It's over, but it's not
So the CEO stands up in front of all of us and says that all of the options for extra funding he's pursued have run dry. He goes on to say that the Money Fairy could still stop by before funds fully run out on Friday. After Friday, we're welcome to come to work but will not be getting paid for doing so. So it's like we're laid off, but not.

It's so ambiguous. Everyone is still doing their thing, large objects have not yet dissapeared from the office though I have collected my severance -- a handful of pens and 2 company t-shirts to add to my collection of defunct dot-com wear.

So I guess I'm coming back to work on Monday.

Last night was the final evening of the exciting power skating class. I don't know what I expected going into it, I think a combination of vastly increased skills and utter exhaustion at the end. Instead, I have emerged with some new ways of thinking about ways to move on the ice, new ideas about weight distribution and some small improvements that can lead to big speed.

Red tryouts are in 18 days. I think I'm ready.


How many "we're out of business" speeches should one person have to hear? So far, I'm at 3, having been already laid off or out of town for 2 others. It amazes me how people with no fucking charisma can get to be in charge and how removed from the situation they can be when they're telling people it's over, that their lives have now changed.

The fat lady is warming up
It appears that the money fairy did not stop by my company. We asked her to, we begged her to, we begged other people to ask her to stop by, but to no avail. I came in this morning and was the only one here for over an hour, eventually folks started trickling in. What do you tell customers at this point? I think I have another day or two of pay coming but that's it.

I am so over startups. They're fun and all but I'm tired of going out of business. That's me, the dot-com harbringer of death.


Inevitable truth
You spend all day doing someone in another department a favor, something you've been putting off for a while. You waltz over all proud of your accomplishment and of course instead of lavishing praise on me, they say "oh but you should have done blah."

Sometimes you just can't win.

I miss her so much.

The worst part of last night was how badly I wanted a beer after the class. I finally got it at the ICE-O-PLEX's excellent snack bar, (after being carded! Sir, in honor of my upcoming 29th birthday, I thank you for mistaking me for someone who is not yet a grownup) drank 1/3 of it, then spilled it in slow motion across a table as no less than 5 other Robby Glantz students who were waiting for their beer from the nice man handing out beer gasped in horror.

They let me cut in line to buy another one, understanding my grief.

Speaking of grief...

Who's #1?
If you asked my Alice who number one was, when she was in the right mood, (one where she gazed at us lovingly and wasn't so hungry that she needed a treat as payment for a variety of tricks), she would put one paw up and give you a high (really, very low -- she was 12.5 inches tall) four (no dewclaws). It was the cutest thing, something she pretty much only did for me and Andrea, and occassionally, Brad.

In starting a new hockey team, I've been able to choose my own number. I was going to go with #30, which has been my Snow Cones number for 2 seasons, but then I realized there was a better option.

I'm #1. Not because I'm actually #1 but because she was and because there's nobody else I'd like to honor than her.

I had planned to have Dude on the back of that jersey (Sabrina was going to have Sweet, see "Dude, Where's my Car" for cross-reference) but since I'm honoring Alice, I'll go with the more traditional Dow-tay! since she was a Dow-tay! too. (Zeus has Andrea's last name since he's her dog, Rainie is hypenated and now Gus seems to have my last name too.)

So here's to you MissAlice. You're number one and always will be. I miss you still with every breath.

Last night, Sabrina and I had our first night of the exciting Robby Glantz International Power Skating class. I went into it fully expected to get schooled by 10 year olds and I was not disappointed! After the first 15 minutes of skating around, I started to wonder how I was going to make it through the class but then he slowed things down a bit.

Robby himself sported one of those microphones like Madonna wore in the Blonde Ambition tour. In all the hockey lessons I've taken, nobody has used a microphone so it scared the crap out of me when he started talking through the thing. I was like "who the hell is that and where is he??" while getting lapped by small people who have yet to sport even pubic hair and play far better than I'll ever hope to.

