Longshot Beatles Reunion?

This story says that Israel has invited the two surviving Beatles (they call them ex-Beatles, but they'll always be Beatles whether they like it or not) to perform in the country, which snubbed the band back in 1965.

http://music.msn.com/music/article.aspx?news=295378&gt1=7702

It's one thing for Led Zeppelin to replace its dead drummer with the drummer's son, but having someone stand in for the late John Lennon and George Harrison is a different matter.

I suppose a Lennon son, either Sean or Julian, both successful musicians, could fill in for Dad.

Heck, maybe the two young Lennons could fill in for John and George, so you'd have Paul, Ringo, Sean and Julian.

That might be kind of cool, and they likely would make music better than most everything else coming out these days.

Clean Your Computer Screen, Part II

I posted this the other day but took it down because the link was broken.

It's back up, so here it is again:

http://www.linein.org/media/screenclean.swf

If it breaks again, I'll just leave it here anyway.

Timewaster Of The Week-Jan. 28

Blob Wars.

At first, I thought this would be easy and stupid:

http://www.freeworldgroup.com/games/kwikgames/blobwars/

However, I got owned the first couple of times I've played it and have yet to win. I haven't figured out the right strategy yet.

Good luck.

A Briefly Upset Enterprise Subscriber

Readers often call The Beaumont Enterprise newsroom to complain about not getting their paper.
If they call me and are particularly angry, refusing to let me transfer them to circulation, I often use this line: "No one wants you to get your newspaper more than me. Please let me help you get to someone who can help."
And I mean it.
Of course, I'm sure the publisher, editor and others care as much, but my point is to let the reader know that I spend a lot of hours up here coordinating and editing news coverage, and if the fruits of that labor fail to show up for a reader, well that pains me, too.
I don't envy the circulation director's job. He's where the rubber hits the road in regard to customer service, and the potential headaches are endless, from absent carriers to heavy rain to equipment breakdowns.
I can relate to those who sometimes don't get their morning paper. I've taken the newspaper at home for almost seven years, and I can count on one hand the number of times it failed to arrive in the morning. That's an amazing success percentage.
However, it doesn't make it any less aggravating when it doesn't arrive every now and then after I've looked forward to pouring over the Sunday morning sports section while eating breakfast burritos and gulping coffee.
Like any other reader, the first thought is: "^%$#@!!! WHERE'S MY PAPER!! I'M GOING TO CANCEL MY SUBSCRIPTION!!! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"
The second thought is: "Oh well, I'm sure there's a reason, so I'll just call circulation and see if they can deliver me one."
I also chuckle over what might happen if I succumbed to the knee-jerk reaction. I could see this headline posted on web sites and blogs all across America: "Editor cancels subscription to own paper."
The potential consequences for such a thing could be brutal.
When I've called to report a circulation problem, the folks on the other side of the line always are courteous and eager to help. Seeing as these people get to work mighty early, I admire their cheerfulness. They even call later in the morning to make sure the problem was solved.
It's no secret that the newspaper industry is in a state of transition, broadening the focus on the printed product to becoming multimedia operations and a community's top resource for news, information and entertainment.
It's a scary yet exciting time for newspapers. Some day, I'll be able to sit in my front-porch rocking chair and reflect on a career that saw the introduction of computers to a newsroom, the creation of online newspapers, newspapers becoming multimedia operations and perhaps even the demise of the printed product.
For now, I'm still going to enjoy putting on my sandals around sunrise, strolling down the driveway, picking up my newspaper, taking stock of the quiet neighborhood and then reading our daily miracle over breakfast.

Timewaster Of The Week-Jan. 21

If a Timewaster Hall of Fame were created, this would be the first inductee:

http://blueballfixed.ytmnd.com/

It's simply ridiculous, but my kids found it highly entertaining when I pulled it up over the weekend. Whoever created it had way too much time to waste.

The music is "Breakfast Machine," which Danny Elfman composed for "Pee Wee's Big Adventure."

