So I drop anchor in my home port yesterday, to avoid the foul gale Isabel. While enjoying some fine women and drink, I heard several stories which even my good eye had trouble with.

The names of the tales were "Tears of the Sun", "Punch-Drunk Love" and "Basic". Each began to take on water as soon at they left port, with most foundering in the shoals long before the end of their treasonous missions. Oddly, all tales featured good crews with bad boats. Even "Basic", possessing a cap'n of extreme skill, was unable to blow the man home.

Polly, me parrot, warned me as much when the first yarn began. "Run For Your Life" he squawked over and over again. I miss me bird, but the silence after I ate him taught the rest of the scallywags a lesson they'll like not to forget. And if anyone of thems do forget, me knife will learn them good.

Yarr, I missed the bedeviling new show on ABC "Threat Matrix". But some skipper managed to strike his colors and jot down the following notes in his captain's log:

I hope everybody watched "Threat Matrix" on ABC last night. If you missed it, it might also be listed in your TV guide as "Alias for Right-Wingers" or more precisely, as "24 for people who trust George W. Bush".

Here's what you missed, if you didn't catch it:

1. There were anti-trade, anti-WTO protestors outside the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, where a bomber was about to blow the place up. The protestors also had signs echoing the Anti-Iraq Invasion protestors' signs, saying "No Blood For Oil". When the bomber was thrown into a Bomb Squad van so he could blow up safely, killing only himself, the blast made a "No Blood For Oil" sign in the foreground flutter up into the shot. When approaching the Exchange, seeing the protestors caused the manly hero to say, "What do these idiots want?" Thanks ABC, owned by Disney.
2. The hero at one point has three foreign teen terrorists in a Homeland Security jail cell. His legal advisor says they need to get them lawyers, that that's a basic right in the US, and that the Justice Department will have to follow the Consitution. The "hero" of the show says he's making them "enemy combatants", so that he won't have to give them lawyers. He says, "We have to keep a Chinese Wall between our prisoners and Justice". I assume he meant the Department of Justice, but his assertion was chilling in any case. On "24" last year, they sent the bad guy to Gitmo, too, but we weren't supposed to feel smug and proud about it.
3. One of the first big things the Homeland Security character who gives the Ari/Rumsfeld-style public briefings - (is he supposed to be the head of the Department? No, he refers to "Secretery Ridge". Is he supposed to be ths spokesman? What hath Fleischer wrought?) - Anyway, his big, pretentious, close-up, chrarcter-defining line early in the first act is, "We never negotiate with terrorists." This policy is re-iterated at least once more later in the episode. Then, the plot device at the end of the episode is, they get the hero's ex-wife and operational partner (!?) back from terrorists by - wait for it! - negotiating for her. In fact, they trade the three teen terrorists for her, because "she's worth it".

Argh. Kicking up a squall is what this cap'n does best but that's a mighty fine yarn spun there. Makes me almost with so have seen it, mead in one hand and wench in the other.

Aye, the seas are full of schemin' pirates, but there's none so feared as the Ruthless Dubya. The Dubya shows no mercy to women or the we ones. He sows fear across the land, promising to save your town if you give him tribute. After you've given him the gold, he returns to collect it all, lootin' the treasure chests and taking your wenches. Dubya's love of booty comes above all else.

Tis time for some swashbuckling buccaneer to trade steel with the monster himself. Dubya and his evil henchman, blackhearts all, have burned too many towns for an upstanding Pirate like myself to keep swabbing the decks in silence. Looking for booty is one thing, but stealing wenches breaks the Pirate's Code. Word on The Main Line is that the Admirality itself is sending a fleet of ten speedy ships, good captains all, to dispatch of this scurvy rat. Their ships are smaller and faster than ths lumbering galleon Dubya commands, the "Grand Ole' Packyderm", with guns a plenty and plenty of fresh mates to scrape the bottom with.

I've no love for the Admirality, but ridding the oceans of this sea-swine is a good thing.

Some scaliwags using the nefarious "Internet Explorer" have told this old sailor that the skull-n-bones next to the nameplate is encrusted with barnacles. But any long in the tooth mate of mine who sails in a ship as leaky as the "Internet Explorer" knows that strong mead and a good head of wind behind you can't make up for a bad boat.

I myself sail in a speedy boat by the name of "Firebird", with trim sails and a fast keel. The poopdeck may be tiny, but she'll outsail any ship in the fleet. So far all you land lubbers who'd rather rowboat yourself around in a barnacle barge, you have my pity.

Yarr. If you be a dastardly foreign devil, then this here be your Pirate Day page. Boarding of boats and hoisting the ole' jolly roger are demanded throughout the seven seas.

And there'll be black spots for all ye who defy this order from your cap'n.