We had to put on these waist belts with loops for leashes on them. I am not kidding. At one point, Sabrina held me in place where I did a little toe-hop in slow motion to work on proper stride technique. The highlight of the Leash Experience was putting a leash on each side of my waist then pulling Sabrina (who was kneeling behind me) down the ice. I was the last one in for that. Damn.

They also videotaped us and had as watch our asses (literally, we started facing away from the camera) skate. My first three steps, the citical few, suck ass. I look as bad as the slowest player I know. I mean, I knew that quick starts were not my strong suit but I had no idea they were that bad. The good news is, I look pretty good once I get up to speed.

Tonight we're back for round 2, I hear it's all about backwards skating. Had I mastered the stuff he taught us about skating forwards, I'd be more ready for it.


At last, here are fine photos from the day that the Snow Cones played at the Compaq Center. Look at me!! and this! me! I'm ahead of the other guy!! Me!!. I admit it, I'm super proud of having started this. I've come a long ass way and it rocks.

Over the weekend, Brad's neighborhood was mistaken for a landing strip and mine was a police zone. Returning home after my game late Saturday night, we saw 3 police cars parked in the street. Then we drove towards our house and saw cops at every corner of our neighbor's house armed with large guns and the door wide open. Fearing the worst and being at close range we decided to drive around instead of going home. I called Dan from the car, who advised us to go home and mind our own business.

The next day we learned that the door had blown open and the neighbor across the street was worried that they were being robbed so he called the cops. Sheesh.

Looking for Hockey Clipart? Barb's Pics has it all. She's my new hero.

What a weekend!
First we have dim sum with Andrea's dad, who is visiting from New Jersey as well as her Auntie Bessie and Uncle Nansing, all of whom are fabulous. When Andrea tried to wrestle her dad for the bill, he grabbed it and gave the lin eof the century:

You forget, I have Kung Fu!

Amy wished that our dads had Kung Fu. I do, too!

Saturday night, I had a hockey game and was looking forward to sporting my new acrylic face shield. I didn't think about the fog factor, nor did I bring my trusty rusty old cage, that does not fog. I had to play very very short shifts, trying not to get all heated up so I could keep the fog to a minimum. That was hell, I'm never using that goddamned face shield again.

Sunday I was back to the cage on my helmet for the Green/Red challenge in my women's league. I play Green, the lowest level, and Red is one level up. Even though I regularly play against people who skate Red and Maroon (2 levels up from Green) I was nervous as hell, but could see clearly. My posse had turned out in full effect, thanks to Amy (who knitted while cheering), Chris, Anne, Thomas and my most loyal athletic supporter, Andrea, for making the trip to cheer for my ass. We played hard and managed to emerge from the challenge with a 3-3 tie. Not bad, not bad!


Wanna buy some shorts that have once contained a hard-on? COP JOCK USED BLUE TSSAA STATE CHAMP SHORTS will hook you up!

I am so saddened at the death of Daniel Pearl. The guy was just doing his job and some motherfuckers decided to kill him for it. Hello assholes, the guy was a reporter not a spy. Investigators vow relentless search for Pearl's killers.


Looking for something to do?

Harvey Milk Institute & the SF LGBT Community Center present:

Thursday, March 21; 7:30 pm
SF LGBT Community Center, 1800 Market St @ Octavia
Course # 2002A-L02
$10 - $25 Sliding Scale

To purchase tickets, contact Harvey Milk Institute:

For all you would-be ministers, here's your chance to Become An Ordained Minister in just 3 minutes. FREE. Sign me up!

Look at me, I'm an actress! Broadbent Theatre Member Profile: Elizabeth Doughty. Oh wait. That's some other me. She must have been looking for midget sex.

Some of my favorite pictures of Alice and Ellie. Today, I can almost remember both of them without crying. Almost.

I can't wait: Space aliens predicted to arrive at Olympics today.

When I started this hockey business, it was with one goal in mind: to not be scared, to take a deep breath and do whatever it was that was asked of me. My history in sporting activities has always been marred by an incessant need to bitch "this is too early, my back/leg/whatever hurts, I'm tired, I can't do this, I'd rather be on the couch eating Cheez-its and watching Mannix" until it was time to go. I was NOT going to do that with hockey.

