Chris Hansen’s blog

I bit the bullet today and have begun the process of transferring material from my old computer to the new one. This involves PCMover (from Laplink), and about 8 hours. It’s quite scary in a way, but I’m just taking it one gigabyte at a time.

Once the material is transferred, then I’ll have to move the Audigy sound card and console from the old to the new computer, take the SATA drive out of the old computer and put it into the new one, and transfer a USB/Firewire add-in card from one to the other. Then rationalise all the licenses and the like, and set up the other computer in the kitchen for HWMBO. Quite a lot to do.

I put the iMac upstairs in the spare room, and will probably put the Sun SPARC up there too. I’ll have to get an ethernet bridge for those. We will have a truly wired house then.

Until the main computers are back up again, I’m using one of the laptops in the kitchen, with the old DELL screen attached to it.

Occasionally I’ve written about our parochial troubles here, I think. Our Rector has been with us for 12 years this coming August and is basically quite dysfunctional. The parish has shrunk, the number of things that go on has shrunk to almost nothing, there has been some question as to some financial transactions, and his liturgical talents are, well, questionable.

The system in the Church of England does not allow priests with tenure in the parish (referred to as the “freehold” of the parish) to be deposed unless they commit a crime. So, unlike a congregational church, which can dismiss its minister after a vote, we are stuck with him. His health is not the best, but he hangs stubbornly on, refusing to leave or retire, continuing to ruin the parish.

11 years ago we decided that the shortcomings we saw (after only 6 months of his tenure) were such that we needed to take them up with him. We wrote them down to forge a consensus, but for various reasons we never got the opportunity to sit down with him and air the problems. The document languished on my computer for 11 years. I found it, and printed it off. I had made an appointment to take the Archdeacon to lunch and talk about our parochial situation.

Without going into the gory details, I think that the Archdeacon is broadly sympathetic to our plight at St. Matthew’s. What he can do, he will do. If the Rector does not change, or move, or retire, we will have 9-1/2 more years of this and will not have any parish worthy of the name by the time he does finally go.

Oddly enough, most Archdeacons get lots of complaints about clergy from people in the parishes, but usually discount all of it unless corroborated by the churchwardens (lay presidents of the congregation, roughly speaking). Our churchwardens are under the Rector’s thumb, so they have not mentioned any of this to the Archdeacon. I hesitated to talk to him, or his predecessor (who was responsible for landing us with this Rector in any case, moving him out of one problem situation just like the Roman Catholics used to move problems priests around just before the child protection people arrived) because I was not a churchwarden. Now that I have just turned up at meetings for 7 years, regularly, people noticed me and I got on more committees. People now listen to me. So I’ve taken my opportunity.

We cannot depose the Rector. The Archdeacon is limited in what he can do. However, he’s promised to do what he can do to help the parish, and the Rector, and get us through until we have a change in clergy. I just have to stick it out longer than the Rector does.

I have been told that I have a Midwestern accent; people tell me I must be from Ohio or someplace like that.

However, I just took this quiz, and, you know, you can’t really leave home behind:

It’s been a busy week, so only today have I gotten the strength to write anything.

Work has been quite busy, with lots of angst over our business plan. As an Indian consultancy, there are multi-cultural difficulties for Brits working for us. The company is very slow in coming to grips with these. If we are to be seen as a consultancy that adds something to the labour of many programmers and testers back in India, we need to pay higher salaries here, find very talented people, and allow them to go ahead and do what they do best. This is not yet happening. There is a growing realisation that our salaries aren’t going to attract many multi-talented people unless they are raised.

Well, you say, why are you working for them? Well, I don’t necessarily need lots of money any more, I thought it would be fun, and they were the first ones who asked me. Any raise in salary or title I get will be gravy. As it is, I’m putting 20% of it away in my pension plan (about

is:

My basketball the whig

I wasn’t aware that basketballs took part in the political life of the 18th and 19th centuries.

In 2007, chrishansenhome resolves to…

Learn to play the mousez72.
Find a new boyshapedbox.
Find a better shayan.
Get back in contact with some old mondragons.
Go to obsidianbear every Sunday.
Eat more tim1965s.

Get your own New Year’s Resolutions:

I like the idea of eating more ‘s…I don’t know what his opinion would be, tho…and I absolutely refuse to get a new , The old one is absolutely great. I didn’t submit to ‘s meme to get a resolution, so this is what I get instead.

