  This new assignment is one of the most difficult I've ever attempted.  Fortunately, I am painfully aware of this shortcoming and will apply additional effort to overcome it, because my heart is in it.  Unlike past experiences designing another regional shopping maul or working within a community's hothouse gates, Hammond's Ferry is of me.  Every day, I am making a difference. 

    And not just in the pursuits of traditional architecture, urban design and regional planning.  When I make my daily crossing of the Savannah River, I help to increase South Carolina's collective intelligence.  You see, South Carolina recently beat Georgia in the fight for the nation's lowest SAT scores.  Georgia is now 49^th,(Woo! Woo!)  having swapped with now-last place South Carolina.  So, arriving in South Carolina each morning, I bring my powerful 500 verbal/450 math to the grateful populace.

    Similarly, Georgia's educational state was exhibited recently by the State Superintendent of Schools.  In an apparent demonstration of her love of history, she embraced the 19^th century and proposed the removal of evolution from high school science texts.  Her proposal amassed significant support before it was withdrawn, having also attracted significant ridicule.  In my opinion, the episode was a microcosmic example of the broader, bullish small-mindedness that defines the difference between genius and stupidity:  Genius has its limitations.

    Side note #1:  About the time when said Superintendent was informed that John Scopes was not the inventor of mouthwash, my former employer was adopting its new motto: " Reynolds Plantation:  Creating Life as it Ought to be."   The Heathens.

    Side note #2:  This same Superintendent shares her name with Georgia's Secretary of State.  During the 2002 elections, when the Secretary of State ran her political ads, the Superintendent's poll numbers improved.   An informed electorate, indeed.

Celebrity Math Lesson #2

    Approaching the current election,  I'd read a poll that asked, "If you lived in the Land of Oz,  for whom would you vote for President:  The Tin Man or the Scarecrow?"  Make what you will of the results that had the Tin Man winning by 10%.  And whether it takes all your courage to vote with your brain or your heart, be sure to vote for your home, wherever it is.

    In closing, and in order to forestall X's complaint that item #11 above is not exactly complementary, I have provided a bonus Moment of  Zen this month.  The first, PG-rated page itself is work-safe, but the same cannot be said for the rest of the Retrocrush site, so tread lightly.  The second link is fully safe and is a great nod to both the genius of Disney and to the season.

    And now, your Moments of Zen

 #11.1(!) My favorite eponym

http://www.retrocrush.com/babes/daisy/default.htm

All Saints/Autumnal Equinox

http://www.retrocrush.com/archive2/hades/

Anon,

Daniel

---

October 4, 2004 (National Good Buddy Day)

The Airing of Grievances
Fratulence - Rated PG-13
Wherein your loyal correspondent "goes blue" when the ever-demeaned Fraternity Boy and his legacy find themselves in my sights.

    The last time Doc and I flew into Atlanta, some self-important corporate suckling sat down next to us on the tram ride to the terminal. Once settled there, this guy--who I will call Flounder--proceeded with a cell phone call to his no-doubt equally important friend about their mutual supervisor. Soon after their initial niceties, he uttered a statement so packed with irony that it ought to be a Standard in textbooks on rhetoric. Yelling down the phone in a crowded airport train, Mr. Flounder bellowed, "He's got no fucking tact!" After my initial astonishment cleared, it dawned on me that I was in the presence of one who was once one of those Frat Boys whose beer we used to nick and in whose showers we'd pee when the line to their house's toilets got too long. Still doughy and crass, it is apparently now his mission in life to move 15% more soap powder than last year.

    Continuing on the subject of perpetual adolescence, I was informed that last month's Moment of Zen was linked to Tom Leykis' website. While I occasionally listened to this corpulent gasbag when I lived with E! in Ann Arbor, my link to him was entirely inadvertent. He always made me wonder if puerile and prurient have shared etymologies. I sense that--at forty-plus years old--he still thinks keg stands and tittie jokes are the soul of wit. If you don't believe me, I invite you to check out his site again and witness the (undoubtedly erudite) women having their breasts signed by Tom. You have my permission to do this, but only if you proceed--as I did--in the interest of research.

