Play One on TV

I’m always a sucker for a good Top Ten list, especially ones about Star Trek that are written by my brother.

(…not jealously wishing I had written some of those myself…)

A couple of nights ago, I was the victim… er, I mean the subject of a sleep study. It seems that I might be suffering from that modern-day male malady known as sleep apnea.

My journey to the sleep lab began with a rather insistent plea from my wife, who was becoming concerned at my new-found ability to suspend breathing for upwards of a minute at a time. Normally, this would not be cause for alarm, but I was doing this in my sleep. Considering that my snoring has been likened to the braying of a grizzly bear in the throes of indigestion, you would think that occasional bouts of nighttime silence would be welcome. Nonetheless, her panicked pronouncements of, “Oh, my God, you’re not breathing!” finally convinced me to visit the family doctor.

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The whole kerfluffle over Walgreens and the professionalism of their pharmacy staff does not surprise me. I was a Walgreens customer for several years, having them fill my synthetic thyroid supplement (I don’t have a thyroid gland) as well as the hundreds of thousands of medications required to raise a child in modern America (including the occasional medication for the child.)

I never found any personally disparaging remarks on my own pharmacy paperwork, but I was less than impressed with Walgreens’ ability to competently fill a prescription. I cannot remember how many times I called in a refill, waiting about 48 hours, and then went in only to be told the item was out of stock or “on the way.”

I finally switched to Albertson’s pharmacy to reduce my “standing and arguing at the pharmacy” hours. What really iced the cake is that they saved me $10 a month. My thyroid hormone prescription is at an unusual level — .25 milligrams daily — and most pharmacies don’t stock this esoteric size. Walgreens filled this by giving me two bottles, one at .20 mg and one at .5 mg, charging me a separate insurance co-pay for each bottle. The Albertsons pharmacist took a look at my bottles and asked me, “Why didn’t they just give you a doubled amount of .125 pills? One bottle means only one copay.”

Why indeed? The only answers that come to mind involve the words unimaginative ripoff sons of so-and-so’s, but those are the kinds of comments that got Walgreens in trouble in the first place, so I’ll exercise some restraint. Like I have time for a class-action lawsuit.

Via Lynn and Chaz.

Just a quick note to advise that any rumors of my kidnapping are completely false. I’m still alive; just incredibly busy this last weekend (campout, sleep study, audience with the Queen of England — you know, stuff.)

In the meantime, I notice that it’s now safe for Christians to walk the streets of Afghanistan again. Nice to know that I can occasionally be out of pocket, yet the world can work out these little problems by itself.

Or maybe not.

Congratulations. It’s a blogger.

My brother has opened up his own blog home. Go over and give a gander at He Likes It - Hey Mikey. Mike is just starting out, but he’s already written up quite a storm of material. He’s coming up with things that I jealously wish I’d thought of first.

Aside from an odd penchant for Barry Manilow tunes (and I hasten to add that this is not my fault) he’s a pretty clever guy. I’m sure he gets it from me.

Welcome to the blogosphere, little bro. Don’t let the spammers get you down.

To recap the weather situation in Oklahoma:

• Seven days ago, I was wearing shorts and my air conditioner was running.
• Six days ago, I was wearing a raincoat and changing my socks after every walk outside.
• Four days ago, I was eyeballing the first tornadoes of spring.
• Three days ago, I was wearing a heavy coat and had turned the central heat back on.
• This morning, I was using a broom to brush a half-foot of snow off my car.
• This afternoon, I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt.
• This evening, I was back in the coat and wishing I could live someplace normal, like New Mexico.

I’m going camping with the Boy Scout troop this weekend. I had better make the appointment with the orthopedist for next Monday, because my backpack is going to be carrying one of everything.

Undercover agents from the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission are arresting bar patrons for — get this — being drunk in public. Drunk people in bars? Never saw that one coming.

From the Reuters article:

Being in a bar does not exempt one from the state laws against public drunkenness, (Commissioner) Beck said. The goal, she said, was to detain drunks before they leave a bar and go do something dangerous like drive a car.