Little Things That No One Seems To Have

Being an apprentice at home and car repairs, I shouldn't be tackling projects so complicated that the local stores can't meet my material needs.
However, in the past 18 months, the quest to find certain items has gone from frustrating to hair-pulling to resignation.
Examples:

Window Muttons
Our home is missing a couple of the little crossbar thingies, but they cannot be found in any Beaumont home-improvement stores. You pretty much have to buy the whole shooting match.

Glass
I need a piece of glass, but the search has been frustrating. One major home-improvement store carries the size but won't cut it. Another cuts glass but doesn't have anything big enough. It is doubtful I can buy the glass at one place and have it cut at the other. I guess I'll have to go to a glass place.

Window Screens
Pre-constructed window frames seem to be a thing of the past. A few places carry them, but they're not the size I need. What a homeowner has to do these days is buy the parts and build screens himself. What's next? Building AC filters to fit?

Brick-sized Tiles
The upstairs fireplace needed two tiles. I needed something the dimensions of a brick, only about half as thick. All the home-improvement places had were the big floor tiles. Finally, someone at a hoity-toity tile place sent me to a brick place. The brick place had the size I needed but not the color, so I decided to go ahead and get the bricks and then just paint all the bricks one color - black. To obtain the bricks, I had to drive across town to the brickyard - and pay with exact change. However, the brickyard people told me I had to pay at the initial place, so I drove my exact change and two bricks back to the first place. They again said I couldn't pay there and called the brickyard. After 10 minutes of conversation, they just threw up their hands and said the bricks were free. That was nice of them. Oh, and the fireplace looks GREAT.

Window Locks
All they have at the home-improvement stores are the big expensive ones. I just need a couple of the wingnut-looking ones to replace some old ones. After an intensive search, I finally found them, but whoa are they expensive!

AC Vent Plate
During some master bathroom reconstruction under our home's previous owner, half an AC vent got covered up, and the other half was just a plateless hole that allowed an unacceptable percentage of expensive air to do little more than keep a toilet cold or toasty. The choice was to either put a grating on there or cover the sucker completely. Unable to find the right size, I used a hacksaw to cut an old grating in half. It looks like crap, and it busted the saw blade, but the grating will do for now.

Door
I have some old stained glass that would be perfect for a door. I also have a door with some cracked glass (see above). My wife cracked the glass awhile back. My youngest son, Luke, was playing with a backyard guy wire for a power pole. My wife thought he was playing with a live power line and, to get the boy's attention, smacked on the window, which cracked. I'm not really sure how to repair it, so what I want find a door and install that stained glass. However, finding a door with the proper hole size has been futile. Besides, doors are wicked expensive, and a custom door built for stained glass would cost thousands. All I want is an old door with a proper hole in it. Heck, I'd take solid block of wood that fits the doorway and cut a hole myself. If you've got any non-expensive ideas, let me know.

Ski Mask
There have been some odd disappearances around the house. Missing are some of my dad's bolo ties, a tape measure and now the ski mask I wear while running in the cold. I wore it in anything under 40 degrees. It went missing, and a massive quest for a replacement has been a failure. Most stores carry the hat, but they don't have the pull-out mask. Academy and Gander Mountain folks said they sold out months ago. That's some pretty bizarre demand for Beaumont. I had to settle for a ski hat I bought at a dollar store for, yep, $1. Woot!

Sombrero
This is my current mission. Yesterday, I drove all around The Avenues area of town, looking for a stupid sombrero to send to a friend in Chicago who recently visited San Antonio. He bought a sombrero and tried to bring it on the plane, but security confiscated it. I'm not sure of the link between sombreros and terrorism, but I'll leave it at that. Anyway, I hit a bunch of stores looking for a sombrero but couldn't find one. I don't know about the door, ski mask, screens, glass, AC vent plate or window locks, but I'm going to find a damned sombrero if it's the last thing I do.

Timewaster Of The Week-Jan. 14

http://www.nekogames.jp/mt/2008/01/cursor10.html

I didn't really play this and am unsure of the goal.

You click on stairs and then move up floors.

Whatever.

Good luck.

