Monday, June 30, 2003

Moving On

This is the last post for Blogspot. The new Rebel Yell is here. (Just so you know, the URL is http://www.stoneybilt.com/rebel-yell/ )
Update your bookmarks, he said, kidding himself.

Thanks, Blogspot! It was fun!

A bribe

Medb is going home for the weekend, and I am trying to decide whether to go. Fact is, I was absolutely wore out last Friday, the weekend made it worse, and a three-day-weekend of doing Nothing is beckoning before me like an oasis. I really badly want to just sit here in my drawers as she drives over the hill, but I don't want to be without her company for a whole day. Besides, I just received a missive from Lady Ree, which reads in part:
"...the menu will include pot roast w/potatoes & carrots, grilled shrimp etc, salad and coconut cake, plenty of coffee and sweet tea; enough for eating Friday night and Saturday at lunch. Brugger's bagels and cream cheese for Saturday breakfast.
So how is all of this for persuasion?"

That's ... uh... pretty persuasive...

Today's winner

Acidman pulls it out this time with a good description of a bad day. Rob wins a bag of Cheetos and an AOL4.0 floppy! (100 hours free!) Thanks for playing, and keep up the good work!
Bob and Hillary

Newsmax has a great comparison between Hillary Clinton and the famous Baghdad Bob:

Like Hillary, Bob has stood by his statements and insisted that he was always convinced of what he said.

Baghdad Bob said he loved Iraq; Hillary Rodham said she loved Arkansas. Bob fled Iraq; Hillary fled Arkansas.

Bob said Saddam was telling the truth; Hillary said Bill was telling the truth. Though Saddam was caught lying, Bob stuck with him; though Bill admitted lying, Hillary stuck with him.

Bob said he prefers Democratic presidents; Hillary definitely prefers Democratic presidents. Bob believes President Bush is a villain; Hillary believes President Bush is a villain.

Bob called American GIs "snakes"; Hillary called the Secret Service "pigs."

That's the most apt comparison of all... I think that both are equally anti-American, and equally deluded. There's more over at Newsmax.com.

Sunday, June 29, 2003


Most energy for this weekend has been focus squarely on The Little Butterfly, as she has boundless energy and will not be denied. She is a Southern Lady already in that Daddy is the only man she will ever love.

But I have stolen a few minutes here and there to set up the new Rebel Yell, and I think it looks nice. Not smashing, but tasteful and just enough different from standard to not be boring. I like it, anyway.

Rome wasn't built in a day... it wasn't burned in a day, either!

Saturday, June 28, 2003

Big News

Sometime in the next couple of weeks, both Rebel Yell and Queen Medb's Castle will be growing up into Moveable Type. Joni gave me lots of advice in getting it set up, and once I get something nice to look at, I'll commence in getting it all moved over.

I'll be the first to say, though, that life at Blogger has been easy, as well as free. I'm not doing this because of Blogger, I'm doing it to keep growing. I want to have comments and control over stuff. Plus, Medbie is running out of things to tweak on her side of the desk.

Don't got nothing 'gainst Blogspot, but a man's got to keep loose.

Friday, June 27, 2003

Today's Winner!

Today's winner is Frank. His interview with the Democratic Dwarfs is hilarious and revealing... I just wonder how he was able to get them all. Even Brinkley couldn't do that.

Frank wins a copy of our home game, and a year's supply of camoflaged metric screwdrivers. Watch your mail, big guy!


The very thought of giving up is repugnant to me... I still have the spirit to fight on, if not the means. My excuses have been decimated, my regiments of refusals have been flanked at every turn. At this point, I have to look to the welfare of those under my command, and at least send them home, rather than slaughter them uselessly.

So, like Lee at Appomattox, it's time to ride out and take what's coming to me. I am bloody but unbowed... I have to admit that I am beaten, but I am not going to admit that I am wrong.

And, so:

From now on, mispoof is an acceptable word for Scrabble.

mispoof: n. a grave or serious mistake, usually resulting in irreversable consequences
v. to make a mispoof

What a bitter, bitter taste...

Thursday, June 26, 2003

Being green

Nuff said.
Ice water. On the rocks. Crushed, not cubed

I'm told that eating ice is the worst thing you can do to your teeth. Tough! If my teeth can't handle it, I advise them to toughen up. My favorite drink, after coffee, is a nice tall water with crushed ice. When I finish the water, I eat the ice. Refreshing, and waaay better for you than sweet carbonated glop.

Medb's party was a huge success. We had seven younguns in the yard and they ran and played like wild savages. I'll let her describe all the action, but I beat Medb soundly in the egg and spoon race.

Fun website: Seanbaby -- absolutely wickedly funny as hell.

Wednesday, June 25, 2003


Ed fixed Medb's dryer today.

