The suspense is killing me. Will Katie Couric make the move to CBS to take over Dan Rather’s gig?

Actually, this doesn’t even nudge the needle on my “Give a Shit” meter”..

Did you realize that in a few short hours it will be 2 minutes and 3 seconds after 1:00 in the morning, and the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06. I’ll bet you didn’t.

If it turns out that it slips by without your having noticed, don’t worry. You can catch it again in 2106.

Thanks to Marolyn for this important bit of information.

The following bit of make-believe was inspired by the things I have been reading in the news.

It started out as just another workday for Tom Armstrong. He arose at the usual time, showered, shaved, combed his hair, brushed his teeth and got dressed for work. He headed down the stairs for his daily blood pressure pill with OJ. As usual, he’d buy coffee at the nearby convenience store and sip it during the forty-minute drive to the office.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned toward the dining room, and he saw a rather dirty looking stranger sitting at his dining room table drinking a cup of coffee and reading a foreign language newspaper. The man appeared to be in his late twenties and was in need of a shave. And, he was drinking his coffee from Tom’s favorite weekend coffee cup.

The man looked up from the newspaper and said, “Good morning,” and Tom stopped dead in his tracks, simultaneously frightened and angry.

Tom: “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

Hector: “My name’s Hector. There’s some coffee left. You want some?”

Tom: “How did you get in here?”

Hector: “I was going to come in the front door, but you’ve got a good lock on it, so I went around the back. Man, you need a better lock on that door.”

Tom: “You broke into my goddamned house!”

Hector: “Yep. Sure did, Bro.”

Tom: “Well, get the fuck out – NOW!”

Hector: “Sorry, Bro. We plan on staying.”

Tom: “What do mean ’we’?”

At that point, a very pregnant equally grubby-looking, overweight woman entered the dining room from the kitchen. She was eating a sandwich.

Hector: “This is my girlfriend, Maria. Maria, this is Tom Armstrong.”

Tom: “How do you know my name?”

Hector: “I read your mail, Bro. You pay some pretty hefty property tax here, Tom. I’m not surprised; it’s a nice place. By the way, your next quarterly payment was due a week ago. You don’t want to fall behind on that one.”

Maria: “Hey, don’t you have any skim milk? I had to drink whole milk, and I’ not supposed to drink whole milk. You didn’t even have the two percent kind.”

Tom: “Listen, I don’t give a shit who you are, where you came from, or what kind of milk you’re supposed drink. I do give a major shit that you broke into my goddamned house, and I want you to leave now.

Hector: “Sorry, Bro. I already told you: we’re staying. We were living in a shitty place, and, what with Maria being pregnant and all, we decided it was time to move to find a better life, so we came here. We’ve already put our stuff in the downstairs bedroom. Did I mention that Maria’s having twins?”

Tom: “Look, I don’t care if Maria’s having a friggin’ litter of kittens. You can’t just break into someone’s house and refuse to leave. Now, get the hell out of here – both of you!”

Hector: “No way, Tom. In fact, on the way here, we stopped at the emergency room to have Maria looked at and to make arrangements for the birth of the twins. The doctor and the hospital will be sending you the bill.”

Maria: “Hey Tom. I have a shopping list here for you. You can stop off at the supermarket on your way home from work today to pick this stuff up. I need lots of fresh vegetables, fresh fruit, and some nice chicken breasts. Oh, and pick up a half gallon of skim milk. I told you I can’t drink that shit you have. I’ve checked your kitchen, and you don’t have the kinds of things Hector and I like to eat. I’ll give you another list tomorrow.”

Hector: “Oh, and while your shopping, don’t forget to stop at the store next to the supermarket and pick me up a large bottle of Tequila. Nothing fancy. Jose Cuervo will do. That bourbon you have just doesn’t do it for me, Bro.”

Tom: “The hospital and the doctor are sending me bills for your medical care? You want me to buy you groceries? You two are crazy.”

Hector: “We’ll also be needing some new clothes, but we can talk about that when you get home from work. Oh, and tomorrow night, try to get home from work a little early, because I have to borrow your car. Maria and I are going to visit some friends and we don’t have a car.”

Tom: “You’re out of your goddamned mind! That’s it. If you two sorry-asses are not out of this house in one minute, I’m calling the cops.”

Hector: “Cops? Heh! Go ahead, Bro – call ‘em.”

Tom: “OK, assholes. I’ll do just that. They’ll take you both out of here in cuffs.”

Tom dials the phone, while Hector returns to reading the newspaper and Maria makes another sandwich.

Fitzsimmons: “Police department. This is Sergeant Fitzsimmons. How can I help you?”

Tom: “Sergeant Fitzsimmons, this is Tom Armstrong. I live on 423 Oakwood Way, and I want to report a breaking and entering.”

Fitzsimmons: “A break-in? When did this happen, Mr. Armstrong?”

Tom: “Some time early this morning. They broke in through the back door?”

Fitzsimmons: “You said ’they’. Did you get a look at the perpetrators?”

Tom: “Hell yeah, I got a look at them. They’re here now!”

Fitzsimmons: “Oh … Are they demanding that you buy them groceries and stuff like that?”

Tom: “Yeah.”

Fitzsimmons: “Yep. That’s what I figured.”

Tom: “What do you mean, that what you figured? These criminals broke into my goddamned house. Send a car over here right now to arrest them.”

Fitzsimmons: “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Mr. Armstrong.”

Tom: “Didn’t you hear what I said? These people broke into my house! Isn’t that illegal?”

Fitzsimmons: “The thing is, Mr. Armstrong, something must be going on. We have had hundreds of incidents just like this over the past week.”

Tom: “I don’t give a shit. I want them out of my house.”

