My First Car

My FIL just passed around an email showing some automobiles from the 1950s.  I replied with the following:

My first car, inherited from my grandmother, was a 1966 Chevy II (AKA Nova).  This is her with her new baby.

4-door, straight-six engine with the vaunted 2-speed Power-Glide automatic transmission.  On the highway it was like driving in passing gear.

I got a lot of offers from mechanics-- even a sedan was valued for racing.  I learned to work on cars on it: it was dirt-simple, power nothing, no A/C and you could climb into the engine compartment.  It was considered a compact car, but I could roll my 10-speed bicycle into the back seat.  I can only get my bike into my current minivan if I take out all the seats.

I remember when I took out the AM radio and put in a AM/FM stereo cassette player.  No way could I get it to fill the gaping hole left by the radio, so I just braced it and it hung there in the dash.  To put in the speakers on the deck behind the rear seats was an adventure: nowadays the deck is plastic, or cardboard with a few metal braces.  In this car it was thick sheet steel, with a zig-zag fold from one side to the other to stiffen it.  I had to use a jigsaw from underneath in the trunk, with the shavings falling in my face, through the fold, and then file to fit.  What a chore.  Sounded nice, though.

When I traded it in on a used 1982 Trans-Am, it was at Valenti's in Mystic.  As I was driving it into the dealer for the last time, someone was leaving-- in a 1966 Chevy II wagon!  He gave me a big grin and wave, and I felt like a heel, a traitor.  I got over it, though: mmm, but that Trans-Am was nice!

Florida, Take Two

We left on a Friday evening, last weekend in September. Same drive routine, but we first went to Boynton Beach this time to visit my uncle. We stayed, reluctantly, at a Holiday Inn Express; our last experience with them, in Albany about 2001, was not a good one. They have vastly improved: this one was very nice, and the free breakfast was decent as these things go. We'd stay there again.

My uncle is getting old. Very old. He tries to stay active but he is not as vigorous as he'd like to be. We first came upon him as he was working in the yard and he looked like hell, exhausted. He was much better when we met him next day for lunch.

On (or up) to Orlando. We stayed at the Radisson Resort Orlando-Celebration, which is just the other side of I-4 from the 192 Disney World entrance. Our history with hotels is spotty: we like Hampton Inns, and Sue is rather picky otherwise. We have stayed at various places she disliked, and picking anyplace is a crapshoot. This place she liked: likes so much, in fact, that she wants to go back there.

The season helped: it was still hot, but being September-October not too many tourists were around; the hotel was not close to full. We just hung around one of the pools, tried a drink or two from the pool-side bar, and just bummed around the area. A visit to the Disney Marketplace was enough to satisfy Sue's Mickey jones. We were ready to leave for home, and Sue hadn't actually been *in* the pool yet; she went in finally the morning we checked out. They have a waterfall, and a small waterslide, and Sue went down it several times. When I tell this to people that know her, they refuse to believe it; luckily I have photographic proof.

We swung by Daytona Beach on the way north, got a bit of sun and some Wally Wings and so to home. A much better experience this time around.

Pop Century

I wasn't expecting much; I figured it would be clean, reasonable, and without too many frills. Boy, was I right. We had come to expect certain amenities: in-room coffee-maker, Internet, refrigerator (for my drugs). None of that here. Well, they did have Internet, for a steep fee. I kept my drugs in my insulated lunchbox with ice. For coffee, off to the cafeteria. It was a basic, bed-shower-TV motel, with a vague 80's motif: wall art and linen had images of old toys and movies and such. The complex is divided in to decades: 60s, 70s, 80s, and 90s. We had a huge Mickey Mouse phone outside our room; opposite was a giant Big Wheels trike. Under construction between was a super-sized foos-ball court. One of the three pools was shaped like a computer (in the 90s section). I was not too impressed, but then I must maintain my cynical air at all times.

The cafeteria was bleah. It was basically a food court, with uninspiring selections at a high price (surprise!). I watched them make an omlette from fresh eggs, and it still was bland and rubbery. The bacon cheeseburger wasn't up to McDonald's standards. And so on. And the stupid drinks-- go and figure out the stupid coffee dispenser. Nothing at Disney, I exclaimed in frustration, can be simple: not content with just a nozzle with a flip-handle, it has to be some pressure-driven thing where the delivery lags the handle by a few seconds. Flip-- nothing. Flip-- nothing. Flip and hold, hold, hold: finally it starts pouring. Let go: it's still pouring! Arrrgh!