A few words about Ed...

I have known him for nearly thirty years, from the time we were in the fifth grade, and he has been my best pal for all that time. Most of the great memories of my life have Ed in 'em.

He came up hard, I mean hard, with two brothers and two sisters behind him. Needless to say, not a lot of steak crossed that table. Every dollar Ed has ever had, he earned; by mowing yards, digging ditches, hauling firewood. He is an ace mechanic. He can run the machine that digs mine shafts. If it involves hard work at laborer's wages, he can do it.

He has been an ambulance driver and a fireman and a qualified EMT. The EMT part got him a job in the Sheriff's Office, and being Ed got him noticed by the Big Chiefs. He did every crap job they tossed at him, and was rewarded with a badge and a gun. He's now a sergeant and manages every piece of equipment the department owns.

Last winter, he was responding to a school bus wreck on a snowy day. Kids are milling around in the road when Ed tops the hill, so he puts his truck in the ditch to keep from hitting them.

I just realized what a great story this would make if Ed had died, but he came thru without a scratch. The newspaper did a big write-up about it. The sheriff commended Ed personally.

A month later, a mudslide smashed a house and pinned a doctor inside. Who crawled in and pulled the injured doctor to safety? Good old Ed. The Mayor proclaimed a special day in his honor.

I'm not making this up!

So what do you do with a guy like this? Hell, you ought to paste a big E on his chest and send him out to save the world! Instead, I asked him how to fix the dryer. He said to make sure both fuses were good. I did, and it works perfectly.

Good old Ed.

Mo' misc

D'jever try to take a picture of a parakeet? He always turns his head! Gah! He's worse than any kid ever.

Oh, he did let me get ONE good one. Out of about sixty.

Dubloons and pieces of eight!  Hrrrrak!

Blogspot is updating some sort of software just now, and so Medb can't post. (Since Rebel Yell is already composed of the finest, fully-up-to-date hand-tooled software, my blogging is not affected.) She is not amused, and I am under strict orders to get some sort of Blogspot-independent software up in the serversphere as soon as possible. Meaning, if it takes til midnight.

Medb got a very nice note from Da Goddess today. Which was nice. She is like a kid over nice mail.

Speaking of her childlike tendencies, she is planning a huge party for The Butterfly tomorrow night. (There will be pictures.) I think she is getting more pleasure out of the whole thing than all of the kids combined.

And I am off to wrestle with blogging software. Did I ever mention that I hate computers?

Tuesday, June 24, 2003


Everybody is frothing at the mouth over what little Dick Gephardt said. Yes, it's scary enough, if an eighth-grader said it, but this guy is supposed to be the ranking Democrat in the country! Another illustration of how stupid and irrelevant the socialist party has become. I wanted to find it in context, but kept falling asleep over the transcript. When is the Democratic Party going to shrivel up and die, already? Beat a dead donkey...

Looks like Acidman is going to welcome home an old friend.

This woman needs to ride the lightning. There's hope for that, since it's Texas. Book 'er, Danno. Murder One.

Fun link: Omerta. The Sicilian tradition of silence. Whoa!

Two in a row!

Yep, I just took Medb for another game of Scrabble! That's two in a row, in spite of her tricks... and she has more tricks than an Iraqi General in front of an inspection team. I know she's over there cooking up some outrageous tale, so don't believe it for a minute.

Monday, June 23, 2003


No, not finally. I did finally get time to work on Medb's dryer, but I didn't get it fixed. I had to use the old "I'll bring home a Groendyke wrench from work tomorrow" ploy to get out of a whole night's work down there. As it was, I had to drag all the trash we cleaned out of the basement out to the edge of the road, and manhandle an old washer, too. (Technically, we are in violation of County Ordinance 22b by not having an old washer or fridge on the porch; we are saved by not having a real porch.)

Anyway, it's still got the same problem, the dryer does, that is, that it won't get hot. I have replaced the heating element, but no joy. I'll bring my meter home tomorrow and have another look. (Honest!)

On the upside, Medb is sick, so I was finally able to beat her at Scrabble. She's college-educated, so it's awful tough to get past her... plus, she cheats. She disallowed my perfectly legitimate use of KYWNC, which, as we all know, was the ancient Babylonian god of sea rats. Apparently, they don't teach Babylonian sailor superstion in college, which again highlights the frightful state of higher education in this country.

Sunday, June 22, 2003

Chapter XXI: In which I discover my ignorance.

Looking for a quick way to cure insomnia? Browse thru the setup instructions for Moveable Type. Snore-inducing. Eye-glazing. Anyone over thirty is risking a brain embolism.

And yet 14-year-olds with no more education than they picked up from Elmo and Big Bird are doing this on the fly.