Fitzsimmons: “It is just not realistic for us to arrest hundreds of people all over town. We don’t have the manpower to do that. Maybe you can put ‘em to work and sort of let them earn their keep. How about having them cut your lawn and take care of your gardening? Quite a few people are doing that.”

Tom: “Are you out of your goddamned mind? The kid next door cuts my lawn, and my friend brother-in-law does my gardening.”

Fitzsimmons: “Yeah, but these two will do it cheaper.”

Tom: “Do you understand me? These people are in my house illegally. Waddya say I go upstairs, get my gun and shoot these two trespassers?”

Fitzsimmons: “Oh, I would not advise that, Mr. Armstrong, particularly if they are not threatening you with bodily harm.”

Tom: “This is bullshit!”

Tom slams the receiver down, and Hector looks up from his newspaper.

Hector: “So what did he say?”

Tom: “He said that there are hundreds of people in town who broke into houses just like you two assholes broke into mine.”

Hector: “You’re being pretty insensitive, Bro. Maria and me, we have our civil rights, you know.”

Tom: “Civil rights, my ass. You broke into my house. That’s illegal, and I want you and your pregnant girlfriend the hell out of here!”

Hector: “You’re going to be late for work, Tom. You had best be going. Don’t forget the groceries and tequila on your way home. While you’re at work, I’ll start moving the stuff out of your computer room. I figure that would be a great room for the twins.”

This promises to be a busy weekend.

Tonight I’ll be heading over to the Post to set up for what should be a memorable party tomorrow night. Tomorrow, it will be more setup (ice and a few other details) and then the party itself, at which I will be the emcee. I consider myself to be rather a shy sort and often lament being the emcee at such things. However, those who know me would say that: (a) I am full of shit, and (b) It’s an “only child, center-of-attention” thing. They may be right.

Sunday will be spent at the Post with the Usual Suspects and there is something special planned for Monday.

Point is that some of this stuff may turn out to be blogworthy, and I even have what I consider to be an OK post (albeit unrelated to the aforementioned) swirling around in my cruller, but I have to wonder when time will permit.

We’ll see, I suppose.

I was unable to access this site today, and I assumed that everyone else was having the same problem. However, according to Sitemeter, others apparently were connecting at times when I could not.

Which proves that there are more things I do not understand about the Internet than there are stars in the universe.

Of course, when I saw that connecting would likely be impossible, I let the germ of an idea I had just sit around in my cruller and atrophy. If I can breathe live into at this point I will, but, after sipping a bit of Everyday Bourbon, it may be difficult to fire up those three or four content-producing neurons.

Smart money is betting on Mr. Recliner.

I doubt I’ll get to do any writing tonight, as I will at the Legion Post doing what I have done there this time of year for the past three years.

It’s a good thing, particularly at a time when this crap is going on.

Sharpe James, the five-term Mayor of the corrupt political cesspool City of Newark announced that he will not seek another term as Mayor.

PRS Operatives have learned that Mayor James has been making frantic phone calls trying to purchase one of these – for cash, of course.

It’s often said to be every criminal defense lawyer’s worst nightmare.

You break your butt building a case designed to produce just enough “reasonable doubt” in the minds of twelve jurors to win an acquittal for you r client (or to keep your client from being executed). At a minimum, you try to plant a sufficient amount of “reasonable doubt” in the mind of at least one juror in order hang the jury, which will force the government to start from scratch with a new trial. (A verdict of guilty or not guilty must be unanimous.)

Then your client insists on testifying. You explain to your client why that is very, very bad idea, but he insists, and proceeds to hang himself with his own words.

That’s what appears to have happened today in the trial of Zacarias Moussaoui.

Ignoring the advice of his attorneys, Mr. Moussaoui took the witness stand and proceeded to admit that he was aware of an impending attack on the World Trade Center, that he was happy about learning of the 9/11 attacks, and that he (along with Richard Reid – the Shoe-Bomber) was slated to fly a plane into the White House in a subsequent attack.

Of course, instead of it being a nightmare, Moussaui’s testimony may have been a moment of deliverance for Moussaoui’s lawyers, particularly if they had been appointed by the court to defend Moussaoui (I frankly don’t know whether they were appointed or were paid for).

This is so, because a lawyer’s sworn obligation is to zealously represent his or her client within the bounds of the law, even if the lawyer knows that his client is a despicable, murdering swine.

If after you’ve done your best to zealously advocate your client’s position within the bounds of the law, your client insists on hanging himself, you can sleep well at night knowing that you discharged your sworn duty, but at the same time justice was done.

After all, how well might you sleep knowing that your “win” put a guy like Moussaoui back on the street?

Adios, Zacarias.

I suspect that many, if not most, folks who use computers for work and non-work-related things consider them to be mysterious black boxes. I know I do.

I’ve often asked myself, “Yo, Jimbo, how do these things woik?”

Well, my friend Brian, the Air Force Vet, sent me a simple animated schematic (with sound) that makes the whole data process thing crystal clear.

Check it out.

Dana, at The Origin of Soul, is being jerked around by Dell. I have some sense how she feels, as I too have spent some exasperating telephone time with Dell Customer “Support” as noted here and here. Dana’s problem is worse than mine was. In fact, my problem turned out to be an easy fix (having nothing to do with Dell equipment), but which should have been patently obvious to a Customer “Support” person who had any idea what the hell he/she was doing.

As for Dana, her problem does directly involve the computer, which is still under warranty, and yet Dell is still not willing to replace the unit with a new one or to refund her money.

I am now in the market for a new computer, but based on my personal experience with Dell and the experience Dana is having, I think I’ll look into other manufacturers’ products.