#ROW80 2ND QUARTER, WEDNESDAY CHECK IN, POST 12 – MUSINGS, WONDERINGS AND THE NON-SERIOUS SIDE OF LIFE

One of the other things besides music and computers that I find fascinating is this whole “Search for Intelligent Life Elsewhere.” Of course, we're currently running out of it here at home, especially in the US at a rapid rate, so I think we should quadruple our efforts immediately in our hunt for some entity that is a wee bit brighter than a door knob. To that end, I have dedicated some of my computers' awesome power to SETI@home.

When SETI@home is running, my visitors don't come. The last time they showed up, they pushed around a plate of symmetrically placed clementines I left out for them. I guess they liked them.

Fair enough. I've picked up 3 rather nice projects and since I know no borders or recognize no governments, unless they've pissed me off personally, I have picked up a project from Cambridge in the UK and one SAT, from Russia, along with SETI from Berkeley, California. Great, snazzy and all that jazz. I've processed some umpteen quadrillion petaflops worth of data just for SETI alone. We have our little glitches now and then, but knowing computers, I can work around the false-positives from this end.

Their Chamber of Commerce needs to get with the times. This is so 1947.

We just received a new version of SETI@home. V 7.0 and AVG will register it as a virus. There have been notes sent to all of us for about 2 weeks. I already knew this, when I saw the Seti signature in the AVG warning and ignored it. But, some poor shlubs have apparently decided their Boxes of Magic were infected and fired off notes to the Admins on the project. Needless to say, the support team is not supportive. It should be the “flog and public-shaming team.” They are not all like that, but there is a low tolerance for anything less than absolute wizardry in all of these disciplines. Most likely, the users are people who are just excited to be included in something rather cool. I just do my thing and hide. If something breaks, I fix it. That's why I belong to the ex-CIA team; those retired old bats up there in central Florida.

Still, there is a case to be made for approaching the “Box of Magic” as just that. Personal computers have been around for awhile and part of the domestic landscape for over a decade. Granted, tons of the documentation is less than easy to decipher and in fact comes across as a subset of what I call “Chinglish.”

Step 1. Please to open box forthrightly, as shown in pictoo. (no picture shown) Step 2. Please to remove CPU and place in upright fashion near floor, not wall as see in pictoo too. (picture of a monitor display, with cords) Step 3. Please to insert cable B in socket D, and cable C in socket Z as display in pictoo fore (picture of a set of pinochle cards) and so on. Please to go and drink yourself blind as show in pictoo 79. Yup, that I can do.

So, maybe it isn't the consumer's fault, but once on the internet, there is loads of good information available to the informed seeker. The key word here being “informed.” If your Grandma goes and googles “Delete Key, what to do with it,” the number one answer with a bullet is this:

I just started laughing all over again; picturing an Apple keyboard, with only a GIANT DELETE key. Less efficient than what? An electric brick?

I supported Apple products for all of 5 minutes at IBM; after I recovered from the terribleness of that experience, I swore off any and all Macs, and Apple-related gizmos and their stupid proprietary software. I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate it. Just hate it so much, it needs to all bleed to death, slowly. I tried to help some nimrod who was using Word 6.0 for his MAC, so help me God. He had me so flustered during the call, he asked me what a box was, and I shouted into the phone of this 47-hour long abortion of a call, “IT'S A THING SHAPED LIKE A SQUARE!”

There were times I wanted to answer, "ESP Help Desk." There were certainly days when pentagrams, divining rods, crystal balls, and Magic 8-Balls would have been useful. When a customer answers "It's broke," to your query of "And how may I help you today," (prior to open- and close-ended questions) you know you're in for a long, long ride.