There’s been another death at the jaws of a pet pit bull here in the UK. The BBC story has a link to St. Helens council’s webpage (the place where the incident happened).

…courtesy of Ron’s Log, a bit of gay history that is definitely NSFW (in case your co-workers or boss are speed readers over your shoulder) and which may squick some of you (it’s about the Catacombs, a fisting club in San Francisco, circa 1978, and thus pre-HIV) but is fascinating nonetheless. There is a tantalising sentence at the end: ILLUSTRATIONS, which, sadly, is only an illusion.

…is from Itche Goldberg, recently deceased at 102, and the editor of the one of the last Yiddish periodicals in the world, Yiddishe Kultur. The magazine has been in danger of closure for many years (and has now probably died with the death of its editor). But he always had hope that it could be saved:

“You get the impression that I’m full of fight? I’m not really. I might as well tell you: I only have two dreams. One dream is that someone will knock on the door and I will open it and they give me a check for $150,000 for the magazine. Second dream is that someone knocks at the door and I open it up and he gives me a corned beef sandwich.

Those are my only two dreams. I’m not asking for much. Really, I’m not. And I think they’re both reachable.”

What a delightful man he must have been.

…and so why am I sad?

I think that few would disagree with the statement that Saddam Hussein was an evil, selfish, murderous individual who had either personally killed or authorised the killings of thousands of people, many innocent. So why do I feel sadness and apprehension at his death?

In the end, we all die, some more peacefully than others. Hanging is not a pleasant way to go: even if it’s done swiftly, I’m certain that the instant between the trap door opening and the snapping of the neck seems like an eternity. Saddam is said to have shown fear as he was led into the death chamber. Who wouldn’t?

What makes me sad is that this act, finally, shows us what we are as a society. America and Britain went into Iraq on a spurious report of weapons of mass destruction, took on an army that was unprepared and unorganised, routed it, drove Saddam into hiding for many months, and then stood by and guarded him while the Iraqis tried him (and judges and lawyers lost their lives prosecuting and defending him), convicted him (would any Iraqi court have acquitted him?), sentenced him to hang, and then waited outside the death chamber while the Iraqis themselves carried out the sentence, for fear that the US and Britain would be associated with the final chapter in his life.

This happened while the call to morning prayer rang out from the minarets of Baghdad. Saddam carried a Qu’ran into the chamber and then handed it to someone asking that it be given to a friend. He shouted the Muslim statement of faith before the noose was placed around his neck. He will be accounted by many in Iraq as a shahid, a martyr.

The civil war in Iraq will get worse. We will not be able to extricate ourselves without condemning many more thousands of Iraqis to death at the hands of fellow Iraqis in death squads.

Who then will pay for those murders? You can only hang a person once, you know.

My faith tells me that capital punishment is wrong. No matter whether it’s Saddam Hussein, the Birdman of Alcatraz, Sacco and Vanzetti, the Rosenbergs, or any of the numerous murderers and criminals who have been executed in the past: it’s wrong. It never solves the problem, soothes the hurt, or brings back the victims. It just piles death onto death, and there is no sign it will end soon.

It will surely be a bumpy ride.

Remember, if you’re posted to East Jesus, Nebraska or West Bumf**k, Minnesota, fer fuxache DON’T tell your blog’s readership what a s**thole it is, or there may be repercussions. But if you want a free chocolate, you should go to Thornton’s in Barrow-on-Furness.

I’ve never heard of the particular blender brand, but this video demonstrates that you can reduce your daughter to tears in just 30 seconds.

Last Tuesday I attended Philanthropic Lodge in Marblehead, along with my brother. I found it quite interesting, if rather exhausting. I signed the bye-laws, and thus became a member, with my very own nametag, no less! My brother muttered to me when I got back to my seat: “It took me two years to get one of those!”