I am a computer professional. I can build you a PC with my eyes closed and make Windows roll over and beg. I can edit your registry with one hand while drinking a cuppa joe with the other. I have done a motherboard transplant in a room with a dozen convicts, while a murderer held the flashlight. But I have worked with MT for four hours without result.

The search is on for a more easily configurable product. What are you using? Can a four-year-old use it?

[EDIT- Medb accused me of stretching the truth a little in this post, and of course she is right. I would never let a murderer near my flashlight.]

Saturday, June 21, 2003

Clinton Handshake

News item, from The Washington Times' "Inside Politics" column: "Former President Clinton and former New York Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani shared a backstage handshake at a charity luncheon."

Apparently, the two hate each other, which raises my respect for Giuliani. (Not that I ever dis-respected him, it's just that he made as much impression on me as any NewYawk mayor: precisely none.) Oh, how I wish that I could be in the position to shake Clinton's hand. What on Earth would I do?

I'd better decide now, just in case it ever happens.

My first instinct would be to turn my back in disgust, but I am a little leery of turning my backside to his frontside. I could spit, but he still has Secret Service protection, and that could get dicey. (Though I would bet that his escort has no more respect for him than I do... it's just that they are more professional.)

The mind boggles at the possibilities.

Joke o' the day

A grand Charleston dame was crossing the Cooper River Bridge, when she saw a young man preparing to jump.

"Don't do it!" she cried. "Think of your wife!"

The young man replied "I'm not married!"

"Then think of your poor mother!" the matron yelled.

"I'm an orphan!" came the response.

So the dame pulled out the big guns. "Think of Robert E. Lee!" she called with patriotic fervor.

Puzzled, the young man called back "Who's Robert E. Lee?"

The grand lady slammed her Cadillac back into gear and hissed "Go on and jump, you damn Yankee!"

I'd post about anything to put off that dryer. And Medb knows it.

Chili Day!

(I am posting frantically to keep Medb from remembering that I promised to fix the dryer today.)

I made chili last night, and we are enjoying leftovers today. I state with all modesty that I make some damn good chili. You could, too, if you were to follow my recipe.

Stoneybilt. Making your life better in the new Millenium.

I love my wife, I really do. As I have said, she's more fun than a barrel of poisonous flying monkeys. I submit to you an example, a post from her blog, which I have edited only slightly.

I said in a previous post that Stoney and I have none of "those huge fundamental differences like should the toothpaste be squeezed only from the bottom or which way should the toilet paper roll go. We just differ on big, broad, general idea kind of things." But, as I'm sitting here, nursing a chilled Mocha Frappucino, I'm thinkin' that just maybe, I lied.

Unintentionally, you understand, because, for a moment, just for a moment, I forgot the coffee issue.

I like coffee. Ummmm. . .coffee. . . . . it's so good with sugar and milk and flavors added to it, especially if it's got whipped cream slathered on the top and maybe some chocolate shavings or ground cinnamon sprinkled on top. Ummm Ummm UMMMM. Coffee is good. Especially when it's cold!

Now, if Stoney were here, instead of working for The Man and The Man's lackey--the Prince of Darkness--he would be, at the least, gagging, and possibly, just possibly sending some explicatives in the direction of my yummy coffee description. Stoney likes his coffee black. Just black. And definitely never cold.

I drink Gevalia, delivered to my home, in a variety of yummy flavors. Stoney drinks JFG, 2 bucks a red bag, that I pick up for him on every single trip to Food City. (I'd give you a link to JFG, but it seems that this locally recognized brand doesn't have a web site!)

When, on a rare occasion, I am able to drag him into a Starbucks, I order a Frappucino. The one I really like they don't have anymore, the Chocolate Orange Frappucino and man, it was out of this world! Orange flavor added to the coffee with little chocolate pieces blended in. So, I settle for the Caramel Frappucino, which is "coffee and creamy caramel blended with ice, topped with whipped cream and caramel sauce" and is still simply scrumptious.

Stoney orders, and I quote, "a black cuppa workin' man's coffee, please, ma'am." It's a hoot to see the pierced, printed, painted Starbucks employee stare in amazement, shock and fear and say, "Uh. . . will the House Blend do?". Oh, and did I mention he usually puts on a real rednekkid sort of accent to do so? My husband makes me laugh more'n anyone in the whole wide world!

But, regardless of that, the fundamental difference applies. To me, coffee is a delicacy, a treat, a desert even. To Stoney, it's life's blood. I mean, sheesh, he drinks more coffee in a day that I drink in a month.

It's those kinda things that could break up a marriage, you know. Good thing we've got a solid foundation and agree on toothpaste squeezing, toilet paper unrolling, bagged ice, milk percentage and salsa brands. Of course, there is that parting of the ways over *shudders* the eating of mayonnaise. . . .