Dead silence; 100 engineers quietly hung up on their own phone calls and turned their attention to me to see if I was going to catch on fire. I was standing, and bent over and pretended to tie my high-heeled shoe. For the ensuing 4 hours of this horrible, horrible call. As Agent Scully would say, “Never Again.” Give me OS/2 thinkpad platform calls, network, Windows, Lotus Suite, Lotus Notes, Mainframe calls. Fine. Come at me with a Macintosh call, you'd better be prepared to be hung by a headset from the highest cubicle wall (less than 5 feet, so I guess you'd better be really, really short, too.)

So, maybe I still should cut the people who post on the bulletin boards at SETI@home for help some slack, but they could at least read the damned notes. I've spent so much time around computers, that I think in Boolean logic. I'm certainly more comfortable around them, than some people. Trying to guess if people really mean what they say is a pain in the ass. Having lived with 2 people who were masters of mind games (one of whom was my mother, the other an ex-husband) has done nothing for my personality. Oh well. It is what it is.

Today, I went to the Byrd Center at USF, designated by the Parkinson's Foundation as a Center of Excellence and saw Dr. Deborah Burke, a Movement Disorder Doctor. She spent a lot of time with me and explained to me why she is not entirely convinced that I have Parkinson's Disease, but she is going to send me off for a DaTScan. My tremors have always been the least of my set of symptoms. Admittedly, I think because I spent so many years playing the viola, I have much stronger hands and forearms and a very strong right arm (my shoulders are broad for a woman, too) that I am able to work around or through the tremors, although they are slowly worsening.

What I've experienced is this; a lifetime of depression, starting at a fairly early age (around 16.) Ulcer surgery at a young age, 29, and bad choices. Father, an alcoholic, although not mean or abusive to my mother. He always had a job. My mother was manipulative and abusive towards me. I left home as soon as I reached my majority, but that is just escaping a bad situation; I had never developed any coping skills and continued to make bad life choices. In essence, a lot of crap, and I'm lucky to still be alive. Fast-forward to last year, after having been in yet, ANOTHER abusive situation, this one physical for a change, and I fought back. When JC and I settled in, all of a sudden I couldn't sleep. My father had died in his sleep, and I guess I had it in my head that this was going to happen imminently. Go figure. It didn't, but I woke up in the mental ward of St. Joseph's Hospital, having lost a month and found out I am bipolar. Oops.

I told Dr. Burke all of this and she nodded. We worked through the medications I'm on and nothing jumps out as a trigger, so we went back to my social history. Dr. Burke observed, “Kind of the chicken and egg scenario. We don't know where the egg and the chicken and then the alcohol and...” I started to laugh and she did, too. Neat lady and a terrific doctor, too. I can tell. Having worked in a teaching hospital for 5 years was a real gift. Doctors who wanted to teach and answer questions and didn't care who asked them, med students or music majors.

So, she launches into the mechanics of how dopamine is produced in the substantia nigra, that is located down deep in the old bean-aroo and that the main symptoms of Parkinson's Disease are caused by dopamine's non-production. The DaTScan will tell us this. However, if there is dopamine present, then we have to look elsewhere, for the cause of the essential tremor. Bear in mind that fully 35% of all Parkinson's patients never have any tremors. It is a truly elusive disease. The only other way to find out is by doing a biopsy of the brain. The good doctor said, “Unfortunately, you wouldn't know the outcome, because you would be dead.” I thought this was hilarious. I'm not too sure if she found my mirth amusing or disturbing.

The lizard part of my brain kicked in ironically enough, because the substantia nigra part of the brain is located in that general vicinity, when I heard the words "brain tumor." I still pulled it together in time for my uproarious response to the idea of a brain biopsy. Neither fear of mortality nor the idea of morbidity shall deter me in my constant search of mordant humor.

Imagine this in a 3-D form, and you can see how embedded the Substantia nigra is within the brain. That little sucker is responsible for making our dopamine, the overall "governor" of our autonomic functions.