They were doing a third-degree ceremony for 5 candidates. They have a short form of this, and a long form. Without going into details, we began at 5:30 pm, broke for dinner around 6:30, resumed at 7:30 or so and ended at 11:15 pm! We were all exhausted by that time; my brother and his friend (who drove us to the Lodge) are what they refer to, rather indelicately, as “Chew and screw” Masons: they stay through the dinner and then leave. However, the second part of the ceremony was performed once for each candidate, rather than for all candidates (as we do at Goliath Lodge here in London). There were 4 “short-form” raisings, and one “long-form”, which all the candidates who were raised had to watch. Thus, it was last–and that was the ceremony I most wanted to see. Harold and his buddy (whose name I forget) were concerned at the lateness of the hour, but they kindly stayed so that I could see the whole thing. It was very worthwhile; very different from that which we do here in the UK but with many similarities in the essentials. The ritual was very well performed and quite elaborate.

So thanks to Harold and his chum for staying to the bitter end on my behalf, and thanks to Philanthropic Lodge for welcoming me so well and bringing me into their fold. I plan to try to make a trip twice a year to visit the family and the Lodge. Next time may be in April 2007.

We had a lovely dinner on Wednesday night–ham with raisin and pineapple glaze, potatoes, squash, carrots, homemade biscuits (American biscuits, of course), and ice cream to end. Thanks to my sister and uncle, we ate very well.

I managed to check in on Wednesday morning at 8:15 am, exactly 24 hours before the flight was scheduled to leave, and again got a front seat in cattle class, this time the “window” seat (there’s no window on that row). Printed out my boarding pass as well. When it works, this online check-in works well.

I packed on Wednesday afternoon and evening: I managed to get everything into the suitcase yet again. Vans sneakers/trainers, Lever 2000 soap and some Neutrogena products (for ), two iPods for me and HWMBO, some clothing, a gift from my brother’s girlfriend, my Masonic regalia, and so on and so forth. Then I turned in, after setting four alarms for 4:45 am, which was the time I had to get up, get washed and dressed, and set off for the airport.

At 3:20 am my cellphone (one of the four alarms) rang. I got up, turned on the light, and it was a friend texting me to see if I’d be around Thursday night. I was a bit annoyed, and didn’t respond. Of course, I couldn’t sleep either.

Got up and turned off the four alarms at 4:45 am. My sister’s friend Linda came to pick me up (bless you, Linda!) and we got to Logan in plenty of time. The Fast Drop Off line was still not that fast (because of a family with a very large number of members and suitcases to check) but was faster than Heathrow. I was starting to get a bit nervous about the fog situation at Heathrow, but no one said anything about the flight being delayed or cancelled, so I didn’t worry too much.

Security was a breeze, relatively speaking (one blessing of early flights is that security usually isn’t too crowded). The flight took off on time, and we got to Heathrow just a few minutes delayed. The cabin crew told us that there had been one moment when we might have been diverted to Glasgow, but blessedly, that didn’t happen. Of course, that meant that our luggage was delayed as the ground crew weren’t prepared for our arrival. Got through Immigration and Customs, and got on the Heathrow Express. There were “kids playing on the line” ahead, which meant that the train crawled out of the station and took 1/2 hour to get to Paddington rather than 15 minutes. Ho-hum and Rats! Taxi to the Elephant. I managed to unpack everything before falling into bed.

HWMBO has an 80GB iPod, and I got a 4 GB Nano (as my requirements are few). I decided that since the menu system on the Zen Neeon was so flaky, there was no point in using it anymore. However, discovering that you can’t normally have two iPods on one computer was traumatic, and getting used to iTunes on our iMac was even worse. But, eventually, we got there. The sound is really good, and the menus are very easy to navigate. Much less clumsy than the Zen Neeon.

Shopping for Christmas food yesterday was grim. I went to the Asda on the Old Kent Road, and it was a madhouse. I had to dodge more children than you can shake a stick at, and the shelf stackers were on duty, complicating navigation even more. Checkout was a disaster, managed only after waiting in the queue for 1/2 hour. Taxi home, exhausted (at 4 pm) and grumpy. But we’re now prepared for our guests on Monday: , Mark, and Rob.

So, Happy Christmas (or Season’s Greetings, if that’s what you prefer) to you all; we’ll be going out to an art gallery later and then cleaning tonight.

I’m in Marblehead at the moment…the trip was uneventful and I have been very comfy here. The family is well; my brother’s new girlfriend seems very nice, which is a relief. Third time lucky, I say.

I went to the Sacred Mysteries at St. Michael’s here in Marblehead this morning. They had a Christmas Pageant instead of the readings and the sermon. Came off fairly well, but the kid in the pew behind me kept poking me in the back. Reminds me how much I love children…properly cooked.

