12-2-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

How did the computer term "to boot up" come into usage?

--Bootsie in Bhutan

Dear Bootsie:

Well, it's certainly not a term you would associate with computers, is it? Which means it probably had its origin in a completely different field, and as a matter of fact it did.

Way, way, back in the earliest days of computing in Redbone, electricity wasn't always as reliable as it is today. As a matter of fact it was all we could to do keep the hardware running most of the time. The problem was that "Red" Gunchfrubber, who was allegedly in charge of the Redbone generating plant, was notoriously sloppy about keeping the steam boiler fired up. He was a political appointee, a public servant and a union railroad fireman, which meant that he and work were not on speaking terms most of the time.

The only way we could be sure of a constant supply of power for our early computing experiments was to watch the boiler shack's back window. If Red had stoked the firebox full, the shack would get fairly warm, and that, combined with a generous slug of Old Stump Blower from the jug he was never seen without, would put ol' Red in mind of a little nap. So he'd lean his chair back against the wall, put his feet up on the table and be lost to the world until the boiler fire went out and the room cooled off again.

So it just became a natural thing for us to watch the window of the shack until Red put his feet up, which meant that we could be reassured of maybe 5 hours of steady electricity. "I see a boot up," was our code word for this, and it meant that we could start working without fear of interruption.

Naturally enough, as we developed our computer technology, it was common practice to ask "Is there a boot up?" before turning on the machine. This was soon shortened to "boot up?" and later became part of the computer worker's vocabulary. Amazing how these things happen....
 

12-3-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

What is shareware? It sounds a little too "touchy feely" for my tastes.

--Touch Me Not in Tacoma 

Dear Touch Me:

Well, like the expression "boot up" we spoke about yesterday, "shareware" had its origin in a completely different field.

Back in the days of the horse-drawn plow, the "share" was the sharp metal piece that cut into the ground. It was the most expensive part of the plow, the rest of which could be easily crafted out of wood. Very often a poor farming community would chip in to buy a single share for each of the farmers to use in turn, from which we also get the verb "to share," by the way. And also the expression "to sell shares," an activity practiced by the wealthy metalworking classes.

However, since the earth contains pebbles and sand and other gritty stuff the share would soon become dull and have to be resharpened. As this was an expensive operation as well, the farmers would agree to share the wear, and the consequent cost of resharpening, amongst themselves. Thus the word "sharewear" came into common parlance.

Now, there were some crafty swindlers in those days who sold shares made of inferior metal which quickly wore down and could not be resharpened. It was customary for farmers to warn each other to "be wary of the shares which wear," soon shortened to "be share-wary," an expression that was adopted by the early software writers to caution against the presence of viruses and other nasty stuff on early software disks that they exchanged amongst themselves. Eventually this became simply "shareware."

Sources:
"Swords into Plowshares" Isaiah [?], 760 BC 
"The Miller's Tale" G. Chaucer, 1400.
"Plowboy" magazine, June 1989 
"The Complete Idiot's Guide to Moronic Imbecilities," Chapter 4: "Shared warez" 1999 

12-4-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I read recently on the CNN web site that a US judge ordered the guy who turned the sex.com web site into a multimillion pornography business to turn the address over to another guy who had the foresight to register the address in 1994, at "the dawn of the Internet age."

Well. 

First, I know that the Internet is a LOT older than that. You are living proof of that. I was hoping, however, that you might be able to recall if there have ever been any somewhat risqué acts or behaviors involving the infinitive phrase, "to doowahditty". You see, I own the domains of doowahditty.com, doowahditty.net and doowahditty.org - I'm sure I'm sitting on a pot of gold here if only the phrase possessed a certain implied naughtiness.

Dittydum in Debt

Dear Dittydum:

Well, yes, there is, and it does, only I'm not quite sure how you'd go about reviving an expression that was popular during the Crimean War.