On the surface, this sounds reasonable. The only problem is that the TABC isn’t just targeting those who will eventually need to drive home. They’re also arresting patrons in hotel bars — actual guests of the hotel, to be precise. The whole “might do something dangerous” argument kind of loses steam when you’re talking about overweight out-of-town insurance salesmen at the local Best Western. Maybe the TABC worries that a drunk patron will run over and kill someone on that long walk to room 185.

If you ask me, someone in the TABC needed to make a boat payment and hit on this idea as a surefire fundraiser. Heck, these tickets practically write themselves! At this moment, revenue-minded sheriffs in every podunk town in Texas are saying to themselves, “Hey, why didn’t I think of that?”

Any resemblance to a Dukes of Hazzard episode is purely coincidental.

Last Sunday, my wife became the proud owner of a Beretta Neos DLX 6-inch .22 target pistol. It’s the ray-gun looking thing on the left. The following day, she took it to the gun range and demonstrated her ability to shoot two-inch groups while rapid-firing at 25 feet. Her grin was terrible to behold.

The Beretta Queen rides again!

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Anyone here remember The A-Team ? You know — crack team of commandoes, military tribunal sends them to prison for a crime they didn’t commit, mercenaries searching for a cause, shooting guns, flying jeeps, explosions, crazy pilots, zany schemes, Mr. T, and so on.

For the unitiated, The A-Team was one in a string of hit television shows from the 1980’s that sprung from the mind of producer Stephen J. Cannell. The show chronicles the activities of a group of renegade soldiers who made a living by renting themselves out to hopeless causes. The show was violent, capricious, irreverent, maniacal, and had enough testosterone to fill the shoes of every teenage male in America. In short, it was fun! If you have not seen it, get thee to a retro television station and be enlightened.

The A-Team gave new life to the career of veteran actor George Peppard, extended the career of pretty-boy Dirk Benedict, introduced the world to the comedic stylings of Dwight Schultz, and single-handedly both began and ended the career of veteran fool-pitier Mr. T. The show also taught legions of viewers the possibilities inherent in a roll of duct tape, a pile of copper pipe, and two packs of chewing gum (all of this long before MacGyver came along and made a religion of it).

The show also taught me a thing or two about life. Such as:

• Gray hair is cool and sexy when accompanied by a weathered face. My hair is gray, but I’m missing the other half of the formula (but not for long, I fear).
• Watch out for the fellow wearing the baseball cap - if anyone in the crowd is absolutely nuts, it will be the one in the cap.
• It is possible to empty an entire magazine of 9mm or .223 rounds point blank at a group of opponents without actually hitting any of them. Despite this, they will usually surrender.
• Behind every road obstacle is a ramp or other object suitable for catapulting an oncoming vehicle into the air. A direct hit from a bazooka will also accomplish the same feat.
• You must always describe a group of commandoes as “a crack team of commandoes.” Whenever you see the commando want ads, they always want a “crack” team. If you advertise yourself as a “mediocre but usually effective team of commandoes” nobody will hire you.
• Gravity works.
• One can easily subdue a large, muscular, mohawked and gold-chained black man using a variety of sneaky and surreptitious ways in order to drag him aboard an aircraft. When he wakes up, he will inexplicably decline to beat the crap out of you.
• It is ridiculously easy to break out of a mental hospital.
• In the 1980’s, nobody wore seat belts, especially when engaged in high-speed chases across rough terrain. This in no way endangered the occupants of said vehicles.
• If I ever become a bad guy, I need to make sure that all of the vehicles in my motor pool possess roll bars.
• If you want to imprison a crack team of commandoes, do not lock them in the tool shed.
• If you carry around a pungent cigars with you at all times, you can easily blend into almost any situation.
• A successful mercenary squad must change out the token girl member once per year.
• If you are a military fugitive, the best way to avoid capture is to drive the same distinctive van from city to city in broad daylight and on well-traveled streets. To maximize this effect, one should always exceed the speed limit and squeal the tires at intersections and turns.
• If you need to hire a crack team of commandoes but are short on funds, sway them with a suitable group of helpless, pitiable people (starving children, Latvian immigrants, small business owners, nuns, etc.)
• Anything worth doing is worth doing twice, mainly because you will always screw up the first time.
• When faced with the difficulties of life, always have a plan. And lots of illegal firearms.