We went to Outback for dinner last night. I managed to keep from having dessert but did have prime rib, which is something you really can’t get in London, AFAIK.

Going out to lunch tomorrow with the Secretary of Philanthropic Lodge, and dinner with my Luti friends here in Boston. Was supposed to be today, but we’ve rescheduled it. So, I’m at home with little to do…oh well, will watch US TV and marvel yet again at what TV has descended to here in the United States.

I finished working on the Software Quality Assurance test this week. My editor there was very pleased with my work, and sent me a logo to display on my website or wherever, saying that I’m a Brainbench Content Subject Matter Expert. Here’s the logo:

I really enjoyed working on this project; the money wasn’t much in real terms (less than GBP 250 when converted into real money) but the experience was quite interesting and new for me.

There have been jokes about Presidents screwing the country for decades. Now there’s a new twist. Definitely NSFW!! But hilarious.

Thanks to The Big Mattress, Charles Laquidara’s blog, for this one. I remember him from WBCN when I was knee-high to King Kong, years and years ago.

Gawd only knows why one would need such a thing, but how could you resist this product? Every home should have at least one.

I wonder what they make it out of.

Perhaps better left unknown, I suppose.

Update: I just noticed, in checking the link, that the bottle is marked “For external use only”. No shit, Sherlock!

Just got a telephone call. “Hi, I’m Debbie from Citibank. Do you have a few moments?” Me: “Well, only a very few.” (I have to check in to my BA flight online in a few minutes when it becomes available.)

Debbie: “Could you confirm your postcode for me, please?”

Me, suspiciously: “Is this a survey?”

Debbie: “No, it’s only a few questions. A survey is when you ask a lot of questions.”

Me, laughing: “I worked in market research for many years, and that is a survey. I don’t have enough time at the moment. Good-bye.”

Debbie: “Good bye” (hangs up)

It looks like my bishop, the Rt Rev’d Tom Butler, Lord Bishop of Southwark, looked upon the wine when it was red, and got into a little trouble. The Grauniad’s story is here. I’m a bit sad, as Bishop Tom has become a good supporter of lesbian and gay ministry in the Church, and the cause of women’s ordination to the episcopate here in the United Kingdom. I do hope that he survives the experience, as it is out of character. I have been at do’s with him, and he has been quite abstemious.

All the same, I think they’d better ensure that the vacancies on the Vacancy-In-See committee of the Diocesan Synod are filled, as it’s impossible to fill them when a vacancy-in-see actually occurs.

As you mostly might be aware, BT was once the government owned monopoly telephone supplier in the UK. It was privatised, but continues to act as though it were part of the government. This extends to having a license for stupidity.

I got a new BT Hub last week, but had to add a switch so that it would serve all my wired devices. So today I bought the switch and a short patch cable, and thought, “Boy, now I can go to town”.

Well.

I set up the switch first, and made sure that it worked with the old router. Then I disconnected the old one, and set up the new one, attached the cordless phone (we get VOIP on this plan as well, with a cordless phone attached to the router), and plugged it into the ADSL socket and the electricity.

The switch worked, and my printer, my Sun box, and my main computer worked fine. However, using the instructions, I entered the SSID and the key printed on the back of the router into the software on our living room laptop. As usual, I couldn’t get it to work.

After a while, and after some time wrestling with the interface to the router controller (which was “improved” to make it easier to use, of course), I discovered that the SSID and the key were totally different from those printed on the box itself.

Fiddlesticks!

It is finally working, and tomorrow I’ll make sure the iMac and the Dell laptop in the kitchen are working.

The router is quite stylish:

but, a pain to configure.

Worst of all, as is my wont, I was swearing a bit as I was trying to figure out what was wrong. That gets HWMBO all riled up. I’ve discovered that statin drugs (of which I take 40 mg every night) sometimes have the extra special added attraction of making people more irritable. Oh joy. Not only can’t I drink grapefruit juice because of it, I’m cranky too.

Some of the neighbours got concerned when they saw this hapless “homeowner” trying to hang his Christmas lights on his home.

Background: I often wear yellow, orange, or bright green tank tops and shorts in the gym because, well, I like looking peppy and the bright colours make me feel good.