You see, back in those prudish Victorian days there was quite a bit of tomfoolery amongst the soldiering class. This was known back then as "the doowahditty that dares not speak its name outside of the bathhouse." It stood for the upper-class English officer's pronunciation of "[whom] do I diddle [tonight]."

You have to understand that the officer class of British Army was quite a bit different back in those days. The official uniform, after all, was a scarlet tunic with gold epaulettes, tight satin trousers, silk underwear and with plumes or feather boas denoting their rank. And lots of leather and gold jewelry as well. It wasn't soon before they moved to mascara, lipstick and darling nighties ordered from the Queen Victoria's Secrets catalogue.

Well, as you can imagine, all this led to a dreadful breakdown in morale, ending up with the infamous "Charge of the Light Brigade" immortalized by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, where a dozen lieutenants got dolled up and went looking for some rough trade among the Cossacks. The resulting dose of clap they brought back with them hastened the end of the war. In a fitting finale Baronet Lt. Egbert Waffle-Skitherington was unanimously awarded the "Noble Piece" prize. 

12-5-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I read today that the FDA has finally granted official approval that prunes can now be called dried plums in the marketplace. How will this change our lives?

--Constipated in Concord 

Dear Constipated:

Fiddlesticks! This is just another attempt to call a spade an entrenching implement. Pretty soon raisins will be called "desiccated grapes," and beef jerky will be known as "boeuf à la mode desséché." Beats me why they just don't call a thing what it is.

Pretty soon the elderly are going to be called "ty-agers" because it sounds nicer than octogenarian or nonagenarian-- both of which are euphemisms for old people, anyway.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to change my "Personal Dryness Counter-Incontinence" software.

12-6-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

In the course of your long and event-filled life you must have learned a great deal about human nature. I would be most appreciative if you would pass on some of what you've learned.

--Archivist in Arkansas

Dear Archivist:


Well, yes, I have learned a thing or two about dealing with my fellow human beings over the years, and I have summed these up in "Aunt Nettie's Little Golden Rules" below:

I've learned that one's best friends will always have spare change.

I've learned that no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you at some point and you must kill them for that.

I've learned that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Unless they call collect.

I've learned that it's taking me entirely too long time to become the person I want to be, so I have become somebody else.

I've learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. That way you can leave your estate to the Homeless Rodents Society and everyone will be happy.

I've learned that, with methamphetamine, you can keep going long after you can't.

I've learned that we are not responsible for what we do if we can hire the right lawyer.

I've learned that being in a position to control other people's attitudes is the wisest course of all.

I've learned that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be somebody on the side to get your kicks from.

I've learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences. Like that nice McVeigh boy.

I've learned that money is a lousy way of keeping score, especially with the pricier gigolos.

I've learned that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time until the bill arrives.

I've learned that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down will also take your wallet.

I've learned that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, and that gives me the right to be cruel. Evil, even.

I've learned that if someone doesn't love you the way you want them to they haven't spent enough time in the punishment box.

I've learned that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you also have to have the court records changed.

I've learned that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different. Except where pornography is concerned.

I've learned that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to place your fingers in your ears.

I've learned that bogus credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being, but will impress the hell out of potential investors. 

12-7-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I heard that there are hidden files on my computer. What's in these hidden files? Who hid them? And why?

--Peek-a-Boo in Peekskill

Dear Peek-a-Boo:

There are a great number of files on your computer which have been hidden on the grounds that there are some things mankind was not meant to know.

You see, the programmers who are hired by companies like Microsoft to write the code which drives operating systems and applications are paid on a contract basis. Many of the projects they are assigned to are dead ends for one reason or another. Since shareholders in these companies are always alert for signs of waste which might affect earnings, it's wiser to simply incorporate the dead ends into the latest software revision, rather than confess to inefficiency at an annual meeting. These dud programs are the "hidden files" you're inquiring about.