We did the Magic Kingdom; due to the season and the weather, it wasn't too busy and we didn't have any monster lines. We don't do the thrill rides, so the Haunted Mansion and Small World got our business. We were in line with a British family; I'll bet they were happy to get out of the soggy United Kingdom to Sunny Florida!

The drive home was uneventful (we stage from Jacksonville and do the rest in one shot, getting home at about 3:00AM), although again it rained most of the way. The next day, Memorial Day, was actually nice and I was able to cut the grass. Yahoo. Altogether, a fairly disappointing trip. So, we went back again!

Wet 'N Not-So-Wild

We took a trip to Florida in April 2009.

I have relatives there, and as a kid made regular summer trips with my father to visit everyone, staying with my grandparents in Hialeah (a Miami suburb). I routinely got a severe sunburn in the first visit to the beach. If I wasn't smart enough to learn to protect myself, I now wonder why my father wasn't, either. I resignedly await my melanoma.

While in the Navy, I was stationed in Orlando for two and a half years. I hated it. It's hot, it's flat, it's boring. I went to the beach maybe four times while I was there, and to Epcot once when a friend visited. I was very happy to go back to New London and to sea duty again.

Then I married. Where did Sue want to go on our honeymoon? You guessed it-- Disney World. After that we went regularly-- while in the service, and for three years after, I was able to use the military resort at Disney, Shades of Green-- and now we stay with my uncle in Boynton Beach. We drive from Connecticut, because I like to, and we have friends and relatives everywhere from Kingsland, GA (just north of the Florida border) to Hollywood (just north of Miami). Flying down and then putting those miles on a rental doesn't seem as much fun.

So, in 2008 we didn't go: saving money. In 2009, we had enough saved up, and were able to realize Sue's ambition: staying at a Disney resort again. We lost access to Shades of Green in 2000, and since then stayed outside the park, when we stayed there at all. We didn't go to the theme parks every year; just going to the "no admission" Disney Village / Marketplace was enough to satisfy Sue most of the time. This time, we decided to go to the Magic Kingdom; it had been a while. We made reservations at one of the "value" resorts, Pop Century.

We usually will start our vacation on Friday, so that we can leave Thursday evening and get a head start. We drive six hours plus traffic to just south of Washington, DC. that night. This gets us past all the traffic in one shot. The next day it's an easy twelve hours or so to Jacksonville. This time the trip down was okay; we were able to go a bit early, 1:00 PM, to overnight at a reasonable hour, and Friday stayed in Jacksonville. We visited with a friend in Fernandina Beach, who was my neighbor in both Orlando and Groton.

The next morning, we drove to Daytona Beach where we hoped to visit my cousin, and stay overnight Saturday while waiting for our check-in time at Disney on Sunday. My cousin was not available: something had come up. Fine, we can go to the beach instead; or not, since it was about to rain. Oh, yeah, the rain: it rained when we left. It rained all the way down the coast. And now it was raining in Daytona Beach. And then Sue was hit by a bug that took her down for the count. The hotel let us check in before 3 PM, and she went to bed and stayed there. I was ready to take her to the emergency room to be looked at. I was thinking we'd have to cancel our reservations and just go back home, she was so bad, and wouldn't she be disappointed.

Little did I reckon with her ambition: she'd crawl out of her deathbed to get to Disney, and in truth she felt better in the morning with a solid 18 hours of sleep. Off we went to the resort.

Posting For The Sake Of Posting

Yes, I am still alive. Since last spring, we have gone to Florida. Twice. I guess I will post on that soon. In the meantime, I have today started a Facebook page, mainly to drive home to myself how few friends I really have.

The Joys Of Home Ownership

Until I bought a house, I never was a carpenter. Or an electrician, or a plumber. That's what I told the real plumber as he worked in my bathroom.

Again with the toilet-- it was leaking from the wax seal, so time to replace it again. Perhaps I didn't fasten it down tight enough last time, for fear of cracking the toilet. Perhaps I'm just too fat. Hmmm. Didn't fasten it tight enough. So off to Lowe's, and a super-heavy-duty wax ring. Drained the tank, turning my hands blue in the process, and took it off. Meantime I am also doing laundry while Sue is at work, so I then have to scrub my hands clean while I fold. Then back to the toilet.