Mmmm, mayo... now, there's some good eatin'! I have to add that she sometimes gets me the 'Traditional' blend from Gevalia, which I have to admit is mighty good.
Anyway, maybe that sheds a little light on a few of the many reasons that this is the woman for me.

The Colonel and Mistress of Stoney Point Plantation, 1860

Friday, June 20, 2003

General Patton

General Patton came to Stoney Point when Butterfly was two, so that would make him about seven now ... middle aged for a cat. He was able to attack in four directions at once when he was small --hence the name-- but he has gained a lot of weight since Medb came along and started feeding him regular.

For a long time, General was all I had. Many were the nights I kicked back in the chair playing Lords of the Realm with General sprawled in my lap. Times was hard, but he always got his share of what I had, be it peanut butter or bacon. I can still see him, trying to lick the leftovers out of a bean can. He forgot what canned cat food was like, that's for sure.

Somewhere along the line, he picked up FIV, but his health still seems to be good. Medb spoils him, of course, and we have a smaller cat, Cleopatra, that keeps him on his toes.

I just figgered y'all might like to see my favorite pet, been with me thru thick and thin. Good ole General.

General Patton

Thursday, June 19, 2003


Got a late start tonight, because I got paged back to work. Again. That's the job, but... sheesh, I had just sat down. Maybe if I had a cool Nuke the Moon T-shirt, they'd leave me alone. But probably not.

It's easy to tell when I am lazy or in a hurry. I just post a picture from my huge stash and go to bed.

As an Air Force vet, this is weirdly funny. Vets from other services will tell you that Air Force guys will laugh for no reason. It's because of how rough we had it... I mean, this one time they fed us cold cuts twice in a week, and I can recall several times when they skipped a day bringing fresh towels. Then there was the time I got all sweaty outside.



I just realized that we are operating at a fifty-percent deficit of Beatles. Some might even argue that we are making do with the two lesser talents of the group. We went to the moon, dammit! Why did we not have the foresight to make sure the Beatles lived forever? Stupid Gummint! Billions for welfare, and not one red cent for the greatest group of all time?

They damned well better have a plan in place for Willie Nelson.

Excuse me while I geeze off to work now.

So you want to be a martyr...

I've had this for a year,and consequently have forgotten who emailed it to me. It's not as striking until you blow it up nicely. (pun intended)

Wednesday, June 18, 2003


Medb and I don't watch a lot of television... that is to say, we don't watch any. Sure, we watch movies now and than (we just finished Harvey a few minutes ago) but we can't even receive regular TV.

I watched a lot of TV up until I got a computer, back in '98. Then one day I realized I hadn't even sat down in the living room in three months - I cancelled my cable the next day. Medb had cable when we met but only used it when she rode her exercise back. We have spent two wonderful TV-free years together.

"Yeah, but what do you DO?", people always ask. Well, heck... just stuff, is all. We talk, play games, read real books. We go for walks occasionally. We play with the cats and listen to music. And ... after all, we are newlyweds.

In other words, we enjoy each other's company. Medbie is my very best friend, and I wouldn't trade her for all the American Idols and Survivors in the world. I may not be very interesting to talk to around the office, but I am pretty interesting at home... at least I'm not staring slack-jawed at TV for five hours a night.

Today's advice: kill your telvision!
A confession

That's right, folks. This fellow actually confesses to being a Yankee! But I have found him to be a gentleman, without a common Yankee's desire to burn your town or make off with your silverware. Go by and see The Weekend Pundit. Good stuff over there.

I don't even have to read the story to know that this woman is a nut...

Lawmaker wants ban on toy guns.

A quote is as instructive as reading the whole thing: "If someone commits a felony with one, they will not only be charged with the crime but also with using a toy gun," said Mrs. Carter.

That's right, an extra year or two on your sentence for using a dreaded toy gun to stick up a liquor store. If anything, it ought to be a mitigating factor - at least nobody was going to get hurt. Except for the idiot that brought a toy gun, and he deserved it.

The only good thing is, we already know that laws like this don't get enforced. They just clog up the news and make people feel good, while desensitizing the masses to greater bans in the future. I hate humans.

Tuesday, June 17, 2003


I support America because this is the best damn country in the world. Yes, lots of regrettable things have happened over the last two hundred years, but the mistakes have been remedied for the most part. Besides, anything that America can be castigated for is but a fraction of the guilt of some other countries I could name. (Germany? Russia? I'm looking in your direction!)

I also posit that my rightful and lawful nation was forced back into the fold of the Union after a legal secession, but that's an argument for another day.

The fact is this... we are the biggest and baddest kids on the block. Millions would have died in misery and poverty around the globe if we weren't here. We have the God-given right of self-defense, we have the power to impose our will on the rest of the world, and we have the obligation to do so, if it means self-protection.