The thing she is puzzled by is the fact that I no longer have any sense of smell, I drool (have been doing so, for about a year) and my voice is really hoarse and it's like some kind of weird anti-puberty. If I had just plain, old essential tremor, I should not have these other symptoms. Again, not everyone has the same PD. "Designer Disease," I call it. I used to have a pretty deep voice for a woman. Now, I'm not sure what it is. It gets squeaky at times, then, sometimes it's very hoarse. I will stutter when excited, and my diaphragm has become somewhat weakened, which makes it hard for people to hear me at all.

Today, I was at the Pharmacy trying to pick up some medicine. There's always got to be some idiot, who wants his shit NOW!

The hospital would have made a wonderful amusement park for this jerk. Wheelchair rides, physical therapy pools and the food is great! Whee! Dumbass!

There are 80 people it seems in line and I'm trying to talk over this asshole. He was talking to one of the other pharmacist's assistants, who had already told him his meds would be ready in 20 minutes, but he's still jabbering at her in Spanish, which she doesn't speak. I had been waiting and was told my meds were ready. So, I'm trying to make myself understood and talk over him. I finally lost my patience and said, “Sir? I'm trying to talk here. Do you see this cane? I may not have a strong enough diaphragm to speak over you, but I am sure strong enough to beat the shit out of you!” Standard Viola Fury response in public when assholes are present.

The guy said, “Uh yeah,” and scampered off. The pharmacist's assistant was a new girl and she giggled. I said, “you'll get used to me. I've been coming here for over 2 years.” I winked at her. The other pharmacy people asked me, “When is JC coming back to visit us? We miss him?” I said, “Pretty soon now. He's getting stronger. He misses you, too.” So, it was a pretty good day. I still don't have a diagnosis of PD, but I have the ear of a wonderful doctor, and I believe whatever this is, we'll figure it out, together. Last week, I walked a mile to the grocery store. I can't be that bad off, can I?

BLOGGING FROM A TO Z APRIL 2013 – LETTER “V”

VISITORS

(A Short story)

She came from a fairly logical, although chaotic background. Her father drank, but was a happy drunk. A former Captain in the Air Force, pilot of B-29s, he mustered out towards the end of the Korean Police Action after 2 crash landings after successful sorties down MIG alley; all shot up. The Captain landed his birds and saved his crews, but the landings were hard and there were injuries. In 1953, with no high school education, he married another Scot in Petoskey, Michigan, took entrance exams and went to college. The kid was an “oops baby” and Daddy was sole caretaker, while Ma worked 3 jobs to get Dad through school.

1st Lt. Glenn Wallace

The girl grew up as kids did in the 50s, semi-happily, thriving on neglect and left mostly to her own devices. Music was her passion from the minute of her birth; it was the only thing that really existed for her; that and reading. Reading was primarily for an escape from increasingly bitter arguments between parents; parents who were no longer agreeing on how to raise their only daughter. Daddy had it right. He'd been with her from her birth and knew the kid was like him. Ma did too, and was trying to do everything to change that. But the kid wouldn't have been happy with that. Thus, the conflict. So, the Daddy hung on.

Unaware of what this conflict concerned at the time, the kid went on her way, started playing the violin, still reading. A few years earlier, a failed suicide attempt on the part of Ma, drove a final wedge between the marriage of Daddy and Ma, although it would be years before the marriage ended formally. Through it all, Daddy and the kid discussed things. They would roam the night and look at the skies, Daddy swigging his Boone's Farm, or more increasingly, Vodka, but never mean or cruel. Ma could be so to the kid. Daddy was the kid's refuge and she appreciated his cold logic as he explained the heavens. He told her about Vega, Mars. He explained Einstein and his special Theory of Relativity. He loved Meteorology and explained the different types of clouds and their weather.

Ma Flying; guess who hates to fly?