    While browsing the adventures of this hero of reclusive nose pickers (doing my research, mind you), I was reminded of the former feature in Esquire called Celebrity Math. And it dawned on me why the kids think Tom is so cool: he's 50% Ray Charles.

    I say all the above as a way of apologizing for giving a walking sausage casing and his ilk any traffic last month (and for repeating my error this month).  In the future, I will endeavor to do better, as you will note with the very spiritual message of this month's Moment.

    To continue, I submit that we would all benefit from less of Flounder and Tom's crass, self-important ranting. Less of the angry trade of bromides and more thoughtful dialog. Less cell phone and I-pod isolation and more human greetings. Our radio waves are increasingly dominated by half-informed, half-factual bloviating that claims to provide news and information, but adds nothing to our collective intelligence. And whether it is done to advance the cause of bathroom humor, to a get a rise out of their audience, or for politainment, its purveyors are piling on intellectual filth, while claiming it is "the truth".  And while their filth gets spread far and wide, I cannot enjoy the simple beauty of magazine cover cleavage in the grocery aisle without having to move the modesty panel.

    As many of you know, my personal aim to counter our national slide toward incivility has led me to accept the responsibilities of Town Architect for an nascent New Urbanist development. So, in closing and to paraphrase John B, "Remember when I used to work at Reynolds Plantation?", I start my new job today at Hammonds Ferry (www.hammondsferry.com), so I've got to run off and complete my preparations. Besides, I am meeting Tom Leykis in Atlanta later. We are going to go ride the airport tram and light each other's flatulence.

    I'll write again next month and, despite the imminent approach of The Most Important Election of Our Lives™, I will attempt to not get too political. After all, I've used up all my child of privilege, Fraternity boy material this month.

And now, your moment of Zen:

http://www.cafepress.com/landoverbaptist.7937390?zoom=yes#zoom

Anon,

Daniel

---

September 6, 2004 - Entry #1: A beginning

	This initial entry will be short, since I've spent much of the holiday weekend laboring in  preparation for Charlie and Margaret's arrival on
September 16.  And typing this, only now I am reminded that our anniversary is this Wednesday.  What do you suppose is more valuable: an operable
bathroom sink or a leather (third anniversary - traditional) golf glove?

	Anyway, the primary reason for initiating this undertaking was to convey some of the occasional "life things" that occur when you aren't looking, and
that really deserve to be passed on to those you love.  For instance, this past weekend, Doc* and I decided to try out a Thomson breakfast spot that we
might want to take her parents to.  It is a short step above a greasy spoon (my coffee cup was sore pitted and my fork was crusty), but I have a feeling
that we will frequent the place…well, frequently.  In all, the food was quite tasty.  But what's more, scattered amongst the menu's heart-grabbing
four egg combos and smothered potatoes was a truly unique item:  Brains and grits.  I challenged the good Doctor to order said combo and offered to pay
her $250.00 (plus medical bills) for her bravery.  She did not bite.  And so I will extend this offer to any of you who visit and wish to take the bait.
FWIW:  John B. is the odds-on favorite to collect.  I figure that for anyone who can stomach fermented marshmallow salad each Thanksgiving, grits should
be a walk in the park.  To say nothing of calves' brains.

Moving forward, I expect most of my rants will fall into one of the following categories:
	Ramblings - Narratives that will alternate between humorous and introspective
	The Airing of Grievances - My kvetching, which may get rather lengthy.
	The South - Not necessarily bad, just different things about Dixie life, other than the extended golf season

I also expect to finish each entry with one of the following:
	Book of Lists - General questions.  Respond or not.  I'll post some responses.  Or not.
	Your Moment of Zen - some website, photo or illustration I find particularly amusing, disturbing or beautiful.  
	(I will warn you if any are inappropriate for office viewing)

Please drop a note if you've read this far.  I'll continue regardless, but my ego needs sustenance.

Anon,
Dan

*One thing that I have learned from reading other people's missives is that it is preferable to refer to your family members with an alias in case they
are implicated in future defamation suits.  The hilarious but misguided Lileks has Gnat.  And I’ve got the Doc.

And now, your Moment of Zen (mild, but probably not suitable for work) -
http://www.blowmeuptom.com/breastof.html

---