And so far I haven't. At a recent practice, my favorite coach pointed out the team whiner, who is constantly griping that something hurts or that she is too tired to practice/play a game/whatever. My coach is annoyed by this woman because of the whining and now that I'm aware of her whiner status, I can see how annoying that is. It was a stark reminder of my goal and even though I was completely exhausted from that crazy practice on Saturday with those slave driver NHL guys, I kept going through that practice and went on to play well in a game.

All without whining (aloud).

In my life, I am most proud of having started this hockey business and followed through with it despite being 27 and flabby when I started. Now I'm almost 29 and less flabby but still playing at least 4 times a week, which is 3 more than the Whiner plays.

A co-worker was going through all of the Olympic sports she would've been suited for and lamenting that it's all past her now and she could never start anything at this point in her life. You don't have to be an Olympic hopeful to start something new, there are places for everyone out there, from the top of the medal platform to the 3rd line on an in-house league. Get out there and take your spot!

Amyfritz has found the most amazing Jesus of the Week. He's made of chocolate (a.k.a. Cocoa Christ).


A tribute to the night Amy and I visited my local Safeway, so very long ago:

If Dan was asian, he'd be this guy: Y2Khai.com.

Snow Cones: 3, Gang Green 3
We didn't win but we didnt' lose either. This tie may be enough to get us a shot at doing something in the playoffs, since if we are #9 (out of 10) we go in against the #2 team. All season, our only wins were against the #2 teams so we have a shot. I'm still very sore from Saturday's death march hockey clinic and had a hard time playing last night. Andrea said it looked like I was lost for the last 10 minutes of play and it's true. My thighs hurt so bad I wanted to cry. Through much of the game, I kept thinking "this is where you reach down deep and come up with a stellar performance despite being in great pain" but that wasn't the way it worked out, though Andrea said I looked pretty good out there, until the last 10 minutes.

All I know is, I'm really glad that I don't have to skate until Saturday.


Our foster dog Scooter got adopted this weekend by a really nice Japanese family. They're here because the father's work wants him here, all are presumably fluent in their native tongue but not so much in English. At first I was worried about the language barrier but then I figured that Scooter could learn Japanese! Now his name is "Skoo-tah." The family bowed and said "thankyouverymuch" when I told them they could have the leash and collar he was wearing. Have a happy life, little one.

Wow! My favorite referee Irene was featured by the Lady Zebras. Go Irene!

Every day, CNN looks more and more like the Onion: British troops 'invade' Spain - February 19, 2002. Hello, Mr. Resident of Gibraltar, don't mind me and my big guns, we're just passing through. Doh.

This weekend I went to a free practice at my favorite ice (with the lamest name), the Fremont Iceoplex. Yes, Dan, I do stand there going Ice-O-Plex! and laughing hysterically.

Anyway, the idea was to drum up interest in starting a Women's league there at the Ice-O-Plex. The clinic was run by two random (meaning I had no idea who they were) ex-NHL guys and it was the most intense practice I've ever been to. They kept shouting "faster! faster" as we're doing everything from going forwards to backwards crossovers, which until that moment, I'd only done at slow, never at speed. 5 minutes into it, a woman puked and the guys thought maybe they should slow it down a little.

It was very very good but 3 days later, I'm still very very sore.

I called the people who were interested in Gus and together we realized that they (an elderly couple, the man doesn't get around so good, one more bad fall would hospitalize him for life. I thought of my mom who is not as young as she looks and how her dog Buddy (all 34 lbs of him) knocked her over hard enough to require stitches. Then I thought about 86 lb. Gus and an elderly man and the choice seemed clear...) were not the place for him. Technically, they're still thinking about it but even if they decide they want him, he's not going there.

Yesterday we (Andrea) played with him a lot and he was very happy. In fact, he's now madly in love with Andrea and spent most of last night gazing at her longingly.