My buddy Fred is always looking out for my entertainment needs. Tonight, he pointed me towards the Sci-Fi Channel premiere of the revived BBC series Doctor Who.

For those of you unfamiliar with the longest-running science fiction television series in history, suffice to say that (a) it is cheesy, (b) it is British, and (c) it is fun. Not necessarily all at the same time. If you really don’t know what I’m talking about, the Wikipedia article might help. But not much.

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10. Agree to let him in only if he is willing to listen to your pitch on behalf of the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

9. With a a wild-eyed look and a quaver in your voice, ask him if he is the replacement agent from the surveillance team. Regardless of how he answers, answer “Thank God. I can’t take any more!” Hand him a pair of binoculars and leave the house for about an hour.

8. During the opening interview, pull out a cigarette and light it, making sounds of absolute pleasure every time you take a drag. In between bouts of hacking and spitting of yellow phlegm, ask repeatedly about coverage limits and when the first premium is due. Occasionally look at your watch and hurriedly drag on the cigarette again.

7. Ask if his firm offers a rider for coverage in the event you find rats in your Coke can.

6. Answer the door in a sequined purple g-string, dancing to the sounds of the Weather Girls hit “It’s Raining Men” playing loudly on your home stereo. (Bonus: be an overweight white guy in his forties).

5. Begin every sentence with the phrase, “Parenthetically speaking, of course…” while making a parenthesis sign with your hands.

4. When he starts to ask you questions about income, personal health, or existing coverage, decline to answer on the grounds that it may violate your Fifth Amendment rights against self-incrimination.

3. When reviewing the contract, take a big red pen and heavily circle every clause that makes reference to “suicide.” When he asks you about this, say, “Oh, this isn’t for your benefit. It’s for theirs.” Waggle your eyebrows and make surreptitious head motions to the ceiling.

2. Ask if your other five distinct personalities are covered under the same policy, or if a rider will need to be purchased for each one. Ask if the addition of a new personality qualifies as a “life-changing event” for purposes of coverage adjustment.

1. Spend the entire interview speaking just like Emo Philips.

Sean Gleason would like you to know that there is no Dreamhost phone number. This isn’t a problem for me — Dreamhost representatives are downright chatty when it comes to emails, and they have provided me with fantastic service to date.

It’s just as well that they don’t answer the phone — I never learned to speak Californian. All I can manage is a few stock phrases, such as, “So, like, so where is the bathroom, dude? Omigod.”

So I hear that the new Iraqi parliament was sworn into office today.

Wow - a brand-new democracy and they’re already swearing. Glad to see they’re paying attention.

I can’t wait to see their first intern scandal. But knowing the region, it will probably involve a pipe bomb instead of a cigar.

If you’re ever hard up for something to write in your next blog entry, I have an excellent suggestion: Walk into the middle of an armed robbery.

Last night, I was driving home from a dinner party when I had a sudden urge for a Diet Coke. I pulled into the local Circle K (Kwick Stop, Quick Mart, whatever the heck they’re calling it this week) and told my wife and son to wait in the truck.

Nothing much was going on inside — a rather harried-looking female clerk was at the counter, assisting a man who was blowing his nose into a very large red bandana. The man turned to me and calmly ordered me to lie down on the floor, and punctuated this simple request with a rather large handgun. Obviously, this man did not have a cold.

I suddenly became very interested in the state and composition of the tiling underneath my feet.