As she grew and he ran out of answers for her, instead of mock-shouting “Because I said so!” which always made her laugh, he went to his brother-in-law, the Nuclear Physicist, who worked at Jack-Ass Flats in Nevada. Daddy wasn't prone to confabulation and often thought that Uncle had some wild stories, but then Daddy remembered some of his own hair-raising experiences flying his squadron out over the so-called Bermuda Triangle and was maybe, just maybe, a little less skeptical. So, with Uncle's 2 sons and Daddy's daughter, they explored the heavens and the world around them. Grand adventures.

Ma wasn't always so harsh; she'd had a hard childhood with grifter parents and would try to relate to her only child. She loved her, but wasn't always sure how to relate to her. She did sense an otherness, a logic or something she couldn't put her finger on. She said to the kid once, “you need to keep at least one foot in this world.” Her daughter looked at her blankly, for a moment. If she said anything in response, it is not remembered. Ma gave up. Her daughter was in parochial school, learning from Jesuit priests. In an attempt to find answers about the origins, meaning of the universe, god-consciousness, her teacher said, “Now, see here, you don't need me, to interpret all of this. You have that spark of divinity. You just have to seek it out for yourself. That's what you are, a seeker of truth.”

Hmm, at 12 years old, the girl knew she's not really old enough, but that thought took root, and still dwells there. Over the years, things change, as they do in every life. The girl grew up, made a whole bunch of bad choices and some damned good ones. She married young. That didn't work out, so she married again. That didn't work, either. That fabled 3^rd time is the charm? No, it isn't. But, somewhere along the way, she switched from violin to viola, majored in music and that took off. She never stepped foot in a classroom to teach, but taught privately for 30 years.

She played viola in every type of venue there was for that long as well and loved every minute of it. The 2^nd husband (also a violist; they met on a gig) was sad when the Zither Fairy didn't show up and turn his wife into a zither player, so the wife in a fit of frustration, went back to school and decided to major in something TOTALLY different than music; Computer Science. That is the left-brain talking, ladies and gentlemen, because unbeknownst to her, music is almost completely math, as is comp sci. She got rid of husband number 2 and went to work for IBM, who let her play all she wanted to and work from the road. Sweet deal. 3 years later, in an upward move, Verizon let her do the same thing. She was still seeking.

Wolf, Mary and Bernadette Peters

But, no one gets to have their cake and eat it, too. There's always a price to be paid, or scales to be balanced out. Our girl was also partying hard and making bad choices personally. That is not what caused her current predicament, but it didn't help either. Eventually, after a disastrous 3^rd marriage and 5 years of living with some guy who's abusive and capricious, she ends up in the hospital. She's already blind in one eye. Now, she's got malnutrition and COPD and CHF. She gets better after 2 months in the hospital and is placed in a homeless shelter.

After receiving her Disability and moving, she has a psychotic break and starts to manifest symptoms of Parkinson's Disease and they're pretty significant. She's legally blind and has dealt with that, so this is really not that big a deal. Once in a while it gets frustrating.

The interesting thing is this: with each sense that is damaged, other things come along that increase awareness of things not normally seen. She can feel someone's distress from far away. If she is still and quiet during the day, she can feel that, but faintly. It's stronger at night. She used to love the night time. After the psychotic break, she feared it for several months. She had what is known as “night terrors.” She would see things flitting around and it bothered her. About 2 months ago, she opened her eyes and they were there. Six of them. Shimmering, beautiful, the closest description would be almost like sunflowers, with appendages and digits.

I run this at night; my computer is in my bedroom.

They were in a semi-circle around the bed. Even the air shimmers and is golden. This house has always had a presence. Something jumping on the bed; nothing malign. But these 6 don't come all the time. They were fearsome at first. They only come when SETI@home isn't running at night; once a week at most. The girl become woman is logical, you see, but she remembers her Daddy and Uncle and their discussions about Area 51 and things thought to be preposterous. She shares the skepticism, but like her two relatives, she has an open mind. During the last visit, as she thought “I mean no harm and will protect you,” the smallest one, barely 2 feet high, put it's hand upon the edge of the coverlet. Three small fingers.