He stays.

I am ill. I hate being ill. All this coughing and cold medicine is so damn tedious.

Oh and midget sex.


Gus has been part of our family since September. We saved him in the nick of time from the shelter, he was a real mess. Our intention was always to place him but we knew that finding someone who wanted to adopt a big, old dog would be pretty hard. After Al died, we figured that Gus wouldn't get adopted, that really, nobody wanted a big, old dog and decided to keep him.

Since Alice's death I've been absolutely overwhelmed taking care of our dogs, Gus included. I look at them and feel obligated to care for them and wonder when the love will return, if ever.

Last night I was telling Linea about this, how if someone came along who wanted Gus, I'd probably let him go there.

Today someone did.

Midget Sex

Caboose Photos are not what you think. You have a dirty mind.

And there's still no midget sex here.

In this morning's rush to get out of the house and to the lovely Diridon Station in time for the 8:15 train, I realized that I had no fucking idea where Andrea's keys were. Fine, you think, they're Andrea's keys, not yours. But, I say, the key to my desk is on them, where I now leave my heavy shitass laptop at night. So I needed to find them.

At 8:15 I found them, in my car (don't ask) and decided to drive in and take Rainie Roo, our beloved 13 month old basset terror (not terr*ier* but terror) with me. Armed with a baby gate and a bag of toys I arrived at work around 9:15.

Since then she has

  • Taken me outside 4 times with no exciting potty action
  • Eaten a ton of treats
  • Whined incessantly (this is one of her greater charms)
  • Jumped on my chair arm and tried to get the donutthensoupthensandwich that were on my desk
  • Played hard with the 1+ year old pit bull/boxer mix who comes here
  • Managed to turn off my hub, thereby disconnecting me from the dang old Internet and thus, from you, by beloved readers
  • Slobbered all over my desk
  • Stared intently at my whiteboard
  • Laid down for about 30 seconds
All this and it's not even 2 pm yet.

I always think Rob hella funny, but today, I snorted out loud at this assessment of the Lord of the Rings:
"which I think deserves a big solid win, for no other reason than the fact that they managed to film it, hobbits and dwarves and all, without the use of a single midget. You have no idea how relieved I was."

This quote, of course, gives me one more hit on the midget sex search counter.

This one's for you Amy, aka the Sexy Librarian:The Modified Librarian, librarianship and the art of body modification.


I snorted out loud when Sabrina suggested we get the names DUDE and SWEET on the back of our hockey jerseys. My throat still hurts and I had to go to the bathroom to laugh it off. We're going for it.

Life Is Good Now as told by Floyd, beagle rescue is one of my favorite books. Floyd's mom did a hard thing last night -- she had to put down Atticus, a sweet old beagle foster guy who had raging lung cancer that they'd all thought was heartworm. She's a very sad lady today.

Last night I had every intention of making it to band on time and with my instrument in tow. I wanted to leave work around 5:45 to catch the 6:03 train but a crisis that I needed to manage came up. At 5:55, I realized that the entire engineering team was looking into the bug (which at no point, was it my area to fix) and I could probably catch the 6:13. I walked slowly, taking the slightly-longer route so I could buy a paper on the other end of the platform. At 6:06 I approach the platform and see that a train is there. It must be going north, I think and might have even said to myself aloud. Then it pulled away, going SOUTH, my direction? Huh?

Figuring that the 6:03 was late, I meander the rest of the way to the platform. At around 6:14, a train approaches. I think cool, my train's here. Then the train didn't stop, just whizzed by me at a high rate of speed. I joined my fellow passengers in waving my arms in disgust. After 10 more minutes (now 6:25) I call my friends at Caltrain (here's a little shout out to operator #27) who tell me that, inexplicably, train 76 is ahead of train 78 and everything is 20 minutes off.

My train finally arrives at 6:30 and I miss band.