Remember Microsoft's "Bob," the fun interactive interface for people who aren't particularly bright? It's still in Windows, as are complete copies of DOS versions 8 through 11. So is Power Fortran, Interactive Cobol and CP/M for Windows. And Windows for the Macintosh. Even ETAOIN SHRDLU® is in there, the graphical interface for the old Linotype hot lead typecasting machine. Plus hundreds of others.

Why, if it wasn't for the need to hide these programs to appease shareholders, the entire Windows operating system would fit on a single floppy disk, with enough room left over for the "Bill Gates for President" screen saver.

12-8-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I am using Windows MeMeMe. How can I get My Briefcase out of the computer so I can take it to work with me?

--Working Girl in Wausau

Dear Working:

I'm sorry, but our Terms & Conditions plainly state that Dear Aunt Nettie is a 100% blond-joke-free site. 

12-9-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I've been venturing into surfing after a long, queasy period of getting to know my computer. Now that I am looking around, I keep coming across "Web Rings". Do they possess any inherent power?

--Old Orc in Old Orchard Beach 

Dear Orc:

Oh, my, yes! Few people realize the power that Web Rings wield over our lives. Remember the old rhyme?

Three Rings for the Microsoft-kings under the sky, 
Seven for the MS Office-lords in their halls of stone, 
Nine for the Apple platform doomed to die, 
One for the Gates Lord on his dark throne 
In the Land of Redmond where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, a Web Ring to find them, 
A Ring to link them all and in NetBEUI binders tie them 
In the Land of Redmond where the Shadows lie.

It is whispered in dark corners that it is only the power of the Wizard Linux that keeps the evil at bay.

12-10-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I've heard a lot about firewalls that prevent nasty programs and viruses from getting into your computer. Is there such a thing as a personal firewall that will prevent nasty thoughts from being transmitted to your brain?

--Targeted in Tulsa 

Dear Targeted:

There certainly is. I recommend that you go immediately to http://zapatopi.net/afdb.html and download the instructions for making an aluminum foil mind-control deflector beanie. This simple device will block the broadcasts from the National Security Agency that are causing American youth to obsess about Britney Spears. If the thoughts you're receiving are of a violent nature as well, you might want to use two layers of foil. Add an aluminum foil chinstrap if the mind control rays are forcing you to utter unspeakable suggestions to public transit employees.

12-11-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

Is it possible to get a flight from Europe to US for free using Internet?

--Broke in Barcelona

Dear Broke:

It certainly is. Have you ever noticed how the pricing is arranged on Travelocity or Expedia? The more stops you make and the more time you spend in the air, the cheaper the fare is, for some inexplicable reason. If you change planes 5 times a New York to Los Angeles flight is only $34. So it's easy to plan a lengthy trip that's absolutely free. Here's the itinerary I came up with for you.

1. Take Iberia Flight #1704 from Barcelona to the Azores 

2. Take Air Afrique Flight #688 from the Azores to Dakar 

3. Then Air Senegal Flight #0112 from Dakar to Warsaw 

4. Sleep overnight in the airport lounge (a conspicuous "Brak danych!" sign will help you avoid the airport police) , then take LOT Flight #156 from Warsaw to Rio de Janeiro 

5. Take Varig Flight #032 from Rio to El Salvador 

6. Spend 1 day and 2 nights in the San Salvador airport (a conspicuous "¡No perturbar!" sign will help you avoid the airport police), then board Bahamasair Flight #6061 to Bermuda 

7. Switch planes to Bahamasair Flight #800, Bermuda to Mexico City 

8. Finally, get on AeroMexico Flight # 334, Mexico City to Chicago.

Total flight time = 8 days 

Total mileage = 23,093 miles 

Total Cost = $0.00 

-- BONUS! Think of all those frequent flyer miles you'll collect!


Of course if you weren't planning to go to Chicago your route might be quite different....

