Some years back, I ran across a short story by Stephen King titled, “Word Processor of the Gods.” In the story, a writer is given a word processor (the kind that’s halfway between a typewriter and a computer) that his nephew had built for him, shortly before the nephew’s death. When the writer tries out the word processor, he discovers that anything he writes on it becomes true. For example, if he writes, “There is a bowl of ice cream on the corner of my desk,” when he looks up, the ice cream is there. You can see where the story gets it’s title, and you can probably imagine some uses for that sort of power.
I think I’ve stumbled across something similar.
A few weeks ago, I was midway through writing an email to an acquaintance when my phone rang. Marc denies spying on me, and if that had been the only incident, I wouldn’t have given it too much thought beyond the initial incident.
A funny thing happened though. In another entry, I mentioned my classmate Donna. Less than a week later, Donna happened to run across my blog and left a comment.
This has some potential. For example, just imagine what could happen if I were to mention Jessica Simpson, Nicole Kidman or Jennifer Aniston. This could be fun! 🙂
On the other hand, anyone who’s seen a few episodes of The Twilight Zone will recognize that this sort of wish fulfillment can have a variety of unexpected, and fairly horrific, consequences. Consider the rather frightening possibilities if I were to mention Pamela Anderson, Paris Hilton or the hot but strange Angelina Jolie!
There’s only one possible course of action: Hi Laura!!!

Every so often, Mom will send me a newspaper clipping she thinks I’ll find interesting. Once was when my friend Brian was interviewed when he first made his mark on the Pittsburgh radio market. Another time it was when a girl I graduated with (Donna Rorabaugh) was named as a finalist in a gingerbread house competition. Most recently, Mom sent me an article about Mr. Maljan, my social studies teacher from my senior year of High School.
It’s been 22 years since I graduated from High School and I don’t remember much about any of my teachers. There’s a few I definitely didn’t like, such as the sixth grade English teacher who made fun of my last name, in class. Or the eighth grade algebra teacher who wouldn’t answer questions during class and then got mad at me because I didn’t want to stay after class to ask my questions and miss the bus.
On the other hand, there were also a few teachers who I liked and still remember warmly. Such as Mr. Fresch, my tenth grade biology teacher who confided to us on the first day of class that some people occasionally referred to "BSCS Biology" as "Bull Sucking Cow Something." Or my sixth grade math teacher who I first knew as "Mr. DeVincentes" and who five years later became "Nick" when I was an ambulance attendant and he was a Paramedic. (I have no idea how Nick felt about the transition from a student/teacher relationship to friends/colleagues, but years later I still think that was one of the most interesting things that ever happened to me.)
Mr. Maljan was definitely in the latter category. Sad to say, I don’t remember much about the class itself, but I do remember him being friendly toward his students. He teased me occasionally because when I needed to remember a name, I’d look up toward the ceiling, as if expecting to find it written there. He was never mean about it, just making a friendly joke. (Bill Cosby used to have a routine about how you have to look up to remember names and down to remember numbers, because that’s where the names and numbers are stored. Perhaps Mr. Maljan knew he was right about that.)
The article Mom sent me had a couple surprises. One was that Mister Maljan is only 15 years older than I am. (Of course, that’s an eternity from the perspective of a High School student.) The greater shock though was that Mr. Maljan had been arrested for burglarizing the school’s athletic director’s office.
He’s reportedly admitted to not only that burglary, but also to another one a week earlier. The fact that he’s admitted to it is encouraging; perhaps there’s hope for him.
But I much prefer my original memory.

There was once a widespread belief that you could summon the devil by speaking his name. This is the basis for people exclaiming "speak of the devil!" upon seeing someone they were just talking about. Recently, I was midway through writing an email to an acquaintance when my phone rang. You guessed it. Marc denies spying on me, but I can’t help thinking that the devil may have email these days too.
When I mentioned this theory to Z., her reaction was simply, "Devil, thy name is Comcast."
Now I’m not exactly in love with Comcast, but to be fair, that seemed a little harsh. My suggestion was that perhaps Comcast is more of a minor demon.
Z.’s response was, "Well, think about it next time you have to talk to Customer Service."
Now that’s a different matter altogether. That would be, "Devil, thy name is Customer Service." And I had one of those experiences just a couple nights ago.
Two months in a row, I’ve gone over my limit for "anytime minutes" on the cellular plan. The first time, I figured it was a fluke, after all, I’d been on vacation for most of December and hadn’t really been paying attention to the day or time when calling people.
But then it happened again for the January bill.
So I started looking into VOIP service. The one company I’m looking into has a deal that works out to around $17 a month for unlimited calling within the US. (I don’t actually know anyone outside the US, but if I did, that would be 3 cents per minute with the first 100 minutes included.)
The overage for January was more than a single month of the VOIP and the December one would have covered nearly three months. Plus there’s the issue of dropped calls and echoes on the line. So I’m giving it some thought.
Problem is, although the web site is amazingly clear and informative, there’s still a question or two for which I just can’t find the answers. So I called their "customer care" number.
On the first go round I gave up after 20 minutes so I could go make dinner.
Later, I decided to curl up and take a light nap while waiting on hold. Not actually sleeping, but pretty darn close to it. It took them around 35 minutes to pick up the phone, at which point it turned out the automated voice response system had put me in the wrong queue!!!!
Happily, I didn’t get disconnected and when I got put into the right queue it only took about 30 seconds before I got another live person. I asked my three questions. One was "Yes" (just what I’d been hoping for). One was, "You’d have to call the customer service number to make that sort of change." (Yikes! If I want to change the service I have to go through the same half-hour long queue??!!!!) And the final question turned out to be just way beyond anything on the poor guy’s script.
So, I’m going to be trying out a new phone service over the next month, just to see what happens. The good news is that I’m not planning to get rid of the cell phone as my primary way of getting calls anytime soon. (So no need to worry if you just recently had that numbered tattooed anywhere.)
But I’m gonna read the terms of that service contract quite closely and make darn sure it doesn’t have to be signed in blood.