Tiny But Meaningful Discoveries In Wood

The sawed-off shuffleboard table served as a desk for perhaps more than three decades.
In its early days, countless English papers, math problems, science projects and books passed over its smooth, expertly finished service. Sometime during the 1990s, it became home to the household's first computer.
Where the wood came from and when it appeared in my boyhood home remain a mystery. My dad, who turned the shuffleboard into a desk, passed away a year ago this Sunday, and my mom can't remember when he refinished the thing and added legs.
After I left for college in fall 1981, Dad turned my old bedroom into an office, where he worked at the desk as a self-employed mechanical engineer right into his 70s. At some point, the legs, always a bit wobbly, came off, and the shuffleboard was placed atop two filing cabinets to make a sturdier desk.
After he retired, Dad spent hours on the computer on that desk, playing games, sending e-mails and checking his stocks.
As widows often do after their spouse's passing, Mom the past year made it a mission to do some redecorating, starting with my old bedroom. My parents moved into that Houston house on their wedding night in June 1962, and I was born nine months and two days later.
Mom wanted the shuffleboard out of the house, and I jumped at taking it. The thing weighs about 100 pounds, and it almost fell off my car three times on the way from Houston to Pinewood.
The mission is to turn it into a table to put behind a couch , starting with a labor-intensive refinishing job, which began late last year.
Over the years, the shuffleboard collected all manner of nicks, gouges and stains, so it took getting to bare wood before staining and polishing could start.
A sander didn't work, so in came the stain remover and muscle-burning scraping. Then it came time for fine sanding. During that stage, something dark emerged on the shuffleboard's surface. A closer look revealed a hand print. I placed my hand over it, and it was a perfect fit.
Only it wasn't my hand print; it was my father's.
At some point while laboring on the table, he stuck his sweaty palm on there and left a near-permanent mark. The discovery sent a chill, and the sanding of the top stopped.
Then came the edges, sanding and sanding, working around the table. Then something else, something that looked like letters, drew attention. Getting inches away, another chilling discovery was made: "CURT T. PEARSON."
Using a wood stamp, Dad had left his mark. The sanding stopped again.
Little discoveries and surprise glimpses into the past like this keep coming with every box of possessions brought from Houston. From tiny tools and drawings to bigger stuff such as the shuffleboard, they provide fascinating pieces to the 89-year puzzle that was Dad's life.
Sunday, the anniversary of his death, will be an emotional day. I'll mark it by grilling steaks, drinking a couple of beers and maybe watching some football and that new cowboy series on prime-time TV.
Perhaps I'll work on the shuffleboard. I want to take my time.
And when it's finished, a name in tiny type will be added next to my father's, but I'll do it when my two sons aren't looking.

Curt T. Pearson
1919-2007

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kTeTIDIC1k

Boom!

About an hour ago, something went boom, vibrating Beaumont Enterprise newsroom chairs, rattling windows and raising curiosity. Then it went boom again ... and again.
It reminded me of the sound made at the Corpus Christi Caller-Times, where I worked as a reporter back in the early 1990s, when pressmen unloaded paper rolls from trucks. We were on the second or third floor, and those rolls really rumbled when they hit the ground down in the pressroom.
I've been here almost seven years and have never heard such a thing. These booms were louder, more like artillery practice that goes on almost day and night at Fort Hood in Central Texas.
We soon learned that this morning's booms, which are still going, are from seismic testing, used in the hunt to find oil. With oil prices kissing $100 a barrel, the frenzy is on to find more Southeast Texas Tea.
Seismic testing has raised controversy in the region, with residents, particularly in Orange County, complaining about the noise and alleged damage to properties. The companies conducting the testing have assured that while the noise might be annoying, the testing is doing no damage.
Now, like fire ants spreading out from a freshly kicked mound, oil hunters apparently have arrived in Beaumont.
A reporter is in hot pursuit of the source. For all we know, the testing could be 10 to 20 miles away.
Having lived for four years around Killeen, home to one of the world's largest military installations, I'm used to this kind of boom. The Fort Hood booms sometimes were strong enough to make wall hangings go cockeyed.
If you live and work in a military town, you have to get used to this kind of thing. Living in Southeast Texas, an oil patch poised on the brink of an industrial boom not seen since the mighty Spindletop, seismic testing just comes with the territory.
In my mind, every boom might as well be the sound of a cash register.
Ka-ching!