For all those who celebrate, Happy Valentine's Day. For Andrea, Happy Ice Skating Tonight day and yes, many days I've shared with you rank as holidays. The day I moved here (though we really thought I wasn't going to stay until the other holiday that followed shortly, the day we first *ahem*), the day we moved into our house, and most certainly the day we met in June of 1995, when I was so enthralled with you I couldn't take my eyes off you. I still can't. Mwah!


During our company lunch/meeting today a co-worker and I were talking about how fucking tired we were. Well I didn't say fucking but I did think it -- loudly. He said that he's going home early tomorrow night and asked if I was too. When I stared at him blankly he said it's Valentine's Day.

I guess I don't really get into holidays. I'm not sure where this lack of enthusiasm comes from, it could be because I don't like someone (Hallmark) telling me when to get all excited over something. The days I remember most are not holidays, they're ordinary days where something magical happens -- when I saw the Olympic torch train, when I played at the San Jose Arena, the day I had the hat trick, the day I first met Alice. Those are holidays, not some day that somone arbitrarily chose to emphasize.

This choice also eliminates the disappointment that can come when you're all geared up for a big day and it doesn't meet your expectations.

That said, I hope it explains why I rarely acknowledge birthdays, anniversaries, days of rememberance and other important days. Well, I guess it doesn't. But I do forget about days that mean things to other people and I apologize to those who expect me to remember. Just ask Dan, who every year hears me ask "shit, wasn't it your birthday just now?" Though I know now it's Nov. 30, which is a day after the day Alice died so I probably won't forget anymore.

On the train this morning, the top level was too crowded (i.e. the two spots I like to sit were taken) so I sat on the bottom, which is a smoother ride but you're more likely to have a stranger park their ass next to you. A very nice muslim woman sporting the headdress parked it next to me then took off her shoes and put her bare feet on the seat in front of her, mere inches away from me. Maybe I'm not getting it, but shouldn't feet remain covered as well? (In general I think they should anyway, by and large feet are nasty especially for those of us not blessed with the gift of knowing how to properly trim their toenails, but that is another story that I'll not share with the 3 of you.)

Am I a total ignoramus on the issue of muslim women and naked feet?

Today I'm so busy and so stressed at work that I really have nothing to say. It does look like we're going to get some additional $$ to survive but I won't do the dance of joy until the $$ has been deposited in the bank.


More than once during the day I'll go to throw something away and realize that my trash can is in the next cube over. I did this because I used to have Alice here with me, and even until the very end of her life, she had great skills at getting into things, especially trash. Now she's not here but I still want the reminder that my life was at one time, part of hers.

In other news, I saw my first wrinkles today in the corners of my eyes. Does that mean I'm a grown up? Next stop: 401k withdrawl!

Why anyone needs a Salt Lake 2002 Camp Dutch Oven, I'll never know. There was a time when Dan and I thought that collectable pewter spoons were going too far but a dutch oven is WAY over the edge.

The conductor on CalTrain this morning was wearing an I heart Jesus lanyard. Things like that make me want to counter with an I heart Satan one, even though I am sort of fond of old Jesus.

On the train last night, I read this article: Forgotten victim of '96 Games and can't stop thinking about Alice Hawthorne, the lone victim of the 1996 bombing, whose death was downplayed as soon as it was discovered that "only one person died." To her husband, to her family and community, she was much more than just "one person," she was husband John's whole life.

It's easy to forget victims of smaller crimes (where is Chandra Levy, anyway, and who killed JonBenet) when the World Trade Center is now a hole in the ground littered with the ashes of working lives and body parts of mothers, fathers, lovers and friends. But people are still killed needlessly every day, usually for much less jaw-dropping reasons. That they get no attention is an unfortunate by-product of our society's constant need for the biggest rush, the most pressing story.

I did discover that the Olympic Park had been re-named after Alice Hawthorne.

Let us not forget the Alice's of the world, mine and John Hawthorne's.

Every day, CNN sounds more and more like the Onion: Woman declared dead Saturday dies Monday.