A couple weeks ago, I came out of the office at the end of the day and found a flyer stuck under my car’s windshield wiper. In the eight years I’ve been working there, this is the sixth or seventh time that’s happened. That works out to less than once a year, so I suppose it’s not a bad average. But it’s still annoying.
In some jurisdictions, the penalty for this sort of advertising is kind of creative. Instead of a flat fine per incident, they fine you a couple dollars per flyer. Hit a parking lot with a few hundred cars in it and the fines can quickly dwarf any boost in sales.
Those fines exist for one a simple reason: People don’t like it when businesses put advertising on their windshields. A great many people take the flier off their windshields and throw it away when they get home. But a great many more take the flier off the windshield and throw it on the ground before driving away. When I came out of the office that evening, the parking lot was strewn with fliers. I chose a third option for getting rid of my copy: I mailed it back to the offending merchant.
The flier came from Kardo, a Mediterranean restaurant over in the Kings Farm development. I’ve had lunch there a couple times and the food’s not bad. But I really don’t care for that advertising technique. So I mailed a letter off to Kardo explaining my objection and also explaining that I would no longer patronize their establishment. I figured that would pretty much be the end of it.
Some folks just don’t like being told you disagree with what they’re doing. When I got home on Tuesday, my mailbox contained a reply from the owner of Kardo. It was about a page long, but it really boiled down to just two points:
1) Lots of other businesses put out fliers like that, do I boycott them too?
As a matter of fact, yes. I do ignore offers from businesses that leave fliers on my car. I also discard the menus the Chinese delivery places leave on my front door.
One interesting comparison he made was that The Gazette is delivered to people’s houses every week and if it’s a house where the owner doesn’t want the paper, sometimes it will sit there for a week or two until it gets wet and disintegrates. Nobody complains about that. I have to admit, that particular example does have merit, but there’s a crucial difference: most people do want the free newspaper. Every time I’ve seen a business try that, most of the fliers wind up scattered on the ground. It’s not so much an advertising technique as it is a way to litter.
2) They’re a small, family-owned business.
My response to that one is just two words long: So what? Truth be told, I have come to prefer the small restaurants versus the national chains. (Note to California Tortilla: we’re good as long as you don’t put stuff on my windshield.) But a few years ago, another restaurant I liked did the same thing; I didn’t go back to Theo’s for a year and a half.
I’m not sure I’ll ever go back to Kardo.

"You wouldn’t be Blair if you didn’t have a thousand things going on."

– Sethiya

Wow have the past couple weeks been busy. An all-nighter for work, a meeting for the Germantown Oktoberfest, getting together with Laura for both our birthdays (as well as just getting together on general principles), and getting ready to spend the weekend at Farpoint, well, it just hasn’t left a whole lot of free time. So as busy as last year was, the new one is shaping up to be busy too.
I’m no longer on the local Jaycees Board of Directors. This is the last year when I’m eligible to be a member of the organization, so I decided to do it as a regular member instead.
Having freed up some of my time by not being on the Jaycee board, I’ve stepped up my involvement with the Germantown Oktoberfest. In addition to continuing the publicity duties I took on in 2005, I’ve taken on the job of being committee chair for the entire festival. This should be an interesting experience, though I find myself wondering from time to time, "Good Lord! What have I got myself into now?" (I’m blaming this on Foo Foo and Sue. They know who they are.)
I’m still involved with organizing two Science Fiction conventions. For Farpoint (where I’m writing this), I coordinate with the various fan groups who want to set up a publicity table at the event. And then, during the event itself, I fill in wherever people need me. And then, for Shore Leave, I’m the web master with a few people planning for me to take over the job of committee chair for next year.
Somewhere in there I still have my paying job (It’s always nice to have a paycheck!), plus trying to put in some time with Terry and Wylie.
About the only thing I’m not doing is letting any dust settle on me.

To celebrate her birthday on Tuesday, I took Laura out for dinner at the Barley and Hops restaurant up in Frederick. It’s a nice little place with friendly staff, reasonable prices, and good food. It’s a nice place.
Not having any fixed plans, we decided to see what was playing at the movies and after giving it some thought decided to see the new version of The Pink Panther.
It’s been a while since I last saw the original Pink Panther films, but this re-imagining seemed dead on. The owner of the Pink Panther diamond has been murdered and the diamond is murdered and the authorities are under pressure to find it. In order to further his career, Chief Inspector Dreyfus (Kevin Kline) promotes an incompetent bungler from the outer reaches. Dreyfus’plan is to put the bungler, Inspector Jacques Clouseau, in charge of the investigation and once he’s failed, Dreyfus will solve the case himself and take the credit and glory for himself.
Clouseau’s investigation takes a number of unexpected turns, but perhaps the most unexpected comes after he’s been sent home in disgrace.
Steve Martin portrays the bumbling Inspector Clouseau with well-executed slapstick sharp delivery, and a faux French accent that can only be described as "outrageous" and Kevin Kline brings to life Chief Inspector Dreyfus’ contempt and hatred for Clouseau.
My only disappointment was that the movie didn’t end with the animated Pink Panther returning in the credits. All in all, I think Peter Sellers’ legacy is in good hands.