It's not an answer, it's more a piece of a large puzzle. We are born seekers. I don't know what anything is sometimes. I can't speak to anyone else's outlooks or zeitgeists, I only know that as I've aged and as I've had to deal with more and more physical challenges, I cease to be as alarmed by things that would have raised the hair on the back of my neck a decade ago. Scots are by nature, a fey group. We may be hella mathematicians, ship builders and doctors, but then, there's Nessie. Need I say more? 

Nessie is our claim to fame!

#ROW80 POST 9 - E.T. PHONE HOME; REMEMBERING DADDY, WHEREIN EVERYTHING'S A TOY

Be warned. This is a re-post from my old S.I.F.O.T.S. blog and the only attempt I've ever made at satire or any type of fiction. The first time it ran, some people were frustrated and thought it overlong. The second time, it received a warmer reception. I happen to like it and hope it has stood up to the test of time.

...zzzz.....squeeeeeennnn...........blorp...snap!...crackle!....pop!.... oooweeeooooo

Captain: Scotty, get those damn elves out of the warp drive chamber! They're eating the dilithium crystals!

Scotty: I'll trrrry, Cap'n! She's givin' me all she'ssss got! I canna do verrrra much with the likes o' this!

Captain: McCoy, stand by with the stun guns.

Dr: Dammit, Jim! I'm a Doctor! Not an exo-exterminator!

*click-click* (sound of channel changing...)

(...to a lone man on screen. He has a suspicious green cast to his rhomboid-shaped face.)... Ladies and Genomes, I, Ambassador Infun Krull, want to welcome you to the SETI@Home Hemi-Demi-Semi Finals! 

That's right! The show you've all been waiting for! This match will determine  the winner of the "Most Obfuscated Batch of Data and Incomprehensible Conclusions in the Array Field" for the SETI@Home Division 3D Outer Quadrant Regionals! 

The roster includes four very competitive teams; first, the rough and tough veteran group of the "SwissNavyCurrentlyinaFjord@Home.bern.edu" team. 

Second, the legendary fighting group once feared as the "FormerlyKnownAsSovietArmySynchronizedBalalaika@Home.moscow.ru" team. 

Third, the flashy, glitzy, and snobby sophomore team of HelloKittyWeRuleTheWorld@Home.tokyo.ja" team.

And fourth, the curmudgeonly old farts from the quaint hamlet in Central Florida,  "TheOldMIBandSpooksandKnittingClubattheVillages@Home.florida.net team.

Ambassador Krull: Let's get acquainted with our competitors, shall we?

Team One, the Swiss blah blah:

Corporal Spaeckel: Booyah!

Sergeant Neeck Furor: That's the Marines, you dolt! And not even the Marines of this here fighting Swiss Country!

Corporal Spaeckel (chastened): I forgot our motto, sir.

Sergeant Furor: That's why you're fit for this Man's Navy! Carry on, Corporal!

Ambassador Krull: Okay! Thanks! I can see you all have interesting jobs! Team Two? The Russian etceteras?

Captain Geyer: Go Stalingrad!

Föж Muldrayavich (sotto voce): I believe is now Volgograd. In fact, I want to believe. The truth is out there.

Captain Geyer (casting a sidelong look at Muldrayavich): Da, Tovarisch. Volgo-, Stalin-, is same city. Truth is truth.

Ambassador Krull (beginning to sweat under his green makeup): Sweet! I didn't know you all had such varied, er, uh... opinions in Russia! It's nice to see freedom of expression! Team three? The HelloKittyHell... er, drivel team?

Tokugawa Hijiro Kitty-San: Yes! Thanks! We have many kitties in Hello Kitty Land. Our kitties are pink and bright and amorphous blobs! Our Hello Kitty AK-47s match our pink Hello Kitty laptops! Perfect for any Shopping Mall! We are one step closer to franchising the entire world with Hello Kitty! It will be Happy!