12-12-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

In my research about this so-called Information Superhighway, I have come across the Universal Serial Bus system. Is this all they can come up with? Aren't busses sort of sleazy? And what's the "Serial" part refer to? I'm not likely to encounter some sort of Ted Bundy in the waiting rooms, am I? How about a Universal Serial Railroad? Or a Universal Serial Airline? I can't even find a bus schedule!!!

--Greyhounded in Groton 

Dear Greyhounded:

Oh, sometime you newbies give this old woman a positive hoot!

No, the Universal Serial Bus has nothing to do with computers at all, as it so happens. It refers to the bus tour of Universal Studios in Hollywood that specializes in the great old Saturday morning movie serials we used to wait for so expectantly each week.

I can remember being seriously creeped out, as we used to say, by Bela Lugosi in "The Phantom Creeps," and living from cliffhanger to cliffhanger in "Tim Tyler's Luck," where our young hero would be endlessly battling the nefarious "Spider" Webb, whose unstoppable vehicle, the Jungle Cruiser bore a suspicious resemblance to a cardboard-covered 1934 Studebaker.

And, of course like every other red-blooded female in Redbone, I had a crush on Johnny Mack Brown in "Flaming Frontiers." All the boys had a crush Johnny's canine companion, Sudden (the Wonder Dog.) This unfortunately led to a high rate of mongrel mortality as they tried to duplicate Sudden's silver screen stunts in real life. Almost every barn in the area had the carcass of at least one poor mutt stuck halfway through a hayloft door in imitation of Sudden's heroic exit in Chapter 26, "Fanged Fury."

The only kids who managed to pull off the trick were the dreadful Pearson twins, and they had to use a section of culvert pipe and half a stick of dynamite. That was one well-done wiener dog, let me tell you.

12-13-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

What's wrong with having a tape backup system? My nephew came over to admire my new one and he called it "skuzzy". I think that's a lot of nerve coming from someone with tricolored hair and pierced nostrils, eyebrows and, quite possibly, unmentionable parts as well. Don't you?

--Sharp in Sharpsburg

Dear Sharp:

Well, I certainly share your opinion of the body-piercing craze. It wasn't too long ago that anyone who went around with a bone through his nose was either a candidate for the laughing academy or a displaced Maori. Some of the teenage help they have around here look like they were trying to swallow a junk jewelry grenade when it went off in their mouth.

However, your nephew's scurrilous assessment of your tape drive sounds a lot worse than it is. "Skuzzy' in this instance is the official pronunciation of SCSI, which stands for South Carolina State Institution where these products are made. One carefully-hidden secret is that almost all such devices made in this country are the products of convict labor. Which is why we have so many human-rights groups being bussed over from China and Nicaragua to protest the dreadful conditions under which tape drives are manufactured here. Why, just last week that nice Kathy Lee person on TV discovered that one of her tape drive companies used SCSI as a source.... 

12-14-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

My bank has offered me free Internet Banking, and I need some advice. First of all, they said they would send me Microsoft Money, but all I got was a CD. Where's the cash, I ask you? Second, is it safe to do my banking on-line? How do you handle your finances? And lastly, just because I am a student of history, do you know when the first Internet Banking Programs were created and how did they fare?

--Cashless in Cashman 

Dear Cashless:

The cash is right on the Microsoft Money CD. Pop it into your CD drive, load your printer with banknote-quality paper, then open the denomination you want to print and run off as many as you need. BTW, there's a patch on the Microsoft Web site that changes the serial number with each printout so you won't be embarrassed at the bank or the grocery store. Remember to load the stock in the right way so the reverse side doesn't print upside down. That's always a dead giveaway.

As for banking online, it's perfectly safe when used wisely. When your income sources are as complex as old Aunt Nettie's are, it helps to have a system where you can quickly and inconspicuously move assets from, say, one's farming investments in Colombia to the International Offshore Bank of Tide & Maytag (Motto: "Garbage In, Greenbacks Out"), and thence to a numbered account in Zurich.