For all you Mary Tyler Moore fans who joined the MTM show late in the broadcast (i.e. after it was long into sydication) Eric Sevareid was "one of the earliest of a group of intellectual, analytic, adventureous, and sometimes even controversial newspapermen, hand-picked by Edward R. Murrow as CBS radio foreign correspondents."

A couple of weeks ago I was outside in the driveway washing my car (and yes doing a very bad job of it) when the neighborhood (male) pest (yes, he has a very active female counterpart) came up to see the dogs through the fence. I knew it was coming, I couldn't stop it and there it was "Hey, Liz, where's Alice?" I said she died 2 months ago and threw myself furiously back into car washing trying to hide my tears at having to say those words.

Some days I wake up forgetting that she's gone, only to have it hit me like a brick, other days it seems so very long ago that she was here.

For the truly bored, a game everyone can play: The Wal-Mart Game.

Hockey Marathon
I started yesterday's hockey marathon with an NCWHL game at the lovely Ico-o-plex in Fremont. It's a nifty rink, the ice is separate from the viewing area so it's very quiet, you can actually hear people while you're playing, a very good thing when you're off-sides and your whole team is shouting for you to go back and clear the zone (this is just an example, that was NOT me thankyouverymuch).

Lest I sound like a cocky bastard, I will preface this by saying that I am indeed quite proud of my hockey skills but am not a cocky bastard. I started playing and skating only less than 1.5 years ago and that I can do as much as I can is a huge accomplishment after a lifetime of inactivity.

That said, I adore many parts of my women's league. Having a coach every time, having organized practices that I don't have to arrange, the comraderie, the nurturing environment. However, when I joined the league in September of last year I fully expected to be in the 2nd of 4 levels, the red level. I was utterly distraught when I was placed in the lowest, or green. Not because I have anything against the folks in this level or the effort they put forth, but because I wanted to for once, not be in the lowest level and I really thought I would get in.

I've worked my ass off this season, some weeks skating 6 times a week to improve my skills. Many of my teammates (on my co-ed team as well) do not play nearly this often, so their skill level hasn't changed as dramatically as mine has in the last few months. So theyr'e out there doing their best, we all are. But I'm playing a different kind of game than they are, I'm more agressive and play harder.

I hadn't played a game with them in almost a month and for the first period it really felt like swimming out there. Things that now come pretty naturally to me don't yet for some of my team-mates, so it made for kind of rough going.

But that's all I'll say about that, lest I come off like a cocky bastard.

After that game was through, I busted ass to the SJ Arena, where the Snow Cones (my co-ed team) was playing after the game. I thought it would be like no big deal but when we got downstairs (via the magic elevator outside section 113) and caught a glimpse of the NHL ice, it was amazing. We saw a half naked Carolina Hurricane (I beleive it was Tom Borosso the goalie) and a fully clothed one.

When we took the ice, it was surreal. There on the JumboTron scoreboard, was "CONES". My team! Listed on the JumboTron scoreboard and at each end, CONES!

With skills and teamwork we haven't shown all season, we beat the Red Army 6-1. It was fabulous, unreal, and very very hot on the ice. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

My co-worker on the International Male catalog: "is that a sock"?


Homebrew isn't just for beer anymore. My homebrew pipe organ.

I cannot recall a time when I was more ready for the weekend to arrive. Can I go home now?

Little-known rule allows pets in federal housing

By Diane C. Lade

February 5, 2002

For four years, Velvel has been Harvey Schiller's roommate and possibly his best friend. He was there when Schiller was pulling his life together after a divorce and a stroke, the one who cheerfully nudged him outside when Schiller still was using a cane and could barely walk.

"I took good care of Velvel and he took good care of me," said Schiller, 63.

But when he had to move about a year ago, he found no senior complexes would rent to him and his little dog, a papillon with a tail like a firecracker's explosion and a face like a fox. "I took a room in a trailer for a while. It wasn't even a consideration, leaving Velvel behind," said Schiller.

Then he found a place where taking pets, like Velvel, wasn't just a policy. It's the law.