Off with the base, scrub off the old wax, and-- hey! the flange is cracked! The flange, which is plastic, sits on the drainpipe and is fastened to the floor; the toilet bolts to it, with "johnny bolts." One johnny bolt hole in the flange is cracked; with it like that the toilet will always rock, and the seal will always break. A quick investigation shows the flange replacement to be beyond my capabilities, so a call to the plumber (Roto-Rooter: 24/7 service: I did try a local first) is in order.

The plumber estimates a $600 repair, knocked down to $400 since I already removed the toilet. Luckily we can access the drainpipe from the basement. Luckily we have another full bath downstairs, since he came back on Monday to do the repair, cutting the drainpipe and installing a fitting to aid in future replacement if necessary. The metal flange seemed kind of flimsy, so we went with a plastic one again, a bit sturdier than the original. It took him two hours. $400 seemed reasonable to me, parts and labor.

But the great thing is, at some point I had wanted to replace our toilet, but have the new one professionally installed just to make sure it was done right: here was my chance. Only $89 at Lowe's with a serendipitous $10 coupon for a elongated (fat, remember?) high (16.5"-- kitchen chair-height) low-flush efficiency toilet. I was leery of the low-flush bit; that usually means you have to flush twice, but reading the reviews online it seemed this one was okay. And it is! Remarkable. The acid test still remains: my 6-year-old grand-niece, who clogged the old toilet at least once on each visit.

The old toilet is sitting in my garage, adding to the pile of stuff-to-take-to-the-dump-someday. Sue didn't like my idea of turning it into a planter.

$500. Even after my tax refund came in, I am no longer flush.

Squirrels

After I've been so nice to them; all winter I've been putting out peanuts to compensate for the lack of acorns, and the ingrates are burrowing into my hollow tree. I put tin plates over the holes, and the bastards are digging under them.

This weekend I'll see about stacking some rocks and building up the dirt around the trunk. I'll have to have it covered up before the chipmunks show up again.

Vanity Plates

The other day I saw a car with the vanity plate: "MOONLT"

Yes, the car was a Hyundai Sonata.

Ha! Ha! I get it! But what will they do when they get another car?

There's a car I sometimes see on my commute with a vanity plate something like "68 MSTG". And yes, the car is a... Mazda. Or Toyota-- in any event, not a Mustang. Perhaps it's shorthand for a bumper sticker reading, "My Other Car Is A...", or perhaps he's recalling a past glory. Or maybe he's too cheap to trade in plates he's already paid for.

Halloween

A very good evening. I live in a quiet development with only one entrance: no through traffic. People from other neighborhoods bring their kids here to trick-or-treat. On nice Halloween nights as last night was, I sit on the steps with the bowl of candy, so I don't have to hide behind the door and let the bugs in with each opening. It also affords me the opportunity to watch the folks in the streets.

This time I remembered the soreness in certain parts of my anatomy from several hours on concrete steps, and brought out a chair and a small table for the bowls. I also had my stuffed (toy) cat on my lap; it fooled many kids and quite a few adults even when they were standing right in front of me. Last year I removed the bushes that had flanked the stairs and so had a nice view. The neighbors on either side were also staked outside. Across the street they were, too, with a fire going in one of those patio fireplace bowl-on-a-stand things.

I get a kick out of watching all the kids, from the first-timers to the older kids. There were a lot of good costumes-- Dorothy from "The Wizard Of Oz" was big-- and even the older kids had made the effort. The roving bands of mid-teenagers were fun to see as they kidded around in the street, and then politely said "Thank you," as I gave them their treats. Everyone had a good time. First caller just after 6PM, and I packed it in, lights out, at 8:40.

Unexpected Visitors

I have (finally!) cleared out the brush and leaves from the stone wall that backs my property; on the other side is a chain-link fence and some woods, city property lining a "military access highway" that, I'm told, can't be developed. Nice for us: we have a nice woods to look into rather than someone else's yard, and I can dump my leaves and brush over the fence.

The remaining "messy" corner had vines overgrowing saplings and bushes, with dead leaves and fallen stones from the wall interspersed. I went in with rake and clippers, and cleared it all out. I was pulling vines 12 feet long out of the trees, and pulling up roots another ten feet long from the ground. Piled them all into garbage cans and over the fence. I cut down one sapling to make room for another to grow, and cleared away the mountain laurel shrub (the state flower!) so it gets some sun.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered some of the vines were poison ivy. This was several days later, when I broke out in a massive rash. Now, three weeks later, the last of it is fading. There are still some clumps of poison ivy about, and I'll remove them today, being a bit more careful this time.