As for the very first online banking (and credit card) programs, that will have to wait, as there are some gentlemen from the Treasury Department in the downstairs lounge who wish to speak with me. I certainly wish they'd call ahead. It's so hard to go into Daft & Drooling Mode on a moment's notice....

12-15-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

My AOL incoming mail message is dull and boring. Who wants to listen to "You've Got Mail" day in and day out? Can you think of some alternatives?

--Clichéd in Cleanthes

Dear Clichéd:

You certainly can change the message. As a matter of fact my great-great-etcetera nephew Gizmo fixed up my mail message so that I can tell exactly what kind of mail is coming through. Feel free to adapt these to your own needs.

"You've got Ale!" -- Homegrocer.com is here

"You've got Bail!" -- Welcome to bailbonds.com

"You've got Cale!" -- Buy JJ's CDs at Amazon.com

"You've got Dáil!" -- Faith, an' welcome ye be t' th' Irish Assembly page

"You've got Fail!" -- Thank you for using reportcard.com

"You've got Gale!" -- Who dropped a house on my sister, the_wicked_witch_of_the_east.com?

"You've got Hail!" -- WeatherChannel.com special report

"You've got IAL!" -- Virtual longshoremen at the click of a mouse

"You've got Jail!" -- Bailbonds.com has declined your request

"You've got Kale!" -- Peapod.com is here

"You've got L'ail! -- Homegrocer.com sells that French garlic you like

"You've got Male!-- Your online blind date is here, Sis.

"You've got Nail!"-- Next time buy Goodyear runflats at retire.com

"You've got Oyl!" -- Olive's Web site is up, Popeye.

"You've got Pale!" -- Visit sunny Jamaica.com, mon.

"You've got Quayle!" -- The wit and wisdom of our favorite VP

"You've got Rail!" -- Buy B&O on Monopoly.com

"You've got Snail!" -- Gourmet.com has an Escargot Especial today

"You've got Trail!" -- Plan your next hike with USParkService.com

"You've got UAL! -- Welcome to the University of Alabama Home Page, y'all

"You've got Vail!" -- E-bay says you won the ski trip bid.

"You've got Yale!" -- Welcome to locksmith.com

"You've got Zale!" -- Virtual diamonds at a fraction of the cost of the real thing

12-16-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I just had the dumbest school assignment ever. For Music Therapy class we're supposed to write a song about a plant disease! How on earth can anybody write a song about a stupid plant disease?!!!

-- Melody in Melanchthon

Dear Melody:

What a shame you youngsters don't listen to the old tunes anymore. Why, back in the farming days there were all kinds of popular songs about plant diseases, because it was so important for us to survive out there on the frontier.

As a matter of fact, Redbone was pretty near the Nashville of the US of A when it came to sick plant tunes. Just you hunker down, break out a cheap bottle of wine and listen to one of the great blues masters of phytopathology do his stuff.

"There's a dogwood blight goin' roun';
Laid my dogwood right down to th' groun'.
Yes, that ol' dogwood blight goin' roun';
Put ma dogwood, put ma dogwood deep undergroun'.
Who gonna shade me in th' noonday sun, hmm,
Now my ol' dogwood, my ol' dogwood, ain't aroun'?

'Oh, I did live me near that dogwood,
Live wit' her nigh on one dozen year;
Yes, I love me that dogwood,
She shade me for a dozen year;
I'd get me another dogwood,
'Cept th' dogwood blight be here."


--Blind Oklahoma Crude, from the album 'Saint James Refinery'
(Redbone Records, 1931)

12-17-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I've had it! I've just gotten a school assignment for Music Therapy that's even dumber than the "Musical Plant Diseases" one. We're supposed to come up with a list of popular songs about Abnormal Psychology!! There has never, ever been even ONE stupid song about Abnormal Psychology, much less a whole list full!! Now what do I do?

