Oh, cursed Quicksilver, how quickly you have come to dominate my computing experience. How easy is navigation on my fruity box now that you have entered my world.

No longer can I be content with just an xterminal and the command line. Now that I have seen the power of the three key launch of any program, or the four keystroke opening of any file on my system, my mouse and touchpad are forsaken, and all applications are at my fingertips.

Nevermore shall I be satisfied with the Quicksilver-free interface. No longer will I be able to use the blight that is Windows or the cripple of the Gnomed KDE, without full cringing and much angst.

And cursed is the 43 Folders for showing me the light that is Quicksilver. May you experience the pain of QS free navigation on all your boxes until QS is available everywhere.

So, here I am, trying to get the tools up and working for a client. The whole process has been long, technically challenging and somewhat satisfying journey, but it's certainly been fraught with difficulties.

But now we're in the home stretch. Crunch time is here, as the system goes into a full launch on Monday. Those index cards I'm so fond of? I have about 60 or so full of notes of things to do for this system.

And that doesn't include the five sheets of paper full of notes I need to review to make sure I haven't missed anything. Or the forums I'm sure to be full of, "what about this?" and "did you consider that?" and "this doesn't work for me, how do I?" messages that I'll need to address quickly.

So when one of my development systems needed updating, I went ahead and did the update. I'd like the system to be as up to date as possible, right? It's an Apple computer, what could go wrong?

Well, the system didn't come back up.

Um, not quite though. It came up for about 10 minutes, then went back down.

And I started kicking myself for doing the update in the first place. Argh! What was I thinking? Oh, sure, the update went smoothly, the system restarted, everything looked fine.

Did I mention I don't have a monitor or keyboard hooked up to this system, and that I've been doing all this work remotely?

Didn't think so.

So, the system doesn't come up, my stomach also goes south, and I'm starting to pull out my hair. After 80 minutes of various debugging, looking for a freaking USB keyboard, a working monitor, testing the network cable, checking out the DNS and IP addresses and generally pulling out all geekery I can muster, I look over at system.

It's asleep.

The little light on the front of the computer is pulsing.

The little POS went to sleep!

My distaste for the San Jose airport is growing by leaps and bounds. In particular, terminal C of the airport, where Frontier Airlines flies out of. And even more particular, it's the security screening people there.

I hereby dub them to be the most idiotic people known to mankind. As if pawing through the top eighth of my luggage and breaking my laptop keyboard by wrenching open the top at jet-takeoff speeds would actually provide any additional security for the flights.

I think what I hate most is the fact that people who are unable to speak English clearly, unable to communicate effectively, have no power over their own lives and display little intelligence are going off on these power trips against nominally productive people.

Look at it this way: assuming 50000 terrorists in the world (that would be 50000 people who would be willing to suicide on a plane, taking all of, oh, let's say 200 people with him), in the world of, let's estimate, 6 billion, 99.99917% of us are NOT terrorists.

And if we do a little bit of racial profiling (yes, yes, a politically incorrect thing to do, but of the 23 terrorists who have succeeded in killing more than just themselves in the U.S. within the last decade plus three months, 20 have been of Middle Eastern descent, 3 were as white as they come, and none were women), I would be one of, let me see, none.

So, does this ineffective patting of my butt, groping of my breasts, and riffle through my luggage by some clod make me feel more secure when I fly? No. It makes me angry that you've singled me out again.

Freaking pick on someone else already.

Idiots.

Several times during Sam's visit this week, Sam would let one rip. Sometimes they were big ones (big!), sometimes they were small but quite foul. Invariably, he would say nothing until called on it, and then only a giggled "'scuse me!" would be the answer.

I really can't stand when people fart around me. It drives me nuts. My fart-aversion probably comes from the infinite number times I was on the receiving end of my older brother's farts, though I'm sure I gave as sure as I got.

This is one time when asking for forgiveness after-the-fact ("Oops! Excuse me.") is definitely worse than asking permission before-hand.

So, I gave Sam one of the big house rules in my house. He has been learning that different houses have different rules: even though he can have only one juice box a day at Uma's house, he can have three really big glasses of (tragically caffeinated) root beer at Auntie Kitt's house! What a deal! We like Auntie Kitt!

And that rule is, "If you need to fart, go outside." If you fart outside, Sam learned, the smell dissipates into the outside environment and Auntie Kitt doesn't get mad. The best part is, of course, that if no one's around, you don't even have to say, "Excuse me!"

I'm not sure if the lesson stuck, but at least he was farting more outside than in when I last noticed the small fart.

I leave the man alone for all of, what, two days and what does he do?

Date:     Fri, 22 Jul 2005 15:21:18 -0700
From:  	  Kris McQueen 
To:  	  mischief@ulti....org
Subject:  [MisChiEf] hand update

I have scientifically proven, through a carefully controlled experiment,
that Kyle's face is tougher than my 4th metacarpal.  Traslation:  my 4th
metacarpal is broken, though the doctor said it was a clean break with
no displacement, whick I took as a relatively good sign.  Anyway, I see
an orthopedist next week to find out just how long it'll be before I'm
back to hucking.

Kris

He breaks his hand.

Two days!