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folks, this is what happens when you decide “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” in regards to keeping your damn software up-to-date.  when it does finally break, nearly a decade and a half later, no one can fix it.  why?  because you have a vendor app that was written with Borland C++ 4.5, and i can’t get my hands on that to create a debug version of the exe, that’s why.  and XP doesn’t want to let a 16-bit windows debugger run (there is probably a workaround for that, but dear fucking god!  you’re still using a 16-bit system!). 

honestly, we even keep the damn cobol on the back end at the current version, and that language used to use punch cards.  not to mention that it pre-dates, well, me.  but no.  i’m stuck supporting your shitty little system and learning all about obsolete versions of languages, since you never saw fit to upgrade from FoxPro 2.6a and your app apparently uses Clipper to read dBase III tables.  it’s not even comprable to learning latin; i’m learning etruscian instead.

i’d smack whomever is responsible for this system never being upgraded or having the business moved to a different system.  but i don’t know who they are and i suspect they are in iowa.

why does your current advertising campaign hate the english language?  “Let’s Holiday the Season”?!?!?!  does your ad company not actually know the difference between nouns and verbs?  what dim fuckwit signed off on this crap?

unless you are specifically targeting the semi-literate to unliterate demographic, i’m going to assume this will be corrected.  once you realize what a horrible, horrible crime against language you’ve committed.

shit, that’s never going to happen, is it?  fuck you, i’m going to the home depot then.

with apologies to those pennsylvannians that i know, like and respect; you are, as a whole, the worst fucking drivers i have ever encountered.  yeah, yeah, stereotyping is bad, whatever.  the point is that, since i witnessed about 25 of you handle traffic on an exit ramp into philly by putting you cars in reverse and then backing up on to the interstate, nothing anyone with a PA plate has done has restored my faith in your ability, as a group, to be remotely compentent behind the wheel.  in fact, i cringe whenever i see a car with PA plates.

the woman who was behind me on the way into work yesterday did nothing to improve my opinion of you.  in fact, she made it worse.

now, i know there are regional differences between the states.  however, here in connecticut, we do not believe we, or others, have the ability to pass our vehicles through solid matter.  such as the large, wide, slow truck that was in front of me.  i’m going to guess that you cannot drive through trucks in PA either, but that is, of course, an assumption.  regardless, i cannot.  honking, repeatedly, at me will not change the laws of physics, nor the fabric of universe.

also, when you pull up beside me by driving in the shoulder and find yourself still unable to pass the very large, wide and slow truck in front of me, please do not hold up two fingers to indicate there are two lanes.  when there clearly are not.  you see over on the other side of the road, heading into the city?  yes, those dashed white lines in the middle of the road?  that direction has two lanes.  notice the lack of them over here, on the outbound side.  yes, i know there is room enough for two cars to drive next to each other.  see those parked cars, up ahead, that you will hit if you don’t brake and get the fuck back behind me?  yes, that’s why the road is as wide as it is.  to allow parking.  not driving.  fuckwit.

now, i’m sure not everyone from your state drives like a lobotimized lamprey eel.  but you hide them well.  please, for the love of god, learn how to fucking drive.  thanks.Â

i’ll admit it: i was worried.  watching the rays tee-off on daisuke did not put me in a good mood.  nor did getting called by work help.  add a toddler with a cold (that he has kindly shared with me) and, well, the game faded to the background.  everytime my attention flitted over to the tube, despair seemed inches closer.  clock ticking, pendulum swinging, noose tightening and various other clichés come to mind.  resignation slowly started to creep in (cause, well, the rays are good).  i was distracted.  the game faded further into the background.

 should i have known better?  part of me did, i think.  i can never count them out, even when i should.  even if i do, i’ll still watch to the bitter end, unlike those undeserving fucks who walked out on earlier games: i’ve sat an hour in the rain in an empty ballpark, just because it hadn’t been offically called yet.  and that for a regular season game.  i’ve watched this team backed into a corner in the ALCS and seen what they can do.  still, i was distracted.  i had to work.  my attention waivered.  we were down 7-0.  shit.

still, i should have known better.  finished up with work, for the moment and, wait a minute…we scored!  then, papi.  holy fuck, that was beautiful.  the heart saw it half a minute before the eyes did.  after that, you just know.  there is no way a comeback like this starts and doesn’t get finished.  i still missed parts: drew’s home run, for instance, cause work called again and the boy was still not feeling well.

but i listened to the end.  outside, in the back yard, with radio, pipe and whisky.  usually, i’ll read while i listen to the games, but the book was closed for this one.  for a game like this, radio is the way to go.  you anticipate everything more, every moment holds more tension, more promise.  plus, you get to listen your team’s announcers and some good old biased commentary; rather than the hired talking heads on the idiot box.  the excitement is intoxicating.  tied going into the ninth.  masterson is on the mound and in a jam.  nerve-wracking.  but he’s there to throw sliders and throw them he does.  double-play, dear god that was huge!