Ahoy, there skippers! All Hands on Deck! It be Talk Like a Pirate Day! So weigh anchor and head for hilarity! With the foul, spanish wench behind us, it be clear sailin' all the way through the weekend. If you be without a full head of sail behind you, simply set your course for calmer seas and smoother spirits in a new locale. Throw any land lubber overboard, because the day belong to us Pirates!

...is almost here. I'm going to head home in a minute to shutter some stuff. Then it's off to see if I can find any hurricane parties.

Like the new background? I've been trying to find a way to give the site a little more distinct of an appearance. So tell me what you think!

The only thing worse than cleaning, of course, is bills. At least when you clean up an area you can delude yourself into thinking that it will stay clean at least for the foreseable future. Will bills, however, you know that no effort or energy on your part this month will prevent next month's bill from arriving, larger than ever. So I'm paying a few off tonight while I'm up. Might as well, right? Now all I need to do is find a way to earn some quick money.

Hmm. The damage wasn't so bad. The only regret I have is that it's now too late to keep up the good work. I did manage to fire off an e-mail to an old friend though, who seemed as eager as I was to correspond.

Remember when you used to write real letters? Okay, maybe you never did. But I did. In college. They were of a decent length and for the first year, I was actually dependable about sending them out. Sure, they were extra effort. But nothing felt better than when I got one in return a few weeks later. Pulling a thick envelope out of my mailbox when I was with friends before dinner was a special treat. I'd go upstairs, snag some food, and read as the rest of the people I was with looked on, wishing they too had super-cool friends who wrote real letters instead of just e-mail.

It didn't last. I didn't really expect it to. The effort was very large...and the time delay was frustrating. If something cool happened, I had to wait until it was my turn to write, which meant I'd forget some of the details, which was obviously bad. Oddly, I didn't pick up the ball over e-mail. Instead, I grew gradually busier and busier until I had no time for personal snail mail or e-mail. I was getting tons of messages every day, but they were all work/school related. It was annoying but there was nothing I could do about it.

Now things are quieter. Work is busy, but when I clock out I stop worrying about it. Combined with this week's lack of sleep, I've managed to catch up on a great deal of things I needed to do, including e-mail.

Writing is always enjoyable...but reading is even better. Although I wish more of my friends had website that I could frequent, e-mail is much more personal and therefore superior. Plus, almost none of my friends know about the site, so I doubt many use it to keep tabs on me. But maybe I'm mistaken. Time to crash, regardless.

So I randomly run into a friend via friendster and he says he's got a radio show at Notre Dame going on at 1:00 central so I tune in and call him up and make a request.

Okay, so he doesn't find the song I requested, but still, the amount of spontaneity present this evening made it worthwhile. I mean, I haven't spoken to this kid in years...two thumbs up for the effort, man.

My office, after an extensive six hour effort, is now clean. The party area behind me is covered in kipple, but the important thing, namely my office, is at least 95% clean. Yeah, it wasn't that exciting an evening. No, I'm not bummed about it. I've been meaning to do this for almost six months now and it's good to finally get to it.

The skies are a perfect blue, the temperature and humidity low. A nice breeze makes me sublimely happy.

Sublime, of course, because of Isabel waiting off shore. Each tiny gust reminds me that soon things will be quite windy. For now though, I'm just grateful that the weather can be so perfect today. Lunch outside with co-workers was fun, I ran into Leto (randomly) and I soaked up some serious rays.

I feel damn good.

Anyone else wonder if the Bush administration will try to pin next quarter's lackluster economic report on Isabel? You know, just like they did with the terrorist attacks, the blackout, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, etc.

When will they just admit that tax cuts don't cut it?

If only a giant hurricane would come and sweep all the grime out of the White House, Taxi Driver style. I'm rooting for Isabel.

So in the spirit of healthy competition I sent Brad a note that I had 32,635 friends connecting through 7 friends on Friendster. So he replies back to me that he's connected to 173,501 people through 16 connections. Damn.

If you haven't tried it yet, friendster is actually fairly cool. Almost as useful as Deanlink but with tons more people, so chances are a great bunch of your friends are already connected to it. Now I just have to find 9 people who will help push my total up by 142,000 connections.

Along those lines, what the hell are you doing Brad? You've got a brand new computer...so start putting your $.02 in. No more "technical problems" excuses.

Is it just me or is no one interested in both hearing and seeing picturss of John Stamos' mom? Why the hell do we have to keep hearing him blather on and on and on about how he calls his mother with 10-10-987? I mean, HELLO 10-10-987 EXECUTIVES!! It doesn't take a rocket scientist to take LARGE WADS OF CASH and use them to get John to get his UNBELIEVABLY HOT WIFE to appear in a commercial. No more Mrs. Stamos...unless Mrs. Stamos has a first name of Rebecca. Got it? Sheesh. Ad execs are so idiotic sometime. Can you imagine the board meeting for the 10-10-987 campaign?