And that's just the way it is.

Hmm... did the doctor say I had to take those pills every day?. Better hit the bed.


I just realized, that makes it look like Aquaman gets a free t-shirt. Let the record show that he had to give it back after the modeling thereof.

Respect for Aquaman

I hate to post two pictures so close, but this one blew up so suddenly. Frank at IMAO mentioned that Aquaman might get more respect if he had a cool T-shirt (like his) and Medbie said somebody ought to Photoshop it. I don't have Photoshop (obviously), but I still got a wild ideeer...

Thanks to all

Well, it's been a fun time for me, to hear from all the nice blogging folk out there. Y'all have given us a nice little honeymoon before the trolls come with bared teeth.

I suppose I'll eventually have to grow up and get some real blogging software and make a good go of this, but I really am into it for the fun. Medb blogs to relax, oddly enough... she has at least three going, and will have to choose before long. I had a blog that died early and shared one with her, too. But when this one came along, it just felt right. Medb had to push me along, and used the time that I spent sweating over a few posts to build some really nice stuff.

What direction will I go? Well, I admire Acidman, and IMAO, and Lileks, and RWN. You'll see things here that come from each of them, and all the other blogs I read daily.

Lileks can make me laugh by describing a trip to the store. Frank makes me laugh by being so over-the-top. Acidman takes no shit from friend or foe. And John Hawkins points out things that I could never find or think of by myself. Those are my blogging heroes, and the ones you'll see me refer to again and again.

Hang with me. Go by and visit my loving wife. Laugh. Think. Be amused for a little while and forget that there are such things as mortgages and jobs and dryers that need fixing and a bedroom to paint.

Thanks, y'all. I'll return the favor.

Monday, June 16, 2003

Quick one

Get the yolk?

Early bedtime.
Acidman, again

I had planned to nurse this blog along in secret and spring it on the world in a few weeks, but events have overtaken me. Medb has been begging to link to it, and Acidman went ahead and done it. I can't say that I am unhappy about how things turned out. So, welcome to Rebel Yell. Hopefully, you'll like what you see and come back again.

Over the next week or so, I'll fill in some blanks and smooth down some rough spots. It's all for fun, here. I'm not out to make a cent. (Nothing wrong with it, if you have something people are willing to pay for. After all, we are not Communists.) Maybe you'll laugh, or see something that makes you think. If so, you're welcome.

Thanks, Acidman. You forced me out into the open.

Stoney - at - StoneyBilt - dot - com

Sunday, June 15, 2003

Rules of the game

The Little Butterfly and I like to play chess. (Actually, I like to play chess... she'll play anything if I play with her.) At nine, she has a pretty good grasp of the game, but is always full of questions about the rules. So, here are some of the rules of chess, as explained by me.

1) The King can only move one square at a time, because he is usually old and slow and gouty. Picture a declining Henry VIII.
2) Queens move fast, and in any direction that they please. This is because Kings give them the best horsemen (or the better car) to keep them out of trouble. It's also because Queens create their own rules and don't care to obey the stupid restrictions placed on Kings. (Just like Medb.)
3) Knights move one up and two to the side... or is it two up and one to the side? Either way, stay out of the way of the Knights, they are obviously full of Ye Olde Joy Juice. Probably because they are in love with the Queen. (Did you ever see a decent Knight who wasn't in love with the Queen? No, except for Gawain, and this ain't about him.)
4) Bishops move in a diagonal fashion, one on black, and one on white. I think they were making a statement about the duality of man.
5) Pawns can move in only one direction, and only one space at a time, except when they move two spaces or diagonally. Nobody understands Pawns, least of all Kings, which explains why there are so few Kings these days.
6) Rooks move in a straight line. Nobody ever saw a real castle move -- except possibly a Knight, which suggests that Rooks ought to move in a circle. Rooks are the best pieces, because they can grind the King between their walls... sort of like owning a house.

Now, go play some chess. It's funner than checkers.


Several years ago, I heard Paul Harvey do a tribute to Dads... I can't remember any of it, but I bet it's out there if you want to look. His was a lot better than mine, and if you see any of his in mine, it's my fault.


Daddies like to have their backs scratched.
Daddies won't eat the last Pop-Tart or biscuit or piece of bacon, if there is somebody to save it for.
Daddies have to go to work, but they like to come home.
Sometimes Daddies put on a uniform and go away. Sometimes they don't come back.
Daddies never stop loving you.
Daddies will play the Funky Fingernails game.
Sometimes, Daddies live far away. Sometimes, this makes them better Daddies.
Daddies tell stupid jokes.
Daddies make funny voices when they read.
If your Daddy has a Step-Mom living at his house, you can bet that she loves you as much as he does... maybe more.
Daddies will always give you money, even if you don't need it.
Daddy hugs are tight, and then they get tighter.
Daddy thinks that no man is good enough for you.
It might not be funny, but sometimes you have to laugh just because Daddy said it.
Daddies may not always go to church, but God hears from them every time you go out the door.