Deputy Sanjiro Hai (smoothly interrupting): ... of course, this will occur only after complete consensus from the entire planet. This should occur no later than December 21, 2012. If not, the Mayans will curse us all-

Ambassador Krull (mopping forehead; gapes at green hankie) -Well! That is certainly ambitious. But it sounds as if you all have the world's best interests at heart! Team 4? The Old Farts? Er, the Village People la la la?

Miss Honey West: Hello, be right back. Snookums needs her mousey treat and her nappy, and Fluffums just horked up a hairball. Besides, our visitor from Deneb would like its lunch and I promised Vigo I would help him surveil the spy cell from... (suddenly realizes where she is) Uh... dear Miss Skola, would you be so kind...?

Miss Mapya Skola: Oh course, Miss West. We at the Villages believe that there is a most probable certainty, a veritable surety, that even given the millions of  hits or occurrences, the chances of decoding, tabulating and massaging a hit that hints at extra terrestrial intelligent life in the universe, is so teeny weeny as to be beyond miniscule. We aren't even talking about proof of ETI. The odds for that occurrence can only be calculated in a simultaneous processor and Cray has been hogging it for three weeks for Florida Lotto, thus we have farmed out our data-mining to the entire internet. Anyway, I digress.

Ambassador Krull (visibly relaxing): No mottoes? No mission statements, Miss Skola?

Miss Skola: Of course, Ambassador, but being the rational, science-types we are, plus with our secretive natures and faint paranoia, we choose to keep that to ourselves. I am a Medical Doctor. We feel that as long as we cannot hold it, whatever it may be, smell it, see it, possibly taste it and even eat it, it may not exist, and then we shred what is left of our already tattered careers and go off and become crazy cat people.

Ambassador (looking green sans makeup; bewildered): I see... A very er, interesting, weltanschauung, zeitgeist, or uh, world view, um... crackpot paranoia? (sotto voce) no fear, the cat people are here. (More brightly now) Well! Let's get going, shall we?

...crackle..... eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhheeeeeeeee.....zzzzzzzzzzz

Relentlessly cheerful music, Leroy Anderson's "Syncopated Clock" screeches along in the background for 15 minutes

*click-click* (...Clicking of channel being changed)

News Announcer Verniel Bugspit (stock footage of a Detroit Assembly line from 1940 rolls behind Bugspit): Lights were reported today over the Superstition Mountains of New Mexico. This is the fifth sighting of unexplained light displays this week and there is again speculation among the Astronomical and Scientific Communities that the announcement from the CERN commission of Bern, Switzerland, visiting Alamagordo, New Mexico has somehow spurred this activity. 

As viewers will remember, the CERN commission declared, in a joint statement from top world scientists and religious leaders, including Vatican representatives that policies regarding suppression of any information about extra terrestrial intelligence by governments would be met with resistance. Although CERN stopped short of saying that it would employ any violence or subversion, it is widely believed that the full weight and reputation of the men and women of the commission will be influential. Even the Jesuitical PhDs are on hand to kick a few shins. 

This has given rise to the rumors that the increased activity in the skies is a sign of new attempts at contact, now that the welcome mat has come out.

Next up: the Cat Who Drove to Albuquerque. Our own Velma Bungspur has an up-to-the-minute-blow-by-blow report.

Velma: Thanks to Verniel Bugspit for that Intro. Be sure and read my Book, "the Cat Who Drove to Albuquerque" and my sequel, "The Cat Who Drove Home From Albuqueque."

*click-click* (...Clicking channel)

Ambassador Krull: This program is brought to you by U.F.O Sponges! When ordinary sponging just won't do!

 U.F.O. sponges can't be beat!

They'll help clean your satellite seat!

When you scour the rust and bust the dust, 

Your U.F.O Sponge becomes the U.F.O. bus!