The rest of the affair took less than a minute. There was the expected demand of “gimme the money” followed by the sound of a register drawer being emptied into a bag. The fellow then walked directly past me and out of the store, while I did my best impersonation of the most harmless, least threatening person on the entire planet.

While I was lying there trying to become one with the tile, I was surprised at how calmly I was reacting to the entire incident. Although my heart was skipping more than a few beats, I wasn’t screaming, crying, or losing control of voluntary muscles. In fact, the primary thought running through my head was, “Man, it would really suck if I got shot in front of my family over a Diet Coke.” My real concern was for my family, but I need not have worried. They reacted to my sudden interest in prone activities by diving for the floorboards of the truck and dialing 911.

I’ve heard that people involved in moments of crisis often have the surreal feeling of “this isn’t really happening.” I won’t say that I was in total denial, but I did have this sense that I was part of a carefully-prepared script. He was the robber, she was the clerk, and I was the bystander. None of us, as far as I could tell, were angry, on methamphetamine, or a black belt waiting for a chance to be Chuck Norris. He came, he took, he left, and then all hell broke loose as police officers from three municipalities came storming in the front door.

The only thing missing was the “Bad Boys” soundtrack.

I gave the police the best description I could — man with slight build, about 5 foot 7 inches in height, black, wearing a navy blue cloth jacket in either a hoodie or athletic style, black bandana on head tied in a tight “doo-rag” style, carrying a red bandana that looked like something John Wayne would tie around his neck, and wearing soft-soled shoes (judging from the sound he made as he stepped over my head). Didn’t see his whole face, didn’t read the logo on his shirt, didn’t see what shoes he had. Yep, not much to go on.

Oh, and he had a large, Colt 1911A2-style semi-automatic handgun in .45 ACP with a nickel-plate finish and a full underlug. Having a gun pointed at you can really focus your memory.

I’m not sure if they caught the guy. He left the store on foot, leaving behind a cloth bandana (ironically, one with $100 bills printed all over it). Judging from the five police cars, one police helicopter, and one K-9 unit scouring the neighborhood, my new acquaintance was not going to have an easy night.

As I was driving home, I complained to my wife that it wasn’t fair; she’s the one that works at a bank, so I’ve always assumed that she would be the first one to experience a real American armed robbery. She didn’t think I was funny, and neither did my son. I guess I was being a little callous — they had to watch the whole thing, helplessly, wondering if I was going to walk out alive.

Melodrama aside, we learned a thing or two about how important we are to each other. I also learned a thing or two about myself. I tend to panic when my checkbook doesn’t balance or when a computer crashes at work. It’s good to know that when my life is threatened, I’m as cool as a cucumber. Granted, I would rather have not learned this at all, but I’ll take what I can get.

I’m just peeved that I didn’t ever get my Diet Coke.

BERKELEY (AP) —The casual use of marijuana can cause memory loss and other cognitive problems related to memory, said researchers on Tuesday.

“People who smoke marijuana as little as one or two times per week can show marked signs of memory loss, attention span, and memory loss when used as little as one or two times space of one week,” said Dr. Justin Grindley, head fellow of the Benevolent Marijuana Institute in Berkeley, California.

“In addition, attention span can suffer to the point that the user often forgets what he or she was…uh….” added Grindley.

This startling evidence flies in the face of previous studies that found only regular and sustained use over time can impact brain functions in a measurable way, he said.

Researchers arrived at their conclusions following several months of exhaustive study that began in July 2004, December 2004, March 2005, and again in October 2005. It was only after the results of the first two studies were found again during a “doobage search” that researchers remembered their previous experiments and managed to correlate their findings across all four research attempts.

“Once we found the earlier documents and read what we had written with our own two hands, we were amazed,” said Grindley. “The results were obvious once we cross-referenced the data. Fortunately, whoever did this research used the same handwriting style as my own, so it was easy for me to comprehend the details.”

Dr. Gina Munson, assistant researcher at the BMI, added, “Dude, don’t bogart that.” This was in reference to the joint that Dr. Grindley was smoking during the interview.