I also discovered a gap in the chain link fence; there's a small hole underneath the fence at one point I knew about: it's how the neighborhood cats get through. This one, though, is a large gap that's pulled away from the post. Perhaps that's how the coyote came in.

We suspected there were coyotes in the woods, with the deer and what-have-you; each winter some neighborhood cats would disappear without a trace. One morning this summer, though, Sue calls me to the window: "Whose dog is that?" No dog: a coyote in our yard, trying to find a way back into the woods. I called the police, not with any expectation that they could do anything but just to serve notice that there was a wild carnivore roaming the neighborhood.

One of the missing cats is Vern, who is pictured in an earlier post. He made a habit of hanging around my yard, thanks to the woods access and my bird feeder.

With him gone, and the wall cleared away, residents of the wall are coming out to avail themselves of the seed. The pictured chipmunk (with a couple of tufted titmouses) is one of two; this one figured out that he is too light to trigger the spring on my squirrel-proof feeder. I have also seen a field mouse, a big ol' fat one, chowing down at the base of the tree. I was more concerned about snakes in the stone wall, but there can't be any if the rodents are running around like that.

There's a cat from down the street that's discovered our woods access, and if he continues to come around perhaps the situation will take care of itself. Circle of life, and all that. In the meantime, the tree is going hollow, so I'll have to cover up the hole to keep the animals out.

The YouTube Trap

I was caught again-- someone sent me a link to a YouTube video, which led to another, and another. It started with a Muppet Show link, which led me to viewing a couple of favorites, such as Rowlf the Dog and Sam the American Eagle singing Gilbert and Sullivan's "Tit Willow". Which led, of course, to Victor Borge. Then Steve Allen hosting the original Tonight Show. Then the Marx Brothers, and Groucho singing "Lydia The Tattooed Lady."

An hour or so later, I was finally able to stagger off to bed.

Re: Gummitch

I used to comment (sparingly) on the various blogs I read as "Gummitch." Lately there has been another established gummitch posting, and so I switched to "steverino."

I've tried to change my name here, but with no success; so, Gummitch I remain here, and steverino elsewhere.

Beer

Over at The Washington Monthly, there is a discussion about beer and the possible hostile takeover of Anheuser-Busch by a Belgian company. The discussion mentions the various quality of Belgian beer vs. Budweiser, and someone throws in a comment about Dutch beer.

Which reminds me of the last annual "Oktoberfest" I attended at the Submarine Base here in Groton. Someone was apparently disturbed at the potential negative connotations of the word, because it was now called "Autumnfest". While it did still have a beer stand, the beers served were Heineken and Amstel Light. Two Dutch beers.

Royal Flush

An interesting train of thought: balancing my glasses on the edge of the sink the other morning led me to remember the cautionary tale my mother told me: as a child she had put her glasses on the rounded top of the toilet tank, they slipped off, and broke on the floor. I grew up in that same house, with that same toilet, and so I have been careful evermore, even now when glasses are so much more robust, and toilets tank lids are flat and (in my house) covered with magazines and Sudoku books.

Which could lead me down one path, of thinking how these little anecdotes survive in a family; everyone is familiar with family sayings and phrases that outsiders don't understand. Deep thoughts, indeed. Instead, I thought of low-flush toilets.

The family that now lives in the house in which my mother and I (and her mother, too, now that I think of it) grew up made extensive renovations to it: it needed them, being built in 1910. They added some rooms, opened up my pathetically small bedroom into the next one and made it the master bedroom, and so on. And renovated the bathroom. New toilet (flat tank lid). I was thinking, then, of how silly they were to get rid of that old toilet, despite the danger posed by the rounded top; it was sturdy, reliable, and was definitely not low-flow. I had heard how people were bidding up the price on old toilets because of how poorly the new mandated low-flow toilets worked. I have encountered a few bad toilets myself. And, despite the decent operation of my current unit, I persisted in my prejudice against them.

Uncle Cecil to the rescue: that same day, the topic du jour: Do low-flush toilets actually save water? The answer: yes they do. And they work better than ever.