Schiller now is living at the Levey Senior Residence in Sunrise, a 123-unit federally subsidized apartment house for seniors and the disabled on limited incomes. Dogs, cats, birds and even fish are free to live there, too -- as they are in any residential building constructed with money from the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development.

HUD rules, which are part of federal law, state that building owners or managers "may not discriminate" against elderly and disabled tenants who have household pets. It's been the case since the mid-1980s.

And it may be one of the federal government's best-kept secrets -- just because most people, accustomed to retirement living's "no pets allowed" mantra, can't believe it's true.

"When I asked if they allowed dogs, I was so happy when they said yes," said Schiller, a retired insurance agent.

Cherie Wachter, marketing director for the Humane Society of Broward County, sees plenty of dogs and cats huddled in the shelter's cages because their owners had to move from their homes and their animal companions could not come with them. Most retirement complexes, not to mention assisted living centers and nursing homes, don't allow pets.

"These usually aren't little kittens or puppies but mature pets that have been doted on by someone who now has to leave them behind. It's extremely difficult for these seniors," Wachter said.

Judy Bogos, who was working in a senior building when the pet policy was instituted, remembers HUD making the move "because they realized the animals served as companions to the seniors and kept them healthier," she said. She now manages two HUD buildings in Boca Raton operated by the Jewish Federation of South Palm Beach County and estimates about 8 percent of the seniors in her 204 apartments have pets.

(article cropped because this part says everything I wanted to share on the topic).

Wow, I also come up with searches on swingstock 2000 and gobs of king of the hill, that's my purse! tpir swimsuit, pooping reindeer, magic bra and panties (which naturally you can find here) and of course the #1, midget sex. Unfortunately, I also come up when people are looking for inf on Myleograms, the test Alice had just before the surgery she didn't wake up from.

Oh and this is not right at all: Google Search: midget sex. This is because people used to come to my site looking for midget sex, so I mentioned it on my site. Spiders found it and now pictures of us and our dogs are standing proud next to pictures of midgets actually having sex.

Sometimes the internet astounds me. And the shit people search for! God! Get a life!

A lot of people come here to look at pictures of my doggies, including Google Search: ellie.

Check it out, a perusal of my referrer logs reveals that MSN Search has it's very own Liz Dow-tay! page. I also learned that an astonishing amount of our European visitors come to my site looking for sex-related content. I'm sure they're shocked when they arrive. So welcome, sex-seekers. Now go away.


Today I found myself talking about my trip to Lucas Land aka Skywalker Ranch (I chose that link because it's not in English) a few years ago. I wanted to be impressed and in a lot of ways, I was, but I'm a big cynic at heart, so I wasn't.

The highlight for me was when they said there is a life-sized Yoda under glass. How big would that be, life-sized?

From Erik: I just found an old NY Times (from August). There is an article on silly web cams, and there is the corn cam and the new soybean cam! They quote a poll, 69% of people want to watch corn grow, 31% want to watch paint dry.


Have you ever noticed that the jobs pages of many Internet companies never say where they're located? I know that the Internet is free of boundaries and all that, but really, at some point, all that magic is built at a physical location and I can't work there if I don't know where *there* is.

Proof that there's a greater sense of responsibility among everyone who flies on airplanes today:Co-pilot uses ax to keep man out of cockpit. The courage of passengers and pilots, more than increased security or not allowing people to carry on fucking tweezers and corkscrews, is why I feel safer in the air today than I ever have.

Of course it still scares me but I do feel that none of those terrorists are going to get away with anything anymore.


I admit it, I laughed out loud, made that face and couldn't stop reading Climb the Tree for a Dollar.

Women's hockey subpar at Salt Lake... it's not quite what you think, check it out. While I am thrilled to see that the sport has been included (after all, hockey is the greatest sport ever), the author has a good point, that really only the USA and Canada have true Olympic-caliber teams. Kinda makes me want to move to China and be on their team.