Tonight I happened to wear blue and grey, but a very handsome young black man named Rick came up to me in the gym and said, “I didn’t get a chance to tell you last time I saw you here, but you were wearing orange shorts and an orange tank, and they really cheered me up and made my day. Thanks!” I was so chuffed at hearing this that I not only beamed from ear to ear, I did so good a set that I am moving up to the next weight level on that machine.

So if you see someone whose clothing, manner, voice or anything else about her or him makes you happy, tell him or her about it. Because it might make their day, too! And if Rick sees this, thanks a million–you made MY day!

Don’t try to convince the judge that “Bingo made me do it.“. You’re likely to get some time in the slammer.

If you want to have a large Christmas party with mulled wine, mince pies, and hot chocolate for the kiddies, you’d better not have it on public property, or you might end up like this chap.

Thanks to Ronslog, you can see the latest Saudi Arabian craze.

If your husband thinks he’s too macho to change the baby’s nappies from a baby blue or pink nappy bag, then buy him this. Guaranteed to make even the most macho father dissolve into tears of joy when he gets out the bag and takes the baby for a stroll.

Update: I see that for almost a year this entry suffered from grocer’s apostrophe. I have removed the offending punctuation mark.

Unfortunately, after hearing this song at St. John’s Christmas Concert Saturday night, I can’t banish it from my brain.

You can actually listen to it here, if you dare…and if you’re in the US. It doesn’t work for non-US addresses, I discovered.

Not that I need to hear it again, of course.

I got up this morning, performed my ablutions, made sure that the world hadn’t ended (ie, listened to the news), made breakfast, woke HWMBO up, and started on my toast and coffee.

HWMBO came downstairs, entered the kitchen, and screamed “A snail!” There was a very long sinuous slug on the kitchen countertop.

Now when I started making breakfast I folded up the rag that we use to wipe the countertop, and saw a trail across it, but of course didn’t believe it was a slug or a snail–how could such a thing get into our kitchen when we hadn’t had the door open for ages. I just thought it was some artifact of the last time we wiped the counter, and thought no more about it.

I thought of putting salt on it, but HWMBO would have been even more squicked out by what happens to slugs when you salt ’em. I didn’t think of taking a picture beforehand, drat. I opened the back door, took a piece of cardboard, scooped up the slug and slung it into the garden.

Compared to the slug, the rest of the day ought to be fairly sedate.

At least one of my friends asked about getting a display userpic like the one I’m using now. Stupidly, I neglected to include the URL of the gentleman who does it. The page from which you can buy a userpic for just GBP1 is here. You send him GBP1 via PayPal, and he’ll reply to you with a request for a photo. You attach the photo to an email (or give the URL of a photo already online), and he does it in a day and emails it back to you.

What could be better?

I got someone to do a caricature from my picture for a dollar. It’s now my default userpic. I like it.

It’s here, for those who would like to see it slightly bigger.

I was elected a few weeks ago to Bishop’s Council, a group of people from the Diocese who act as the Executive Committee of the diocesan legislature, Diocesan Synod. The setting was the relatively new library of the Cathedral, and the great and the good of the Diocese were there, including little ol’ me.

The discussion was interesting, and I knew that I’d hit the important committee when I discovered, to my delight, that instead of the usual curled-up sandwiches for lunch we were having Lamb Terrine with couscous, Mushroom Risotto, Green Beans in a Balsamic Vinegar sauce, and fruit tarts, all catered by the Cathedral refectory.

I also got a chance to talk to the Archdeacon, who is a good man and a good pastor to the priests who serve under him. We will be having lunch in January to discuss the pastoral situation here at my parish. This is a very good thing to do, and I should have done it a while back, but didn’t feel I should speak until I knew the Archdeacon better. Hopefully my parish will get some assistance.

We discussed the Windsor Report and the Anglican Covenant, with three presentations that were really good in terms of defining the problem, defining what we know of the proposed solution, and what effect it will have on the Church of England and its ecumenical partners. My contribution to the discussion centred around the loss of prophetic voice that will happen if the Anglican Communion is constrained to move at the pace of the slowest of its parts. I attended the consecrations of Barbara Harris (first woman bishop in the Anglican Communion) and Gene Robinson (first openly-gay bishop in ditto) I said that I didn’t think that either of those events would have happened had there been an Anglican Covenant in place. Besides, the Anglican Communion, being composed of many provinces, has grown in such a way that a Covenant would be extremely un-Anglican; the only covenant I needed was the Baptismal Covenant between me and God, and between me and every other baptised person. The Bishop of Woolwich told me afterward that he was quite moved by what I had said.