As a matter of fact, as mentioned, I have had very little problem with the flushing aspect of my unit, despite my best efforts. The only issue I have with the thing is with the guts; I must replace the flapper every other year, and the float assembly every four. Never had to do that with Mom's toilet. Hmmph. I've gotten pretty good at it; and I have finally gotten the downstairs toilet adjusted so I get a full flush every time: it's a small tank and a tight squeeze, but I've gotten every inch out of it. I finally realized that the inside of the tank lid isn't level with the top of the tank itself, which means the float unit can extend out a bit more. I even replaced the wax seal on the upstairs toilet, taking the whole thing out. The stuff you do when you're a homeowner.

Do Serial Killers Carry Umbrellas?

A few days ago I gave a ride to a hitchhiker. It was 40 degrees and raining, and he looked OK. And had an umbrella. He was headed to New London from Groton, so I was able to at least get him over the river.

Curiously, thinking of the "serial killer" angle, I never took a good look at him. Round-faced, darkish skin was the impression I got; but I couldn't tell you if he was black or Hispanic, or white and tanned, for that matter. I guess I should re-read my "Hardy Boys Detective Handbook" on how to be observant.

Sue goes ballistic if I say I picked up a hitcher, but at some point being paranoid has to defer to being human.

Lethal Injection

I just don't get the problem here. I am opposed to the death penalty altogether; I don't deny there are people whom we are better off without, but because there are major problems with identifying such people, and the risk so high of wrongly executing somebody, better to not execute anyone at all.

But that's not the issue here. Setting aside the death penalty issue, it should be readily agreed that the method employed should be humane. That is the ostensible reason for the electric chair, the gas chamber, and lethal injection itself. Given that there is reasonable doubt that the chemical "cocktail" used in the injection is pain-free, what is the problem with changing it? Isn't it a no-brainer?

Ah. There's the problem.

Looking Back

No, not looking back on the year past; looking way back.

In 2004 there was a reunion of my first sub, USS Kamehameha (SSBN 642), across the river in New London. I dug out some of my old photos and put them in an album, identifying the people I knew and supplying stickies and a pen so anyone could add notes. It went over well, and I promised to scan the photos and burn them to CD to distribute.

Three years later, I finally got around to it. Thanks to the miracles of modern technology, instead of burning to CD I posted them to a Picasa web album (thanks, Google!). Here they are.

I have been corresponding with some old shipmates, and we've been trying to figure out just when that first patrol, in which we of the Gold crew brought the ship from the US to Scotland, took place. We have narrowed it down to 1983, since we did our Poseidon missile test launch (DASO) from Florida before we went over. We watched a Space Shuttle launch while in Florida, and, matching a list of DASO launches with Shuttle launches, that has to be Challenger, STS-6, April 4, 1983.

Fun getting back in touch with old shipmates.

So I have a Mac

As promised long ago, my Mac post.

My PC at work died; an old, slow machine, to which I had added (out-of-pocket) a 256K DIMM to bring it to a whopping 512K RAM. Not really missed, to say the least. I was able to salvage the contents of the hard drive, so no problem there. My supervisor, your typical Anything But Microsoft geek, preferred that I get a Mac. So he ordered me a Mac Mini with 1GB Ram and an 80GB HD. Sure, fine.

All I really use the computer for, at work, is a web browser, email, and a terminal window; and since I had just shifted all my email to Gmail (a browser-based email), even that was reduced. Even so, while not an MS-lover, I had at least beaten XP into submission; I had it set up the way I liked, I had bought (again, out-of-pocket) an SSH client (SecureCRT) that I preferred, and various test apps and utilities. Now I had to do the same for the Mac.

First, the SSH client: with SecureCRT I can open a separate window to each of 5-6 servers, each in a different color scheme: this allows me to easily keep track of which server I'm on. The latest version I bought added a tabbed interface, so now I can have one window, with a tab for each session. Not possible with the Mac; but since OS X is Unix-based, the ssh client is built in; and I found a free utility, JellyfiSSH, that "bookmarks" terminal sessions, so I can use that to open multiple color-coded sessions, at least. The new OS version, Leopard, seems to offer a tabbed terminal built-in. Hunh.

The browser is not an issue, really; I use Opera, and there is a Mac version available; but gmail doesn't work as well with the Mac version. I found a browser that uses the Mozilla Gecko engine, called Camino, and it does the gmail for me, as well as interfaces with some firewall devices we use that don't like Opera (on the PC, I used Internet Explorer for those). I also have to use Safari, which I don't care for, just to access my Sirius Satellite Radio streaming broadcast: the plug-in only works on it. So I'm running three separate browsers.