After last week's tirade about how much Netscape 4.x sucked it only seems fair that this has happened... My (little teeny) company, which makes a kick-ass product that people actually need and are willing to spend money on, landed a big account with a big-ass company. I've been diligently converting the design they sent into cross-browser compatible HTML, which looked largely identical on all browsers (Mac and PC) except for Netscape 4.x.

How stupid of me to think that the big established company would use a modern browser (think color TV vs. black and white)! Of course the company intranet only hosts Netscape 4.x so I've had to re-do everything. Hooray for Netscape 4.x.

Real email from real people looking to adopt dogs
My name is (silly adopter) I live in Jackson Tn . My Mom an I are look for the best basset hound in the world. I wrote to some other basset hound people. I want to know if you have any basset hound that do not have heart worms, obeys his owner or doesn't mess up things. PS: Write Back>>

So I'm not the only person who is depressed, brig is facing some of the same crap that I'm feeling. I mean not the same crap, brain surgery is different than having the most amazing thing in your life die abruptly, they're both shitty. My parents are even getting worried -- my mom left 2 phone messages and sent email asking if I'm "OK" as if being "OK" is the most critical thing in the world.

The truth is, I'm very much not "OK." In addition to this huge hole in my heart where Alice is supposed to be, Andrea's company is going under, leaving her job situation tenuous at best, my company is facing some equally dire facts (though most of the time it looks like we'll be okay). It all adds up to utter exhaustion and yes, depression.

Stop asking. I'm not "OK."

I have considered therapy but recognize that this depression, unlike the other ones I've been through, started with a specific event, Alice's death. Probably a couple of weeks before, when my heart began to sink and I knew somewhere deep inside me that the end was near. I'd rather go through this grief and one day emerge triumphant or at least less of a mess at the other side of it than medicate myself into thinking I've already done that. The last thing I want to do is pretend like everything is "OK," then wake up a year from now and have to go through this then because I blew it off now.

So there will be no drugs for me, I'm going through natural grieving. It goes without saying that medications help many folks get through each day and I respect that. It's just not for me in this case.

Damn! Urban Legends Reference Pages: Wooden Spoons (Grave Sight) Thanks Brad.


What a day of drama! First the check engine light in my car came on last night so we rushed it to the vet, oh I mean to the dealer. Actually, Andrea was my bitch and took it in for me since my work hours are getting longer and longer. The part was covered under a warranty that should have expired 5 fucking days ago but thanks to a big snafu when I originally bought the car, I didn't start officially owning the car until 2/25/99 and thus, after much scrambling and phone calls to VW Credit, it was determined that the part was covered and that I wouldn't have to pay anything. So I got off easy.

It looks like Holly, Kevin and Leo are going to become our neigbors! We happened to see a cute little house for rent around the block from us and they saw it, liked it, and are going to hopefully move in starting next weekend. Woo hoo!! We get to watch Leo grow up even more than before!!!!

Wow. Q209354 - HOWTO: Read the Fucking Manual. Do you think the higher ups know that this entry exists? Just when I've lost all faith in the web as a place where people can still do crazy shit, I find something like this and my faith/interest level gets a small spark of hope. Thanks brig.

Susan finds the funniest stuff.


Wow, check it out: Pediatric group endorses gay adoptions. Does that mean that the religious right will start being assholes to the American Academy of Pediatrics, since it's their mission to shut down anyone who is accepting of the groups they don't like?

In case your life isn't interesting enough: the Horseradish Challenge : Attempt One will knock your socks off. Thanks Amy I've been awaiting your triumphant return to blogging.

So it turns out that my hosting provider keeps a shitload of stats about visitors, etc. Which is great but there are a shitload of them and they take up over 40% of my server space. Not only that, they'd had them set so that I couldn't delete them. A pretty novel way to increase business, really, let's have clients run out of room with shit they can't delete, then charge them for more space. So I've been deleting what I can and fighting for the rights to delete more, freeing up space for the one page that gets any traffic -- this page.

Having some server space issues today that I'm trying to resolve. Please remain seated until the ride comes to a complete stop.