"Um, let's get that guy...you know...John Stamos to hawk our product. And maybe he could start talking about Mrs. Stamos...you know, his mother? Everyone loves Mrs. Stamos...or so my teenage son says."

You see? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

On a different note, I'd like to point people over to the reviews side of the website where I just posted two new ones of "Matchstick Men" and "Once Upon a Time in Mexico". Surprisingly, the former sucked hard. I mean, some ads said it was like "The Sting". It was many things, but it was not even in the same league as "The Sting". Rodriguez, on the other hand, made a gem of a movie, even if it contains too many slow shots of Antonio Banderas crying over Salma Hayek.

My sleep situation doesn't seem to be improving much. Fortunately, though, thanks to a brief stilted conversation with Fincher this afternoon, I realized that I have my health, that I have an overly positive attitude towards life in general, and that I actually have a fairly sweet setup. When the most stress one encounters is carting home a roll of toilet paper, life is telling you that you have things set. Hence my little gratuitous grateful post a bit back. No, I'm not smoking crack or becoming family oriented.

And on that note, if this coming October is half as fun as last October, I'm going to actually tell some decent stories this time instead of pretending that the election fiasco was the most exciting thing around. Just warning you guys in advance...so don't do anything you'll regret, unless you won't remember doing it.

'werkz advice: skip it.

Calling Ridley Scott's "Matchstick Men" a movie to rival "The Sting" was a bad idea, because it sets very high expectations for a plot twist and a great caper. Instead, the viewer is treated to one of Nicolas Cage's best movies with great directing throughout, matched only by an absolutely awful screenplay. Cage turns in most of the best moments, which eliminates the buddy-guy fun of "The Sting". In addition, the cloying ending felt as if the Hollywood censors decided to make the film as gratingly family oriented as possible.

Do yourself a favor and skip this movie. I think every movie should be seen at least once, but if you do watch "Matchstick Men" remember that even a great director and actor can't make up for a bad plot.

'werkz advice: see it in the theatre.

"Once Upon a Time in Mexico" is the latest from Robert Rodriguez and the third installment of the El Mariachi trilogy. Like the Sergio Lione title it apes, OUATIM is an epic, full of long periods of soulful glances and past loves remembered. It has enough violence and good characters to keep things lively, however, and is definitely worth watching in the theater. Johney Depp's character almost singlehandedly carries the film, as Antonio Banderas once again makes his role seem somewhat cheesier than the original low-budget "El Mariachi". Nevertheless, it's a good film, and it doesn't take itself too seriously (excluding, of course, Banderas, who manages to overact in a campy rather than funny manner) which is de rigeur. If you want a movie that manages to spoof and homage simultaneously, OUATIM is your film.

I'm really tired right now, but you know what? I'm damn grateful. The fact that I can sit here in a nice house typing into a computer with a high-speed internet connection in the wealthiest nation in the world is the result of a long series of random events. I don't have big money problems, and I can sit here and listen to music without worrying about my next meal, or getting a job, or any of that pesky reality so many people have to deal with.

Just thought you should know. I'm never content with my situation but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the good things I have going for me.

My weekend was significantly low on sleep. Not a good thing. On the other hand, I did manage to undo the damage that Mr. Squirrel caused to the internet. Leto and I did get to see what happens when you blow a man's kneecaps away with a shotgun. It's not pretty. Maybe a review will pop up later.

I put in some quality time with X and Y this weekend, which was both good and bad. Good in the sense that they are some of the few people that make life interesting. Never a dull moment around these two, understand? Bad in that as star-crossed as I like to think I am, these two seem to have some sort of cosmic grudge against our adventures. There's always something strange happening when we hang out, which makes things worthwhile, but also can be socially draining. I need a little X and Y detox, accordingly. But not too much. I can rally shortly.

Of course, the only real drain was on my SPECIAL CASE OF NUMBER NINE! Bad X, bad X! A favor was returned over the weekend, though, including transportation to and from a party very far from the metro. So most normal people would conclude that we were even (especially after a little crashtime was also offered) but we concluded that we each owe each other one. And to the special friend who brought said nectar south from a long distance, let me just say that I will make it up to you, but that it was enjoyed. Not responsibly, but enjoyed nonetheless.

I also put in a serious number of Fincher engagements, which was fun. No madness involved, but plenty of spontaneity in small packages (each occurrence was tiny; one occasion left a little to be desired). I hate planning, and Fincher manages to keep things fresh. Although, for the record, her neighborhood leaves a little to be desired. Last night around midnight I'm looking for some place for us to grab a bite to eat and the entire area is dead. We part ways and I run into a pizza joint a few seconds later (star-crossed, remember?) but still, that's the only place open.