(voice over) Disclaimer: Remember, only use U.F.O Sponges according to directions. Side effects include, but are not limited to: hot dog fingers, sprouting tails, horns, cloven hooves and sightings of the dead. Sponge will not allow wearer to fly. Do not immerse in water. If you experience bleeding from the gums for more than four years, be sure and call your Health Care Professional right away! U.F.O. Sponges!

Ambassador Krull: Now the moment you have all been waiting for. It's time to get this show on the road, run it up the flagpole, and jump the gun. On the signal from the official timekeepers, our intrepid teams will launch their arrays!

Timekeeper: 3... 2... 1... GO!

Swiss Sgt. Furor: Okay, we're going in. Breaker, breaker! Ricky Redshirt, you lead off; you're the obligatory dead guy. Sulu, grab your sword; whoops, wrong team. Go, go, go!!

(Computers power up) Whinnneeee. Pockata-pockata

Kitty Tokugawa: Hellllooooooooooo Kittyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Bonzai!

Deputy Kitty Hai: Bonzai! Aw, somebody please tell him. Bonzai, sheesh. This isn't "What's Up Tiger Lily, moron!" Launch, launch, launch!!!!

(Computers power up): "We Are Siamese, If You Please... We Are Siamese if you don't please...."

Deputy Kitty Hai: That's the wrong theme song! I told our esteemed Social Director to change our theme song to "Cherry Blossom Time!" And what in hell is that supposed to be, our team flag? 

(Camera pans to University of SFU flag)

Village Idiot West: Come on Fluffs, Pickles, Trotsky, and Casper! Time to launchy-launchy! 

(Computers power up; four cats hork up hairballs)

Russo Balalaika Geyer: Please to launch! There Computer Tovarisch 

Muldrayavich. For the Motherland, Pushkin, and Kruschev! And save Kiev!

Russo Balalaika Muldrayavich (rolls eyes): Power CPUs now!! Nyet, nyet, nyet. Stoy, stoy, stoy!!

Swiss Sgt Furor: Is there an echo in here?

Russo Balalaika Muldrayavich: Gruschenko, please to turn on damn wall switch! Go, go, go!

(Computers power up; Much Boeing 777 engine sounds heard)

Ambassador Krull: Annndddd, they're off! Out in front is the Swiss team, followed closely by Kitty. Russo Balalaika running third. It Takes a Village is stalled; still cleaning hairballs out of power sink!

  

Swiss Sgt Furor: Right declension at 90" altazimuth working and X, Y, Z axes holding steady at 90 degrees. Van Allen belt having minimal effect on array at this point.

Swiss Corporal Spaeckle: I have to go to the potty.

Village Skola: Declension at 47.5" altazimuth varying in performance. X and Y axes at 90 degrees. Z axis at 84 degrees. Powering auxiliary to compensate. Sunspots playing hell with the stabilizers.

(Grinding sound)

Deputy Kitty Hai: Color-coordinated pink right declension at -90" altazimuth powered down and put in reverse. X, Y, and Z at 3.1417. Damn! No pi for you! Muwahahahaha! Moon affecting readouts! We're going down in flames! Pink kitty flames!

(whistling sound)

Russo Balalaika Muldrayavich: All is true; true is to believe, belief makes all possible.

Russo Balalaiko Geyer: Is true, lunacy reigns in head.

Russo Balalaika Muldrayavich: You sound like fortune cookie. Why we talking like fortune cookies?

Ambassador Krull: And just like that, Russo Balalaika has pulled ahead by three little fuzzy points on array over Swiss to.... win!!!! Balalaikas win!

Swiss Sgt Furor (sotto voce): This thing is rigged.

Corporal Spaeckle: Back from potty! What'd I miss?

Kitty Tokugawa: Hellllooooooooooo Kittyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Bonzai! Hellllooooooooooo Kittyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Bonzai! Hellllooooooooooo Kittyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Bonzai! Hellllooooooooooo Kittyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Bonzai!...