Timewaster Of The Week-Jan. 4

OK, I usually post these on Mondays, but it's a Friday on a holiday-compromised, three-day work week, which means we're really not back to work yet, right?
So what better way to kill a few minutes than to toss paper wads into a basket - Internet-style:

http://www.jupitercolour.co.uk/dvdf/throwpaper.swf

It's pretty simple. You throw paper into a basket, but there's a catch. You have to compensate for a fan!
Thanks to a loyal reader for sending me this one!

Random Holiday Realizations

I'm back to work after being off for almost two weeks, and I return with some newfound knowledge cultivated over the holiday season:

1.) Pictures with Santa are expensive.

I can't recall exactly how much they used to cost for those precious mall Santa photos, but I paid almost $20 and only got a 3-by-5 and a couple of teeny keychain-sized pictures. Sadly, neither of my kids were crying or picking their noses, so I didn't even get my favorite kind of Santa shot. Oh well.

2.) Bowling alleys open early.

I don't know where the idea sprouted, but last week we decided to go bowling on a weekday - and a weekday morning at that. I went online to check the hours, and a Beaumont bowling alley got rolling at 8:30 a.m. Who the heck goes bowling that early? We got there around 10:30 and bowled for an hour, with only two other lanes in use. What's great is that even little kids can bowl, with bumpers blocking the gutters and metal ramps for the kids to roll down balls. Thanks to that ramp, my 5-year-old, Curt, whipped my butt, easily beating my 108 with his 136. He managed to get three strikes, too, while I only got a couple of lousy spares.

3.) Pinewood does not like my band.

For the past two years, I've played trumpet in a local rock band called Buffalo Blonde. I had this dream of setting up the band on the half-court basketball court in my Pinewood back yard, with a tall grove of bamboo as a backdrop. On Saturday, my dream was realized. I extended invitations to friends, co-workers and every neighbor within a two-house radius. I hear bands playing out there all the time on weekends, so I figured no one would mind, particularly because we were just playing in the afternoon. We managed to play only about an hour before a Hardin County sheriff's deputy showed up and told us to "Turn that [expletive] off," which we grudgingly did. I guess my invitation radius wasn't large enough. However, that didn't dampen the party, which went on until almost midnight. Side realization: Why didn't the previous owner who built the basketball court instead put the money toward paving the gravel driveway?

4.) Potato salad doesn't keep very long when not refrigerated.

About 4 a.m. the day after the party, my wife was slow dancing with Mr. Porcelain. It obviously was food poisoning, so I went through a mental checklist of what she might have eaten that I didn't and came up with potato salad. The next morning, I went downstairs to find a big bowl coated with potato-salad residue. The wife before retiring had eaten a heaping helping of the stuff, which had been sitting out at room temperature for hours. It'll be a long time before she can look at potato salad again.

5.)Gingerbread house was a disaster.

Just before Christmas, I was in a last-minute shopping frenzy along Dowlen Road, which is like a parking lot around that time of year, with cars barely moving. My wife called me on my cell and asked me to get a gingerbread house kit, which I found for $21 after hitting a half dozen stores. I told the wife that it had better be a GREAT gingerbread house. However, it was a disaster. Fully constructed, it looked like something out of the Ninth Ward of New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina. Within days, things started falling off and walls began falling in. What made it worse is that I learned that you can't even eat a gingerbread house. The gingerbread is similar to brick on the hardness scale. Nevertheless, I was determined to get my money's worth, which brings me to my final random holiday realization:

6.) Gingerbread houses burn great.

My first idea was to pack the gingerbread house remains with explosives on New Year's Eve, but I was concerned about harmful shrapnel, so I decided to burn it. During our eye-popping frontyard fireworks display Monday night, I placed the gingerbread house at the end of the driveway, poured lighter fluid on it and set it ablaze. Not only did it burn for a long time, it smelled pretty good.

With the boys getting older, we don't have many Santa photo opportunities left. I can't say we'll go bowling again next holiday season. My band will never play my back yard again, and my kids might be in college before there is potato salad in the house.

But one thing is certain: If I can find a cheaper gingerbread-house kit, I'm going to make it an annual tradition to end the holiday season in a spectacular blaze of gumdrop-dripping glory.