Saturday, June 14, 2003

A Digital Camera

My in-laws, God bless 'em, saw fit to present me with a new digital camera for Father's Day. Medb and I went to The Big Ole Cemetery and took up sixty pictures in just a few minutes. Digital cameras are the very embodiment of cool... soon my collection of gadgets will be complete! Muahahaha!

Unfortunately, we also went to the Greek restaurant and ate up a huge Greek salad. As a result, we have been trading off bathroom time all evening. Not good.

We have the Little Butterfly this weekend, as well, and so blogging will be a little sparse. Tune in soon for a piece about the ICJ and maybe a funny pitcher.

Thursday, June 12, 2003

Too tired for words

This will have to do for tonight.

Coulda happened

Wednesday, June 11, 2003


I look up Acidman every day. He's funny, but he's not for the kids. I would never let my kid read Acidman, but I have no doubt that I could leave my wife with him for a weekend, 'cause he's a lot like my brother. (I speak figuratively... my literal wife would murder Acidman in a weekend, 'cause he's just like my brother.)

Plus, he's a fellow Southron.

I see a lot of myself in this guy, and I think he'll be okay. He's just had a rough time, you see. When I am El Supremo, Acidman will be my Minister of Education, because he's sure had one.

Put the kids to bed and read Acidman. You'll laugh.

Tuesday, June 10, 2003

Tyler says...

I haven't had a lot of doings with my brother since he took a shot at me a while back, but Medb and I went by there to take his boy a birthday present. Tyler is just turned six and is finally coming out of the playing with dolls stage. We got him a computer game, some sort of Lego build-a-race-car thing.

I had forgotten that his computer has a goofy CD drive that I have been meaning to replace for some months. My brother calls to tell me it didn't work. Drat.

Seems that they went out to get a bite to eat after that, and the drive-thru at McD's is closed for renovating. Thay can't go in, as neither of them is wearing a shirt due to a problem with the AC in his house, so they go down the road to Burger King, where a typical zitty young turd can't get the order right over the speaker. So, they are sitting in the drive-thru line, fuming.

At that point, Tyler says "The puter don't work, the condishner is broke, the drive thru is closed... now I order a hamburger and I'll prolly get a hot dog."

Even a six-year-old knows a bad day when it is happening all around him.

"There is one more thing, General..."

Jackson had already swung into the saddle when those quiet words made him turn the sorrel back to face General Lee. "Yes, sir?"

Lee stepped forward and placed a hand on Jackson's knee. "General, do you recall some weeks ago when I related to you a dream, a vision in which I needed your leadership, but you were not there?" The July sun had already made Lee prespire, and Jackson noticed with a pang that his friend and mentor was no longer young, no longer so strong as he had always seemed.

"Yes, General, I do recall your relating that experience to me. And I told you then, as now, that no good can come from following dreams. The Lord wills our experience, and His will be done." The sentence summed up all of Jackson's philosophy.

Lee stepped back and replaced his hat on his head. "I was going to tell you, General Jackson, that the time I dreamed of is now. I have no more belief in dreams than you do, but now is the time Virginia needs you. The enemy is here, and here I will do battle, and now is the time that I need you to find a way to get at those people. Take those hills, General, if it is practicable. God go with you."

Jackson gave a rare smile and rendered a grave salute. "He always does, sir, " was his reply. He wheeled the horse and started out toward the sloping hills to the south of a sleepy town called Gettysburg.

Monday, June 09, 2003

A Link

Nobody reads this blog yet, but someday they might, and so I want to go on the record at the very first as a Huge Supporter of Frank J at IMAO. That makes the second blog I have officially endorsed. (Medb's Arachibutyrophobia goes without saying.)

Frank takes a lot of time, each and every day, to write a whole bunch of very funny stuff. It just has to be seen to be believed... and you have to read every word of every single post, including the archives. Like Monty Python, a you're sure to miss a few jokes if you aren't intimately familiar with all his works. Frank will be my Minister of Foreign Affairs when I am El Supremo... that's because there won't be any troublesome foreign entanglements to ditract him from his primary duty of writing funny.

Go look at IMAO, and tell 'em I sent you.

Sunday, June 08, 2003


I love 'em, I hate 'em.

Medb has the worst luck with computers - something glitchy is always happening to her machine. Usually it comes right, which is good because I usually have no idea about how even to start fixing it. Her problems are always that scary type of problem that's here one minute and gone the next.