I then walk back through the 'morg to my house. Every single place was open. Music was pumping, the smell of tasty grilled meat was all over the place and you could hear laughter and fun all the way back to the 'werkz. Even the places that are normally quiet up on U were rocking. Just not in the Woodley Park 'hood. I've therefore concluded that Fincher, despite having super-sweet digs, needs to realize her neighborhood is somewhat lame. But she probably already does.

It's almost time for me to jet. More later. Damn I need some sleep.

One: check out this great Tom Tomorrow cartoon.

Two: one of my co-workers just got her hair cut and something else done to it. (I'm not that good with remembering highly technical things that happen to hair other than cutting.) Now she looks just like this:

Three: now that the computer craziness is over, hopefully I can post about the rest of my sleep deprived weekend.

I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on tv. With that said, however, I can empathize with them sometimes, mostly when I'm staring at a screen informing me that the server everyone depends on is near death.

People come up, make glib comments, and slink back to their offices, angry that the server is down and angry that YOU have caused it. Seconds become minutes, and as the number of solutions starts to dwindle, you begin to wonder if you'll actually fix it or if you'll have to say it's gone.

This morning was like that. Up until five minutes ago I didn't know if the server was going to make it. Sure, one could always restore from backup but that process is lengthy and painful. Far better to bring the server back from the dead. The feeling you get when you fix it isn't joy or elation, its merely relief. You know it'll happen again. It's just a matter of time.

The closest I got to walking was a couple years ago. The server was dead. The hard drives were toast. I thought to myself: I can just walk out the door and they won't notice I'm gone until it's too late... and then I slapped myself and kept going. It turned out to be a hardware problem: someone had cut a cable in half and then through sheer luck the wires lined up until one moment before it crashed. I replaced the cable and things were fine.

Today was worse. It clearly wasn't a hardware problem and it appeared the data itself might have been corrupt. I just wanted to take a lunch break. But instead I crept through the byzantine system to get it working again, with a minimum of downtime. Now comes the more painful post-diagnosis. In many ways, I can appreciate how a surgeon might love the latest procedure: it's a chance to make people feel better much more quickly. And when it comes down to it, that's the main goal: time. The quicker you get a patient in and out, the less chance of complications. The quicker you get a computer running again, the less time lost. Ideally both patients and computers would be proactive: they'd stay fit and healthy and avoid risks. In reality, that never happens.

I wasn't planning for this little computer digression, but then again, you can't choose when your servers crash, can you?

A little unusual, to be sure. Hopefully I'll keep this up, though. Weekend posts are always nice to read when one returns from.

So after catching a particular sterling episode of My Life as a Teenage Robot (Jenny has to talk in Japanese for the entire episode...nice!) I discovered that the friendly squirrel who's always been poking around my office window everytime I sit down at my computer had a side project going on at the same time:

He was gnawing through a pair of cat5 cables.

Last night I discover that the internet connection is down in both areas of the house, and I think it's something to do with the firewall. But no link light is on. This morning after climbing to the roof of the house and poking around some more I'm still mystified. Only an hour ago did I discover that both ethernet cables had been completely cut in two. A clean job, too.

Before I jet off to see the latest Rodriguez flick with Leto, I'll muse a moment. Most of my friends seem to fall into one of two categories. Those that need constant attention, and those that are low-maintenance and you don't hang out with all that much. Typically, I'd prefer most of my friends to be in the latter category, but it seems like you have to start people out in the former and then move them along to latter gradually. Frequently, the worst problem is that the friends you wish to hang out with the most are in the latter, so you give them short shift.

Still, the system is fairly easy to understand. Those friends you can call up at 11:00 pm to make a chili-cheese-fries run or a krispy-kreme run are super-cool. It's just understood. The ones who demand more attention (more planning, less spontaneity) aren't quite as cool. But you suffer a bit and eventually they get better.

It's the ones that don't fall into the normal spectrum that confuse and baffle me. You know the type: they act spontaneous but aren't that exciting; they hang out quite a bit but never seem happy; they are of the opposite gender and you just can't tell whether they're in to you or if they've just had too much wine. If someone calls me up after a couple weeks and hangs out just for a bit, I'd assume they were one of my low maintenance friends. But if they have little to say and don't seem terrifically excited to hang out, what then? One could run the risk of lowering the bar to the point where your "low-maintenance" friend ends up leaving town and not saying goodbye. Or getting married, or staying in the same place and never speaking to you again. Or telling you not to talk to them.

Whoa, there. Almost ventured into real life.

Along those lines, Mr. X and Ms. Y fall into a weird category. I'd explain further, but I think the lure of the celluloid is calling. And I think I'm going to introduce another special guest in my next episode: Fincher. Mull on that.