“Man, I think I remember reading something about these things causing memory loss,” said Grindley as he examined the joint.

“We should look into that,” agreed Munson.

Grindley stated that the BMI would soon be launching an expanded study of marijuana use to determine “whether or not there’s any truth to the idea that marijuana use can lead to memory loss.”

IN TOMORROW’S COLUMN: Scientists discover that marijuana use can lead to memory loss and a decreased attenti… um… have to remember to finish this before turning it in to the editor…

Editor’s note: This idea stolen from a running gag at Okiedoke. I think.

Ottoman Empire. Don’t ask me why, but that phrase always triggers the image of a large army of swordsmen riding incredibly comfortable stools by Broyhill, Lane, and Henredon.

According to the Wikipedia article, ottomans are also called poufs. This does nothing helpful for my mental image.

Don’t even get me started on Turkish Delight.

I really shouldn’t be letting my brain out this early in the morning.

This morning, two Boy Scouts from my troop were awarded their Ad Altare Dei medals. The phrase is from Latin and means “To the Altar of God.” The medal is awarded to Boy Scouts of the Roman Catholic faith who complete a rigorous 6-8 month course of religious study. Despite the fact that Boy Scouting lists “duty to God” as one of its guiding principles, fewer than 4% of all Scouts earn their religious medal. So I felt it was important for me, their Scoutmaster, to be on hand to congratulate them.

These medals are usually presented in a ceremony before the Scout’s congregation. This being a Catholic medal, it followed that the ceremony would take place in a Catholic church. This presented a bit of a problem for me, an ex-Catholic.

To say that I am “ex-Catholic” is like saying that Pete Rose is an ex-baseball player. 20 years ago, I left the mother church and never looked back (having remembered the story of Lot’s wife). Today, I am a very happy and productive member of a decidedly non-Catholic church. Nonetheless, this morning was greeted by the sight of me stepping into a Catholic church for the first time in many a year. Much to my surprise, I didn’t burst into flame in the foyer.

Perhaps I should go back and explain a few things.

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From my old high-school buddy Walsfeo, who is currently attending graduate school back east:

If you add the words “in your trunk” to the end of the question “at what point will a freezing can of Dr. Pepper Burst” the answer becomes much more important.

And they say you never learn anything practical in grad school.

Editors note: The link does contain a truly bizarre avatar graphic that is NSFW (not safe for work) but you have to scroll down a bit to see it. You have been warned.

My sister, Jane, and her children recently took exception to my comment that the Wiggles contained “homosexual overtones.” Okay, perhaps I went a little overboard. I really meant to say “Star Trek overtones.” I dare you to look at those primary colors and tell me you don’t see a bunch of guys pretending to be Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and the security officer of the week.

Not merely satisfied with simple chastisement, my sister went and dug up a little blackmail material. She didn’t say much except to hand me a photograph and give me her infamous “raised eyebrow” look. What did she want from me? Money? Power? Free tickets to “Wiggles on Ice”?

Whatever it was, I wasn’t about to let her keep the upper hand. I cannot tolerate it when someone is holding dirt over me, especially family. I am therefore taking the initiative away from her by coming clean with my public.

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I loves me some violin. I loves me some jazz. I loves me some Cole Porter. Normally, I’m lucky if I get two out of three on that list.

Until now.

Note: This is my first experiment with using embedded video on this site, courtesy of the deep pockets at YouTube. Like many things in life, it works better on a broadband connection. Let me know how it works for you.

Near the close of business yesterday, my benevolent employer sent out a general-attention email.

The National Weather Service has issued a TORNADO WATCH for Oklahoma County…

My reaction? “Aww-right! First sign of spring! Bring it on, baby! Woo-HOO!!!”

If the stunned silence around me was any indication, I probably should have remembered that most of my coworkers live in Moore.

I remember back in 1998 when everyone was calling Matt Drudge the “new face of journalism” (and many other much-more colorful names). Since then, blogs have been hailed as some sort of Second Coming of Righteous Journalism, here to teach big media the error of its ways.

