Sunday, May 02, 2004

Last Year at this time

I was curious as to what was going on in my mind a year ago at this time. La plus ca change, la plus ca meme.


How fast do you type? I type somewhere around 100 wpm. Oh, sure I can do gusts up to about 125, but sustained speed seldom exceeds 100. Why do I type that fast? Well, that's a longer story.

I had nine weeks of typing my senior year. I wanted to go home early, but this was back in the days when you did what you were told to do (I graduated in 1965). So, forbidden to go home, I took typing. I did all right, but I developed a nervous tic, sort of. I started ghost typing instead of just drumming my fingers. Practice is practice, though and over time, I became a very fast typist.

The very first day I was in the Army, they had us all lined up and trying their best to scare the shit out of us more than we already were. We were about to be dismissed when the c.o., a captain whose name was never important to me for some reason, asked if there were any questions. I held up my hand. "What's your question, soldier?" He barked. They never spoke normally, for some reason. "Sir," says I, "Is this where I tell you I can type faster than you can speak?" Never let a comedian know that you think he's funny. The captain, tightly controlling the urge to giggle, if captains giggle, shot a quick side glance to my drill sergeant who rolled his eyes to keep from smiling, firmly replied, "No, that's later." It did come later, too. My MOS (military occupational speciality) was 93B or Speed Typist. (That number may not be right, it's been too long ago and my DD-214 is at the office, but the Speed Typist is the translation.) My weapon for the two years I was in the army was a typewriter.

What I am not, however, is an accurate typist. Oh, sure, I could take the easy way out and use Spell Check, but half the time I forget and just make the post without adequately proofing it. Spell check is great for finding those words you consistently mispell and your eye never notices, because it's just impressed into your mind wrongly. Bachelor is one of those words for me. I have always added a "t". I know better but cannot break my fingers of the habit of adding that t.

While reading my Sitemeter log, I noticed a hit coming from a Google search page where someone had searched for "confirmed batchelors" and Ms. Google says, "Don't you mean confirmed bachelors? Yeah, maybe they did, but the very first hit was an old posting by yours truly here hinting about being Gay by calling myself a "confirmed batchelor." That's a bit embarrassing, but we all have a favorite or two massecrations of the language. I just made up that word, but I work with lawyers, so making up new words out of old ones comes naturally now.

Okay. Nap time.
Best Referral Yet

I like to check periodically to see where my readers are from and figure out how they got here. This morning I noticed a search engine name new to me called the After Hours Zone. It's an adult porno site, near as I can tell. Someone searched for "small tits nude gallery" and my webpage was #45 on their list. As proud as I am for the hit, I have no idea why my blog came up. Dear reader from the After Hours Zone, were you surprised by what you found on my blog?

[UPDATE: The link to my blog was deleted from the search results. I didn't think they could do that, but they did. It's just as well. There is no small tits nude gallery on this blog.]

Addendum to Saturday. I promised this cute little dykling from Scotland that I would put on me kilt and take a picture and put it up on my blog. She's real curious to see what a Scottish cowboy looks like. I convinced her that Houston was a Scottish name and to prove it, I had my own kilt. I stretched the tale a little, but heck, that's just my nature. Someone asked me which tartan I wear, since Bridges isn't an obvious Scottish name, y'know? I replied that I wore the royal Stuart tartan because a queen is a queen is a queen! My new friend's name was King and she's from the west coast of Scotland, near Glasgow. "What kind of a Scottish name is King," I asked. She was so cute. In her sweet brogue she replied, "Well, we used to be MacGregor's, but at one time in Scottish history, twas legal to kill a MacGregor on sight." Good point. Twas a pleasure meeting you, Aileen. Her second middle name was Fiona which is as popular in Scotland as Ashley is here.

Did you know that in Germany you have to choose your child's name from an approved list? It's true. I remember reading that in a story once where a couple wanted to name their child Che. The authorities would have nothing of it. This subject came up again last night at wine tasting. Jeff, Scott's friend from h is college days (who lives here bytheway), was about to leave for L.A. where his wife hospitalized wife was about to deliver their first child, a boy. We asked if he and his wife had named the little feller yet, and he said no, then asked for suggestions. Although Wolfgang was suggested, it was quickly discarded despite the fact that its one of the more popular names in Germany and Austria. (I don't know about Switzerland.) Andres thought it might mean something like "Wolf path" since wolf is wolf in German, and gang is like a passageway. Anyone know otherwise, let me know in the Comments. Our group decided the baby should be named Cardinal. This is in part because Jeff's last name is Sims. Get it, cardinal sims? I didn't at first, either. Maybe it was the wine, but last night it seemed funny.

Aileen, the picture's coming. I promise.


I went to a couple of parties Saturday in San Francisco. The first was a backyard picnic which was billed a celebration of Spring. The real reason was for Brian's friends to say goodbye to Angie, Brian's girlfriend for the past several months. Angie's moving to Boston. Brian's heartsick in his own affable way. I adore Brian. He's smart, incredibly goodlooking, sensitive, great sense of humor and has a collection of friends who are just like him. Like most parties in San Francisco, there were at least five nationalities at the party, three different racial groups, all variations of sexuality, with conversations in English, French and German.

I arrived with a small British flag in observance of Loyalist Day that everyone in the blogosphere was talking about on Friday. My grandmother's people, the Ashworths, were notorious loyalists in South Carolina during the American Revolution. Oddly enough no one had ever heard of Loyalist Day. I'm sure I read it correctly to be Saturday, May 1. Oh well. Oh, and it was also Derby Day so we had plenty of mint juleps.

Later, my friend Katie had a zinfandel tasting at her house. Our regular group consists of Katie, her cousin Scott and his wife Laura, Gil and Amy, and Terry and Yolanda. Last night, we were joined by Jeff, a classmate of Scott's at Columbia, Monica, a law school chum of Katie's, and Andres, a quiet young man from Berlin. Lovely evening.

I'm not a true connoiseur of wine, although I have a nice collection in my cellar. That's real easy to do in California when you live next to the wine country. Wine tasting is a favorite pasttime out here. It usually involves a nice drive in the country, visits to half a dozen tasting rooms, and a nice picnic lunch at one of the wineries.

Today I'm reading and doing some writing. I also intend to have a nice long nap. Tonight a group of us are going to see Josh Kornbluth's Red Diaper Baby.

I love week-ends.