I found a free text editor, TextWrangler, that I use instead of the standard TextEdit. I just like it better. And I had to find a wrap-the-cursor around the screen utility, because I use a trackball and that sort of thing makes sense for trackballs (and touchpads). And so on. A utility that locks the screen for when I am away from my desk, without me having to log out, or hibernate, or anything: just lock the screen and input devices: thank you.

Printing: we have a Canon multipurpose device. It uses a parallel cable. The Mac is USB-only. Got a USB-to-parallel cable, and it don't work: the cable does, but there are no drivers for this thing. I am using my sup's personal USB printer, and we're working on getting a new one from the company.

The worst part of the whole deal is Windows: there are one or two apps, particularly our billing/service-order management app, that are Windows-only. With the Mac I got Parallels, an app that lets me load Windows XP (any OS, actually) within a virtual machine running on the Mac (sort of like Apple's own BootCamp, without the reboot). It takes 512K of my 1GB RAM (any less and Windows would suck wind), and I can forget about doing anything else while it loads. When I am careful, I have no problems running Windows apps within it; setting up the networking to connect to the office network over a VPN was tricky, but it is working okay now. Point being it would all be unnecessary if I had just been given a PC in the first place.

All that said, the Mac isn't too bad. Nice wide-screen monitor, the CPU is zippy, and I can work on it with no problems. It just brings its own set of frustrations with it, after I had gotten used to the ones that come with XP. In addition, the keyboard (using the Apple key and so on) is different than what I am using at home: the key strokes, anyway, since I am using the same type of keyboard, not a Mac keyboard (and my own Logitech MarbleMouse trackball). And the close button for the window being in the upper left rather than the upper right. It's the shifting back and forth, work to home, that generates the (mild) confusion.

And thus endeth my Mac post.

Happy Birthday

How did I spend my holidays? On Black Friday, which I consider a holiday because I have off and my wife Sue works, I visited the Book Barn and got a good hour and a half of Quality Lap Time, mostly with Tiger (pictured)-- I didn't see Mrs. Howell, my favorite lap-kitty. Tiger is okay, a bit cranky because he hurt his hips at some point, and if you are too aggressive scratching there he will snap at you. Once, before I learned this, he took a swat at my hand; I let him, rather than pull away. He wasn't actually attacking: what he did was just grab my hand (with his claws, half-extended: how else for a cat?) and pull it up to his head, which is where he wanted me to scratch. After that incident I saw the note the Book Barn staff had posted telling of his injury, and then I understood. So we had a nice time, he all curled up on my chest (my belly makes a nice shelf) and me reading the book I bought, "Dreadnought," about the buildup to WWI.

The following Tuesday (Nov. 27) I had off, too: my 45th birthday. Birthdays are given as a holiday by my employer. I went this time to a local insurance company, Bailey's Insurance, who I can recommend as a friendly, cat-loving establishment: even though I don't do business with them, they welcome my visits. Mr. B lives there, and on the weekends I would see Mr. B in the window (their office is next to the Post Office). I finally stopped in during the week and they were more than gracious about me meeting the cat, and Mr. B loved it. It got so, they told me later, that anyone sitting in the chair I always used had Mr. B right there wanting his cuddle. He is a polite cat, though, and waits to be invited before he will jump up. Pictured is a photo they took on 21AUG07; that's me and my chins on the left,
and Mr. B on the right. They just aquired a kitten, already a young cat (7mos or so, now), a stray. Also affectionate. So that's my birthday: I enjoyed it, but rather pathetic, no? I don't even have my own cats to blog about. I have to grab my chances as I can. Vern the neighbor's cat still comes by, but the last time, Sue was home, and I couldn't let him in. He didn't want to be petted: he wanted his fix, and left in a huff (oh, you can tell, all right).

Steve

Worth Noting...

Reading about lobbyists reminded me of this, which I did first hear of via Molly Ivins:

"If you can’t take their money, drink their whiskey, screw their women, and vote against ‘em anyway, you don’t belong in the Legislature” is a quote by Molly Ivins (1944-2007) that’s often attributed to Texas politics. It was first used by Jesse Unruh (1922-1987) in California politics in the 1970s. Unruh was talking then about lobbyists.

--The Big Apple

--Steve