Me? I wasn’t buying it. “Poppycock,” I would scoff (or “Fiddle-Faddle” if the store was out of Poppycock). Amateur gossip mongers replacing the venerable fourth estate? Never! This particular web surfer swore he would never rely on mere bloggers as a primary news resource.

Never name that well from which you will not drink.

You may remember that I was recently brainwashed into becoming a Hornets fan. This evening, I found myself wondering how the Boys from Big Easy fared in tonight’s game. This was their first showing in New Orleans since Hurricane Katrina gave them the longest “away” tour in NBA history.

So where did I go for my “primary news source” — Sports Illustrated? NBA.com? ESPN? Nope — I went to Dustbury. Yes, I went to a mere blogger (albeit a very good mere blogger) for my news fix. I won’t say that the earth shook, but my desk might have bobbled once or twice.

So much for the strength of my convictions. If anyone has any dead crows laying around, I’ll gladly eat them along with my words.

PS: If I’m not mistaken, Dustbury scooped The Oklahoman (a real newspaper… sort of) by several minutes. Not too shabby!

PPS: The Hornets lost.

With the restlessness and uncertainty in today’s world, one can easily fall prey to feelings of helplessness and despair. Will we work out our problems? Will my child have a world to grow up in? Will I die before Jack Bauer?

If this describes you, then take heart that the International Earth-Destruction Advisory Board is there to keep you advised. From their mission statement:

The International Earth Destruction Advisory Board (IEDAB) is an independent scientific institution which monitors the current status of the Earth and the number of times it has been destroyed. In the event of the Earth being destroyed it will be the IEDAB’s job to relay this information to people who need to know and provide advice on how to proceed.

The IEDAB is funded entirely by charitable donations.

Thanks to the efforts of this noble organization, you need not fear being surprised or embarassed by the unexpected destruction of the Earth.

Play One on TV supports the rights of its readers to fair and balanced coverage of this important statistic. Henceforth, our sidebar will feature a graphic that is directly linked to the IEDAB. It will always reflect the Current Earth Status, which at the time of this writing is GREEN.

It is my hope that this will demonstrate this site’s committment to the application of science in the public interest.

Via Multiple Mentality.

The American Medical Association is warning girls not to go wild on spring break. From the AP news story:

All but confirming what goes on in those “Girls Gone Wild” videos, 83 percent of college women and graduates surveyed by the AMA said spring break involves
heavier-than-usual drinking, and 74 percent said the break results in increased sexual activity.

It is not known what effect this announcement will have on Mantra Entertainment, the marketing company behind the popular “Girls Gone Wild” video series. Spokespersons from the Surgeon General and the tobacco industry were unavailable for comment.

No word yet if the AMA plans to expand its campaign to include other potentially harmful and debilitating video productions. Possible candidates include:

• Warning convicted felons not to be chased by police.
• Warning children to stay away from parents with camcorders.
• Warning Regis and Kelly not to go live.
• Warning David Hasselhoff.

To summarize the events of the last year or so:

• Southwestern Bell buys AT&T.
• Southwestern Bell renames itself as “AT&T”. The all-seeing eye lives once more.
• AT&T announces it will be raising Oklahoma local rates for the first time in 20 years.
• AT&T buys BellSouth, the dominant phone provider for the southeast USA.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m all for corporate success and the “trickle-down” theory. But didn’t we recently (about 20 years ago) go through a heck of lot of trouble to break up the Bell system? Yet here we are, watching Ma Bell slowly reassemble herself like a zombie from one of George Romero’s movies.

Something made me think of the word bellicose in relation to all of this. I wasn’t sure why the word came to mind, other than the “bell” resemblance, so I looked it up. “Warlike in nature; aggressive; hostile. Showing or having the impulse to be combative.” Yep, it figures.

You can call me paranoid, but the call will cost you an extra $1.90 per month.