(Robot innards fall out of Tokugawa)

Deputy Kitty Hai: Evil robot! No friend of Hello Kitty!

Village Nonsense West (to sleeping cats): There, there Fluffs, Trotsky, Pickles and Casper, try not to be upset, there's always next year, my dears.      

Ambassador Krull: And that's all the time we have! Be sure to tune in next week when Astropulse@Home competes in the Hemi-demi-semi finals for the title of "Best Smile in Senior High." It should be riveting! And know a word from Area 51 Chamber of Commerce:

Where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars...literally.

Blakely Dimbulb: Are you missing your home planet? Your city of birth? Well, come on down to the Chamber of Commerce. In a partnership with the good quadrupeds down at Area 51 Hangar, now you too can visit home any time you want! Yes, that's right! A new technological breakthrough will allow you to visit Alpha Centauri, Outer Mongolia or even San Francisco! We can't tell you about the secret technology, 'cause then we'd have to kill ya, but it involves the U.F.O. SpongeBus. Time travel is no problem either. Just be sure to book your trip last week and we'll do the rest! So, visit our friendly silicon-based life-forms at Chamber of Commerce today!

*click click* (sound of channel changing...)

...zzzz.....squeeeeeennnn...........blorp...snap!...crackle!....pop!.... oooweeeooooo

Captain: Sulu, McCoy, Spock, to the transporters, gentlemen.

Spock: One would suppose that these incursions into our space frequencies are from an alternate reality. That inference might lead one to believe that all things are possible.

McCoy: All I know is, it's possible, if not downright probable that my molecules will get scrambled if I get on that mix-master. 

(sound of channel changing...)

Scully: Did you see that, Mulder?

Mulder: What is your explanation for it Scully?

Scully: I've read and researched articles that describe very concrete reasons for this type of phenomenon. Maybe the transmission is a pirated signal as an elaborate joke. I  have also read about how radio waves bounce-

Mulder: -Scully?

Scully: Yes, Mulder?

Mulder: Put a sock in it.

"We now return control of your computer screen until next week... on the Outer Limits"

SETI@Home is an actual project run by Berkeley University and I do belong to the Villages team. I got the idea for this post from a friend who asked me if my team were retired CIA or did they just knit a lot. 

Obviously, this is not what we do. I do urge anyone who is interested to visit http://boinc.berkeley.edu/ and explore the website and join. I find this fascinating and it is wondrous to behold when compiling the arrays.

Reminiscence Snapshot: Happy that Daddy is seeing me off on a flight for a tour, we are on the People Mover (horizontal escalator.) I have my usual batch of luggage, Wolf and stuff. Daddy was never a whole lot of help, but he was just nigh-on perfect for his entertainment value. It also helped that he was about 6' 1" tall, had on a horrible windbreaker that he probably stole from some sleeping bum somewhere, because his previous one had finally petrified with decrepitude. The windbreaker had a 3-corner tear on one pocket. He had a pair of his dress work pants that had worn out at the knees (how does one manage that?) and had made cutoffs out of them. They were frayed around the edges. The outfit was complete with white engineer socks and penny loafers. He wore a pristine long-sleeve white work shirt under this get-up. Altogether, puzzling at best; creepy at worst, except that he was the world's biggest kid.

My father to the left, in his usual outfit, minus windbreaker, Ma to the right. My "godfather" trolling around in the background.

I had gotten to the end of the mover and I turned, but he was still back on the conveyor belt about 30 feet behind me... Walking backwards. He looked like something out of a Warner Brothers cartoon, legs going furiously, standing in one place. Some guy who must have been late for his flight plowed into him, just as I turned around. I heard and indignant, "Sir! Please play somewhere else!" the man huffed. My sheepish Daddy came up to me. We both started at each other for a moment and then, laughed and gibbered like hyenas until the tears rolled down our faces.