This is my first, live update from a remote location (re: hundreds of miles from home – home is where the server is after all). Ah, but the fun ends in about fifteen minutes. Then I have to do what I’ve been paid to do, do some work. Where’s the fun in that? While not exactly fun, it may be interesting, seeing what the same state agency does in a different part of the state.

Alright, maybe not THAT interesting,

My clogged uptake valve has been well covered in this forum, but as Bill says, “there’s always room for Jell-o.”

I was driving home yesterday when I saw an advertisement for “Certified Pre-owned Vehicles.” It’s one of many “re-phrasings” of the post “Contract with America” era that I have taken for granted. Partly because I have never been in the market for a “pre-owned” vehicle, I have never given the whole “Certified Pre-owned Vehicle” phenomenon much consideration. But yesterday I had an epiphany. When “they” say “Certified Pre-owned Vehicle” they mean to place a comma between “certified” and “pre-owned.” In other words, they intend to convey that “Certified” and “Pre-owned” are two distinct characteristics of the vehicles they are selling: “Certified” being short hand for “we’ve kicked the tires and this heap isn’t a total piece of crap,” and “Pre-owned” being fancy long hand for “used.”

Sure, this is all obvious to you; but in the back of my mind I was saying it to myself without the comma, thinking that they were “Certified Pre-owned.” It always struck me as slightly odd, as if I wouldn’t just take their word for it that the car was used,

“Oh no sir, we promise you, it’s used alright, we’ve certified it pre-owned.”

This entry is dedicated to Cheryl. I pick on her far too often, but she’s always a good sport. May we continue laugh with each other rather than at each other.

The following entry was conceived and written on 12/22/04. It was saved, in draft form, on my server and promptly forgotten, until now. Aren’t you lucky?

Last night I was in pain, physical pain. It was kind of pain that makes you take an Allieve, pray it doesn’t give you a heart attack, and lie down for some rest. The lights were out and no one was home. I was snuggled up in my pjs and a nice, warm blankie, listing to some relaxing music. Then the phone rings, it’s my mother in law and she wants to talk to my wife. I take a message and lie back down. Then the phone rings, it’s my father in law and he wants to talk to my wife. I take a message and lie back down. Then the phone rings, it’s my mother and she wants to talk to my wife. I take a message and lie back down. Then the phone rings, it’s the wrong number and she wants to talk to Tim. I briefly consider giving her a message, before I decide to be civil and lie back down. Then the phone rings, it’s a friend of ours and she tells me that she knows where my wife is (along with an appreciated invite for pizza). Instead of lying back down, I get dressed in some comfort clothes and head off to meet my wife (and get some pizza… after all, pizza does cure all). When I arrive I greet my wife.

“Hey, how was your day?”

“OK. The kids had fun at MOSI, and, JOHN, why are you wearing those old sweat pants? You look GROSS!”

I’m determined to catch a break today. With my luck I’ll miss and it’ll hit me in the face.

(In my wife’s defense, I probably did look gross.)