At the end of the meeting the Diocesan Secretary, Simon, came up to me and asked me whether I’d like to join the Business Commitee, which is the executive of the Bishop’s Council, and meets two weeks before each meeting of that body (four times a year). I think they may get an even better meal than we got today. So, of course, I said that I would be happy so to do. I think that, after the Bishop, that committee is most important in determining how the diocese is run.

And so, we go to St. John’s Larcom Street tonight to bartend their Christmas Concert. I shall wear a bow tie, as usual. I seem to now have become “memorable” because I wear a bow tie rather than a long tie (regular tie? I’m not sure what the opposite of “bow tie” really is.) My boss’s boss was trying to get hold of me on Friday, and called someone else who didn’t know me. He told the guy, “Get Chris for me…you know, the guy who wears the bow tie.” It worked. I was found.

One of Robertson Davies’ novels started out with a wedding notice being printed that gave the date of the wedding as November 31st. Thus, the thought that February might have a couple more days in it when spent in Yorkshire seems to have informed this news story.

I especially liked the last line: “He said that despite some research nothing more was known about Mr Tomlinson apart from the tantalising fact that he he lived with his brother on a farm in Gateford, Worksop.”

I guess that “tantalising” means something different north of St. Albans.

…and it was a pleasant surprise. Some of you may be familiar with the Brainbench tests. They purport to measure achievement and competence in many areas, but one area they test for is competency in software testing. A few days ago I took a “beta” test of theirs just for a laugh. It turns out that I got one of the highest scores on it, and the person in charge of their test development emailed me and asked whether I’d consider doing some work on finalising the test questions. When I discovered that it was actually paying work (US$400, plus a $100 bonus if the work is exceptional and on time) I said that, yes, indeedy, I’d be interested.

The woman from Brainbench called me this afternoon and said that I was in the running with a gentleman from India. After speaking with me for a few minutes, she said, “Oh, I think you’ll do very well and you sound like you’ll be easy to work with. Instead of calling the guy in India, I’d like to offer you the assignment right now.”

So I’ve signed the contract and, along with everything else, now have 150 questions to finalise. All the work will be done online, and I can do it at my leisure but no later than December 14th. Of course, that’s the day I’ll be winging my way Bostonwards, so I’ll have to finish it before then.

Sounds like it’ll be interesting. If any of y’all are into software testing, wait until the test questions have been revised, and then take the test. You’ll have me to kick around if you don’t do very well or you think the test is poor quality.

We are not far removed from the time when people could be scared to death officially.

By fairies, no less.

Of course, the difficulty was that I stopped paying attention when I went to university.

I was finishing up at work, just reporting on an interview I had conducted, when my mobile phone vibrated with not one, but two messages. They were both from the recruiter who arranged my interview at my new employer. I thought it odd, but looked at the first one:

Hey beautifull,sorry i haven’t called you today,its been a bit of a hectic day!i promise to call you later?i also was thinking we should do wed night?? X x

Well! He’s a British-Nigerian man, very good looking, and I would probably find him very good in the sack. Then I looked at the second message:

Please ignore that message chris…it was for my girlfriend christina..regards

I sent him back a message saying:

Aw…I thot I had a hot date Weds! Regards Chris not Christina.

I’m so glad that I’m married and that he’s straight. Otherwise, I might get into trouble. HWMBO is behind me right now reading this and going: “Hm. Hm. HM! HM! HM!”

I just discovered why there were occasionally popups on my website. It’s the Nedstat/Webstat4U website counter software that’s injecting them. So, off it goes when I get home tonight. I apologise to everyone who might have gone there and gotten a popup.

This is something to think about when negative people are doing their best to rain on your parade. So remember this story the next time someone who knows nothing and cares less makes your life miserable.

A man was at his barber’s getting his hair cut for a trip to Rome with his friend. He mentioned the trip to the barber, who responded “Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It’s crowded and dirty and full of Italians. You’re crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?”

“We’re taking Continental,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”

“Continental?” exclaimed the barber. “That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they’re always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?”

“We’ll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome’s Tiber River called Teste.”