I got my first real PC in 1998, and got my first certification in 2000. I have been steadily involved with computers since then, everything from building them from new parts to repairing them in shop to being a road tech to working a help desk. (My vision of Hell has an endlessly ringing helpdesk phone. I quit smoking a year ago, and the thought of helpdesk work makes me want to smoke three. Packs.)

It was Townsend Whelen who said "Only accurate rifles are interesting." To me, only fast computers are interesting. Anything over a 30 second boot time and I am itching to format and reload. I am only interested in the shiniest and newest videocard with the biggest, baddest CPU you can cram into that thing. Big meaty tires and a hot cam, bolt on a four-barrel and let's match pink slips.

There are people put there who use old DOS programs for critical information... they blissfully cram fifty Mr.T WAV files onto an archaic and creaky old 1G hard drive... they download every virus known to Pakistan into Windows 95... and they never ever consider backing anything up.

I work with 'em every day. Well, it makes my job that much more secure. But I need a raise.

Remind me later

This will be a placeholder to remind me of a few things I intend to do in the coming few days:

>My relationship with Medb
>Links, including directions to and about guys like Acidman, Frank, and RWN
>My love/hate for computers
>More politics
>Southern living and heritage

If I don't write things down, I forget 'em.

Saturday, June 07, 2003


Another anniversary of D-Day. I was trying to think of why I felt this one even deeper, and I suppose it comes from watching Private Ryan a few months ago. That depiction might be the most powerful war footage ever commited to film, but it's about a thousand times milder than it actually was. Those guys went thru pure hell, and for what?

Ask one, and he will tell you, "Well, the French were our friends, and it was the only way we could get to Hitler."

For the French, and to get rid of Hitler.

It makes me want to puke, to think of some slimy Frog defacing the graves of these Men. (The news story refers to British graves from WWI, but the principle is the same... dogs pissing on the legs of better men.)

According to the US government, I am a Veteran. The classification is very loose, and refers to one who served on active duty in wartime, period. Some jerk who did his two years in Germany whistling at Frauleins and never heard a shot fired in anger can paste a "Vietnam Veteran" sticker on his truck and pretend to be shell-shocked when he gets drunk and runs over somebody's kid.

Medbie just read aloud a passage from Henry V, the one about showing oneself to be as good a warrior as your fathers. Gulf War Two showed that we can be, if we would just quit whining and do the deed that needs to be done. But I have to admire those GIs on that beach, for what they did should stand alongside Agincourt as one of the greatest battles in the history of warfare.

Yes, I can claim to be a Veteran, but I am not a Combat Veteran. Believe me, there's a huge difference.


Medbie made my coffee this morning, and told me that the coffeepot was acting funny. Uh-Oh.

This one is a very nice Hamilton Beach that she ordered for me from Amazon. (That there Innernet, hit's sumpin, ain't it?) She did it partly so I would let go of an ancient and leaky Mr Coffee, but the HB is a darn good coffeepot. Or, was, if it continues to leak.

Funny, but we've only had it for a year or so. Her contention is that I use it too much. I say that a good coffeepot ought to stand up to making two pots a day for more than a year. She countered that most people only have two or three cups a day.

Hell, I spill more than that!

Friday, June 06, 2003


And what's the deal with NASCAR? Too much racing, not enough wrecking. I want to see each crash over and over again, in excrutiating detail, over and over again. Until the next crash, which ought to come about five minutes later. I see people driving in traffic every day... why do I need to watch it all weekend?

(Girls, don't EVER let Gary see this site!)


Are they still playing basketball? Didn't we just have March Madness? Why, then, do we need more basketball playoffs? How many games do they play in a season?

Lessee... There's about two hundred teams, and they each play every other night, and the season lasts from August to July, so that's about... carry the five... a billion times the basketball action we actually need.

I would posit that they could play half as much basketball, and nobody would notice except the gamblers. When it gets right down to it, aren't they the only people who really care?

Well, I guess my mom would care - she was on a state champion high school team in the Fifties and is a rabid Lady Vols fan, and I reckon my Father-In-Law would disown me if he read this, since he is a dyed-Blue-in-the-wool Duke fan. I just never understood the game - I know nothing about the strategy, the buzzers are way too loud, it's hot and smelly inside a gymnasium. Dick Vitale is the most annoying human being alive. Basketball is, at it's heart, a Northern sport.

Football is a Southern sport.

How to make basketball more interesting to Southerners? Two words ... barbed wire.

Early Morning

Dang, it's early. I'm only doing this to get myself into the habit.

Before I forget, some unfinished bidness:
Operation Overlord was the code phrase for the Normandy invasion.
Operation Torch was the North Africa landing.
Operation Mincemeat is best explained here.