bottom of the ninth.  pedrioia is out.  papi is out.  youk is…safe!  and an error!  bless you youk, for fooling longoria into thinking you run fast.  youk on second, 2 out, bay is predictably walked.  drew is up.  so am i.  you have to stand up for this sort of situation.  three balls.  one strike.  then, magic, again.  line, shot, hop-the-wall…double!!!  victory!!!  it always feels a bit silly to dance by yourself in the dark night air.  so what?  this deserves a dance of joy.

saturday is next.  doesn’t matter anymore if we win or lose (though i’d prefer a win), cause we sure as hell aren’t going down without a fight.  that’s the beauty of this game; you just never know what you’ll see.

or does the design of mccain’s political propaganda resemble the label of mccain potato products just a bit too much?

regardless, every time i see one of his ads, i wind up with a craving for fries.

my penchant for reading newsweek on the can inspires a political rant.  read it at quiblit.com.

even if you aren’t a boston (or new york) fan, if you follow baseball, you’ve probably heard about the highly amusing hijinks at the still-under-construction yankee stadium.  that is, that a construction worker and red sox fan buried a sox jersey in the cement of the visitor’s dugout, in hopes of cursing those damn yankees.  frankly, hilarious.

the initial, offical response was: “so what, we don’t believe in curses”.  sensible, since, despite its long and charming history in the sport, superstition is, well, superstitious.  on sunday, however, they reverted to a “better safe than sorry” philosphy and dug the jersey up.  thus making the prank even more hilarious.

now, though, it seems the yanks are taking this thing way too seriously, in that they are considering criminal charges against the guy who buried the jersey.  beyond being petty and vindictive, this also implies they really do believe the whole curse thing.  again, hilarious.

look, there aren’t any curses in baseball.  the “curse of the bambino” was made up by dan shaughnessy.  after all, why would babe ruth be so pissed at boston for trading him to new york (where he was actually paid what he thought he was worth and became damn famous and developed into the greatest ball player in history) that he’d curse the sox to never win the world series again until they did?  eighty-six years is rather arbitrary, don’t you think?  no, the actual curse of the bambino is this: bad trades and signings will fuck you over.  the cubs “curse of the billy goat”?  c’mon, it’s the cubs.  hell, they hadn’t won the series for nearly 40 years by the time that curse came around.  and the lesson from that is simply this: don’t let people bring farm animals to the ballpark in the first place.  these “curses” are brought to us by the same people who can’t seem to counter sabermetric bloggers with anything beyond anti-intellectual rants and cliches about nerds, basements and never watching games.  these are the same people who would rather have a scrappy, hustling david eckstein on their team, than a lazy, distracted manny ramirez.  despite the fact that manny’s worst season in a decade (last year) was still better than most player’s career bests.  the same folks who think being able to steal a base is more important than being able to get on base, despite the painfully obvious fact that you can’t steal second if you can’t get to first.  and so on.

there are no curses.  not if you don’t give them any credence.  the yanks have just done so and it’s funny as hell.  play ball!

dear fucking god are people stupid.  well, we released version 2.0 of our app just before the holidays, and finally sunset the old, creaky, obsolete and occasionally just incorrect DOS apps it built to replace.  guess what?  in the year that version 1.0 was in production, it turns out approximately three people were actually using it.  so, with this release, we’ve got all the problems of the initial roll-out.  meaning, no one knows how to use it, there is no training and none of the users can figure it out.  because they are, by and large, stupid.  did i mention that?  the calls to the help desk are starting to wind down, but i still have to call these assholes.  and i hate it.  hate it.  hate it.  there is a reason i am a programmer and it’s not a love of technology.  no, instead, it’s because i don’t have to deal with people.  now, they are forcing me to do it.  fucking bastards.  they didn’t give me a large enough raise for this sort of crap.

hooray!  i love snow.  getting 1-2 inches today.  not much, but not bad for the time of year and location.  regardless, it makes me happy.

and so, in order to mark the occassion, one from the vaults:

First Snow

Even when you expect it, it’s still a surprise.
Snow clouds never hold the same warning pain
as storms that make the summer skies cry.

Walking through memories in Central Park.
The growing wind unwinds your scarf;
my fingertips graze your neck as I wrap it again.
We kissed on that bench, under that tree
and everywhere between.  A spring day,
the first our hands met.

Fresh snowflakes land in your lowered lashes.
You stick out your tongue with childish delight
to catch another, your lips still warm
as a spring day past.

it’s not condo fees.  it’s not having no yard.  it’s not even the petty jackasses who pettition management to have your car towed cause they think your back seat is too dirty.

no, it’s that it’s 72°F outside right now.  at 1 in the fucking am.  and i’m in shorts, sweating.  why?  because the dimwits have never heard of weather forecasts, and switched the AC to heat last week.  seriously, i know that highs in the 80s is not normal for october.  but that’s what the past week has been.  right now it’s humid, hot and sticky.  i feel like i’m in florida.   with no AC.

granted, roasting a chicken tonight probably didn’t help matters, heatwise.  but that’s beside the point.  it’s still bloody hot.