“Don’t go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it’s gonna be something special and exclusive, but it’s really a dump, the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly and they’re overpriced. Whatcha doing when you get there?”

“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.”

“That’s rich,” laughed the barber.” You and a million other people trying to see him. He’ll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You’re going to need it.”

A month later, the man again came in for a haircut. The barber asked him about his trip to Rome.

“It was wonderful,” explained the man, “not only were we on time in one of Continental’s brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel was great. They’d just finished a $5 million remodeling job and now it’s a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner’s suite at no extra charge!”

“Well,” muttered the barber, “That’s all well and good, but I know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”

“Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors and if I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, His Holiness would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me.”

“Oh, really! What’d he say?”

“He said, ‘Where’d you get the shitty haircut?'”

I can’t claim authorship; I saw this in an email list to which I belong and the only thing I did is change the sex of the person who took the trip.

Someone’s watching ya…

Try clicking and moving the mouse around on the poor sod. Just like the bruising he got last Tuesday…

Thanks to Charles Laquidara for this one.

In alt.obituaries today, I saw the following obit: “Joseph Myska, 44, died November 2 in Atlanta, Ga. Joseph was a popular physique photographer’s model in the 1980’s and 1990’s. He also appeared as Kirby Scott in Adult videos. His death was the result of a drug overdose and his body was creamated.”

His body was creamated. Sounds like something you’d reserve to put in your coffee.

Gets 22,100 hits in Google, though.

When I was at Columbia, one of the things that happened to some people is that they were chosen by the members of two campus secret societies to join their august clubs. I think they were mostly drinking societies, but as I was never chosen, I never found out. The process of being invited to join was called “being tapped”, as the traditional method of informing the lucky candidate was a tap on the shoulder.

Today at Diocesan Synod, I was sitting minding my own business when Simon, the Diocesan Secretary, came up to me and said, “We don’t have any candidate for Bishop’s Council from the Archdeaconry of Southwark. Would you care to stand?” I had just been tapped.

So I am standing unopposed, and once my term begins, will be on the Church of England equivalent of the Diocesan Standing Committee in each Episcopal Church diocese.

Attending meetings consistently sometimes brings rewards. I now have an opportunity to influence the course of the diocese for at least the next three years.

Of course, on the walk home, I got an earful from another member of Bishop’s Council about the goings-on and derring-do involved in the group. Oh dear. In my opinion, as the Bishop must retire within about 3 years (he’ll turn 67 early next year, I think, and C of E retirement age is 70), preparing the way for a new Bishop to take over in 2009 or 2010 will be the most important task facing Bishop’s Council in its three-year term.

This of course is in addition to being Lay Chair of Southwark and Newington Deanery, a member of Diocesan Synod, a member of the Board of Finance, and a member of the Audit Committee of the Board of Finance. Lots o’ meetings, but worth it. I now not only have the opportunity to discover where the skeletons are buried, but I can either dig ’em up, or bury some more.

Fireworks are lots of fun when properly launched and handled according to recognised safety standards. I’ll bet that this gentleman wishes he’d followed instructions to the letter instead of fundamentally.

Note: Oh, and for those who now are wondering “how could that actually work, from a mechanical point of view,” this video might provide a bit of enLIGHTenment.

DEFINITELY NSFW!! You have been warned!!

If you feel like getting a little gritty, I suppose this place is for you. Only the name is unique…

I woke up this morning to the welcome news that the Democrats have taken the House of Representatives and might take the Senate. I know that most Americans didn’t know that it is my birthday today, but the present is really great! My Representative will become the Speaker of the House.

“O frabjous day! Calloo, callay!” I chortle in my joy!

Well, Pastor Ted finally admitted sexual immorality (as he sees it). I feel very sad for him, his family, and especially his 5 children; his deception has dropped them all right into it. Very very sad.

Carrying a concealed weapons usually requires some amount of clothing, except by this man.

Would have posted this yesterday except that LJ gave up the ghost.

He is now numerically the same age as I am, for about a week. Then I yet again jump ahead.

He’s 53.

That’s FIFTY-THREE, folks!

FIFTY-THREE!!!!!

I love seeing that.

Oh, sorry about forgetting the day (I’m now gainfully employed, so time is of the essence). Many happy returns of the day, oh FIFTY-THREE YEAR OLD…

The Terminator now has some competition in the termination field.