I reckon I need to go get some wire cutters today... but I ain't gonna let Muniz off the hook just yet.

Thursday, June 05, 2003

Out on the perimeter

The Wife is good to have around... providing more laffs in the course of a day than a barrel of poisonous flying monkeys. She has a phobia of ants, often dissolving into a gibbering mess when one crawls by. Poor little pissants... I've martyred a dozen in the kitchen in the last couple days.

She went and got a huge sprayer of ant killer stuff and announced that she is going "out on the perimeter" to "whack those crawly bastards." She's like Luca Brasi out there, spraying down the house with tongue-biting concentration. Fish are turning belly-up a hundred miles downstream, but the ants just keep a-comin'.

She's so cute!

Ice Water

Tomorrow is the anniversary of D-Day.

There were lots of D-Days... that was just the shorthand used at the time for "the first day of the operation", same as H-Hour was the exact time said operation commenced. But D-Day has become synonymous with June 6, 1944. Nothing wrong with that... how many people can tell you what Operation Overlord was? Operation Torch? Operation Mincemeat? (Okay, Mincemeat is a little obscure, but you ought to know the first two.)

Never lend your tools. I let Ernesto borrow a pair of snips today, and he broke 'em. Man, was I ever heartbroken... my poor, sainted Mother gave me those snips on our last Christmas together. That was the last perfect Christmas, and now that lovely pair of snips lies broken at the bottom of a trashcan somewhere. I'll never get over this.
At least, that's what I told Ernesto.

Wednesday, June 04, 2003

Eric Rudolph

Amazing that he could live out there in the woods that long. I have spent a couple nights in those woods, the Nantahala National Forest, and I am even more impressed than a typical NewYawk-based news anchor. (Who wouldn't put one Gucci-loafered foot into Andrews, let alone the Nantahala, much less admit that someone would live in either place voluntarily.)

Where was I?

Well, while I was thinking, a lady that I know covered this pretty well. Allow me to reprint: Well, my question is, if they "promised the information would not be used against him", why are they doing this, according to a Yahoo news story today-- "Federal investigators removed dozens of bags of key evidence from the site Monday."

Keeping in mind, of course, that if Rudolph did what they say he did, he is beyond reprehensible.

I coulda been somebody...

It's been twenty-plus years since I got out of school. In that time, I have done a number of things for a living, some fun, some that sucked. I have been...

>a gravedigger. Yup, for a summer I dug graves and mowed grass at the graveyard. Nice to slip that one into conversation once in a while - maybe I shoulda called my blog Gravedigger.

>a disk jockey. And a pretty damned good one, too. I think.

>a soldier. More specifically, an airman. Even more specifically, a Teletype Repairman, and then a Network Technician.

>a copier man. That's right, I was the guy you cussed when the copier jammed.

>a computer builder. Fascinating! I like to build computers, and if the company hadn't been so awful, I would still be there.

>a computer guy. Most specifically, I am a "Data Communications Engineer". Looks good on a resume, I reckon, but when I am needed at work, they yell for the computer guy.

So, maybe, having been around a little gives me the right to comment on a few things. It had better!

About Stuff, is it?

Right now, Rebel Yell's slogan is "It's about stuff". Why?
Why, for that matter, "Rebel Yell", in the first place?

And to that, my answer would be, "Because. Now shut up and read."

Seinfeld's show was famously about nothing. My blog might, someday, be about stuff. If another slogan doesn't latch on. I don't expect it to be widely read, because there's nothing here. Maybe, perchance, I will tell somebody about it, when there is stuff here for it to be about. But for now it's my secret.

And my opinion is the only one that matters.

Lazy Bastard

I'm laying out of work today. It's the first time in a long, long time that I called in sick at all, let alone that I wasn't sick. It's a Mental Health Day.

I love my job, I really do. I fix things. I see the same old people, in the same old building and eat lunch in the same old place every single day, and it's very comforting. I love my company, which is in work that is important to society, and I like to think that I contribute to that.

But, boy, do I hate my Boss. That's why I am home today.

I think that this has more to do with me than with the Boss or with the job. My Wife disagrees... she has a whole lot more faith in my judgement than I do. She's a good lady, if a poor judge of character. *G*

But then, she hate the Boss, too, so she may not be that far off.

It ain't that I am treated any worse than any other boss I ever had. It is the simple fact that criticism is not tempered with praise. I have had only only one word of praise from him, ever, and that was concluded with the phrase "...which surprised me." It's not that I am a whiny baby, either, though you may be getting that impression. I worked for Ken for ten years, and took some ass-blistering chew-outs. But Ken, for all his faults, knew when to kid and when to be serious, when to cuss and when to pat on the back. The Boss is missing that point completely.

Which is why I am skulking at home like a mental patient.

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