Lynn got me hooked on a blog called 75 Degrees South. The title refers to a measure of latitude. For those of you not up to speed on your geography or geometry, that’s way, way, way down south. In Antarctica, to be precise.

75 Degrees South is the personal journal of a scientist who has spent the last two years working for the British Antarctic Survey at Halley Station, situated on the Brunt Ice Shelf. I’d tell you where it is in relation to the rest of the world, but I can’t — being an ice shelf, it’s constantly in motion.

That’s just the first of many amazing tidbits about life at the bottom of the world. The author, Simon Coggins, regales his readers with engrossing stories, incredible photography, and a glimpse into the mindset of your average Antarctic resident.

Unfortunately, I found this blog towards the end of Mr. Coggin’s tour of duty. Still, there’s over two years of archived entries to peruse, which should be enough to satisfy anyone’s penguin lust (with apologies to Berkeley Breathed).

In particular, the stories about Antarctic camping have me frozen to the spot (rim shot). I’ll never complain about cold-weather camping again.

Didn’t watch the Oscars. Didn’t see Brokeback Mountain. Didn’t see Crash. I am a paragon of disinterest.

However, I did see all the reader comments on Cinematical concerning the Best Picture winner, Crash. Most of the… er, discussion flutters around which movie had the more deserving social message. Conspiracy theories abound, although it’s unclear which media conglomerate is at fault — Conservative Christians, Liberal Hollywood, or the Roger Ebert One-Man Armada.

Oh, and there may be a sentence or two about plot, direction, or acting — you know, those Academy-type things.

From the home office on Memory Alpha comes the Top Ten Answering Machine Messages from the Star Trek crew. *beep*

10. Commander Data: “If you will enunciate clearly into the speaking apparatus, the soundwave storage mechanism will acquire your signal for replication at the sounding of the 308 hertz tonal signal. I will endeavor to convey a reciprocating verbal composition at my earliest convenience.”

9. Captain Kirk: “If you are a blonde, press 1; brunette, press 2; if you are a female of a superior species, press 3; if you have green skin or two heads, press the star key to be connected directly to my personal secretary.”

8. Doctor McCoy: “Damn it, I’m a doctor, not a messenger service!”

7. Worf: “True warriors do not leave messages, but call back later. For it is a good day to dial.”

6. Kahn Noonian Singh: “From hell’s heart I stab at thee. With my last breath, I spit at thee. With my next call, I shall answer thee.”

5. Doctor Phlox: “Amazing! Why, it’s a primitive communications recording device - how very quaint! I’ve seen these described in old human literary texts. This device bears a striking resemblance to the Gorashnian Pinbarb Slugs on Merak Three - I think I have a picture of them in here somewhere… ah, here they are. You see, they have a remarkable ability to record the spoken word, and unlike the human devices with their one minute time limit, Pinbarb Slugs ca…”

4. The Holographic Doctor: “Please state the nature of the telephone emergency.”

3. Seven of Nine: “Being at home is irrelevant. Calling back is futile. Your message will be assimilated. We will add its distinctiveness and content to our own.”

2. Captain Archer: “Uh, hello? Hello? (blows on microphone) Is this thing on? Hello? Um… hey, Trip, is this thing working or not? Hello? Hello? Darn it, I see the little light blinking, but how do I tell if it’s recor…”

1. Ensign Rodriguez from Security: “Hi, I’ve been assigned to my first ever landing party, so I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message and… oh my God, what is that thing? Stay back! Stay back, or I’ll… Aaaauugh!!! (sound of phaser fire and bones crunching)”

Of all the myriad news stories gracing the Fark.com site, the last thing I expected to find was a story starring my Uncle Rick.

Between this and the whole robin/mouse thingie, I’m ready to label this day “mondo bizarre” and go to bed.

I just saw the first robin of spring in my front yard. Three of them, in fact.

They were pecking at a dead mouse.

After the day I’ve had, silly omens and auguries from nature are not what I need.