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They just never quit, do they? Microsoft, in their latest bid for global domination, have decided to try and speed up the upgrade process for thousands of Windows users. They will soon stop patching Internet Explorer for us Windows2000 users who are trying to lead decent lives.

So after nine months of commercial-free, when-I-want-it, categorized, optimized, and organized television viewing—thanks to TiVo—I now have a new way to be a dork in my own home. TiVo Desktop, free software available for Macs and PCs, allows you to share pictures and music that reside on your computer with your television set.

(Alternate titles: Office Sail, 2004; Emma Pics)

The other day, there was a message on the answering machine from the vet: Emma’s blood results were normal. That means we continue to administer the same dosage of Tapozole, and she doesn’t have to go back to the vet for three months.

Tonight, I received an email from someone who had read my Cub story. It has been a while since I’ve heard from a reader, so it was nice all by itself. But this gentleman was also seeking information about a poem he knew, a poem about the star of my story, the Piper J-3 Cub. The poem begins thusly (the copy of which was included in his email; I assume he knows it from memory, and I can understand why):

We celebrated Labor “Day” weekend by laboring in our downstairs half-bathroom. This project has dragged on longer than your typical government contract, but we made good progress this weekend.

I could get used to this. My computers are ten feet from the bathroom, so after a quick shower it’s a few paces and I’m at my “office”. Oh sure, the RNC has scared away lots of people from the regular nexus of commuter angst that is New York’s Penn Station, but I’m not taking the bait; I’ll wait till Dubya has butchered his speech and the conservatives have packed up their shit and headed back to the red states before I go back to Metropark station to make my dreaded sojurn to the city. In the meantime, I’m loving this work from home gig.

On any given weekday, about 600,000 people pass through Penn Station in midtown Manhattan, on their way to and from work. Located directly above this train megalopolis sits Madison Square Garden—home arena to the Knicks & Rangers, site of countless concerts and other sporting events, and beginning tomorrow, home base for the conservative religious party and their homophobic imperialistic right-wing upper class love-in, which they call the Republican National Convention. So, one of the busiest, most congested buildings in all of New York City, terminal to one of the most inefficient mass transit systems ever, will close 90% of its entrances, and close most of its perimeter pedestrian walkways to all traffic. As an added bonus, all trains inbound for New York will be boarded and searched by bomb-sniffing dogs at the last stop in Jersey, prior to entering New York City.

Today’s weather in this area was absolutely fantastic, and after many weekends of short hops or no flying at all, I was jonesing to stretch my legs a bit. At first, I’d planned to fly to a little airport near the Canadian border, but the flight there and back would have taken much of the day. Instead, I planned a flight to Elmira-Corning Regional Airport, to visit the National Warplane Museum that is located right on the airport grounds.

In my sister’s eulogizing speech for my father, she talked about how she would miss sharing her latest literary discoveries with him. This weekend, I understand what she was talking about. I forget exactly what item it was that I was perusing at Amazon.com, when I first discovered this book’s existence… Probably back a few months ago in my Mike Royko phase, when I was trying to read everything he wrote. In fact, as I write this, I am now sure of it; I was looking to buy Royko’s “Boss”, his swift, cutting, and dead-on account of the foibles of the late Mayor Daley of Chicago. While looking at the information on that book, in the almost-scary computer-generated “perhaps you might also like” sidebar, was a suggestion for a book I had never heard of, by an author I had long ago heard of.

Dear Musical Directors,

The day dawned overcast, hazy and ominous. I had hoped to get a short morning flight in before heading out to a family commitment, but Ma Nature seemed to decline. So, I decided to run into the city to pick up a lawnmower instead.

As I walked up the aisle of the train car this morning, I was delighted to see so many “three-ers” available. A three-er is a triple-wide bench seat designed to hold three people across, in relative comfort, assuming all three occupants are the anorexic Olsen twin. The reality is that when three “normal” sized people sit in one three-er, it’s close quarters indeed. Think coach class, on the 9:29 positioning flight from Abilene to Lubbock.

I was wrapped up in learning the many secrets contained in my new jewel of a geek toy when Brenda called. She was going to Hoboken, with me or without me, to catch Ernie’s act.

Emma continues to be a new cat, new in the sense that she’s not the cat we used to know. But she’s showing more of the old traits all the time. The meds are being administered, and we’ll just have to wait and see.

I want our Emma back. This Emma we have now is unhappy and sleeps under the bed in the basement. The Emma we have now had a bout of diarrhea last week. (Yeah, diarrhea. And folks, feline diarrhea is not something you want to be dealing with.) The Emma we have now is very suspicious of my intentions whenever I try to coax her from under the bed, since sometimes when I do that I have an eyedropper ful of this sickly-sweet smelling pink stuff that the vet told us to give her. Give her, yeah right. ‘Give’ implies a mutual transaction, as in “Here Emma, have some of this stuff”, and she happily laps it all up, looks me in the eye and says “why thank you Rob, that was mighty tasty.” No, I don’t give her this stuff, I administer it to her.

Browsing my jumble of RSS newsfeeds this morning on the train, I came across an announcement for a new iPod-based directory of New York City pizzerias. I don’t own an iPod, but I checked out the link anyway. I’m glad I did, because it led me to an affiliated site, Slice.

It’s all rather too much. My webhost is having problems, and I need to do something about that. Come to think of it, I’m months behind with my website update; most of my site is still offline since my conversion to Textpattern. I have a very expensive server arriving in a couple weeks at my office, and I really know little about it. Two friends want me to build a few computers for them, and I could use the dough because the annual inspection on my plane was a bit more costly than I was hoping for, despite my friend’s generous efforts to thwart that. As a matter-of-fact, I still owe my friend for the balance of the bill. My cat is sick, and my Mother-in-law has a broken leg. Both need attention, yet I’m terrified to leave Emma home alone this weekend to go visit my Mother-in-law. The grass needs cutting around my airplane tie-down, yet I don’t own any lawn tools. My airplane needs a bath. Hell, I need a bath. Grandma is moving soon. My computers need upgrades, as does my camera. The basement is littered with new stuff for the bathroom down there, and I’d really like to get that all installed. I discovered approximately 247 new utilities, tips, scripts and fonts I want to try out.

$ df

This plane thing, this owning an airplane. People think it’s crazy, extravagant. Maybe. But today was a good example of why it’s worth it.