-- Melodyless in Lesser Melanchthon 

Dear Melodyless:

Oh, pshaw! There was an entire era when we listened to nothing BUT popular music with abnormal psych themes. The trouble with you kids today is that you think that nothing musical existed before those In the Sink and Back Seat Boys bands.

During the '40s and '50s we had:


* 'I Talk to the Trees' (schizophrenia)

* 'I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter' (multiple personality disorder)

* 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus' (primal trauma)

* 'I'm Walking Behind You' (sociopathic stalking)

* 'Roll Over, Beethoven' (homosexual fantasies)

* 'Love Me Tender' (masochistic cannibalism)

* 'Little Things Mean a Lot' (male body image crisis)

* 'Just Me and My Baby' (pedophilia)

* 'Satin Doll' (fetishism)


The '30s were a psychopathological gold mine, too:


* 'Mood Indigo' & 'Blues in the Night' (depression)

* 'Say It Isn't So' (denial)

* 'Did You Ever See a Dream Walking?' (oneiric hallucination)

* 'Little Man You've Had a Busy Day' (satyriasis)

* 'Until The Real Thing Comes Along' (sexual surrogates)

* 'Let's Get Away From It All' (catatonic folie à deux)

* 'She's Funny That Way' (hebephrenia)

The pre-1900's even had one:

* 'I Want a Girl Just Like the Girl that Married Dear Old Dad' (Oedipus complex)


... and my all time favorite,


* 'Beat Me, Daddy, Eight to the Bar' (alcohol-induced masochistic Electra complex)

12-18-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

Alla time I'm hearing about superheroes. Superheroes this, superheroes that. I'm fed up. Isn't there a place for regular people anymore?

--Average in Avondale

Dear Average:

You'll be happy to hear that there's a new organization just for people without special talents or abilities. It's called InfraHeroes Anonymous. You can join by filling out the card that's enclosed in every issue of Readers Digest. Your title, "Mr Average," is perfect already. It will fit right in with "Geezer," "Yenta," "Secretary!", "Fat Hopeless Teen," "Brat," "Mailboy," "Innocent Bystander," "Crossing Guard" and "Housewife."

Your secret identity is easy to maintain, since no one will guess that you're THE Mr Average. The only responsibilities in IHA are to fit as closely to your chosen stereotype as you can. If only Clark Kent had it that easy!

Crime-fighting? Leave it to professionals. 

"That's what we pay them for," as "Irate Taxpayer" would say in an embarrassingly loud voice, pounding the barroom table for emphasis. 

"Yeah! And howcum you can never find a #%!##!! cop when you need one?", "Disheveled Frump" would agree. 

"It's these kids today what don't have no respect for th' police. When I was a kid, you looked cross-eyed at a cop you got it with the billy club-- solid hickory they was, not like thesehere fairy 'truncheons' like what they give 'em today," would add "Garrulous Old Fart."

Best of all, there are no expensive costumes to buy or maintain. Just remember to wear clothes in public places.

12-19-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

How come old people have to drag everything back fifty years when you're trying to get a simple answer out of them? If I ask my grandmaw if she wants a cup of tea I have to hear the whole !#$*#&#! story about the time Uncle Carl mistook the tea kettle for the chamber pot.

--GenX in Genesee 

Dear GenX:

This all began when people started living so much longer than God intended them to. You see, back before there were antibiotics and indoor plumbing and suchlike most people died responsibly as children, or as young people. A 50-year-old was considered a fossil back when I was a girl. Now they think of themselves as late teen-agers.

One problem with all this is that the brain only has enough memory for about 40 - 50 years. Just like a spool of tape in a recorder. After that, new information can't be recorded and every question triggers a long-buried memory on the tape instead of an answer. In your case, the word "tea" doesn't mean "tea here and now today," but the incident of Uncle Carl with the kettle.

Back in Redbone we had old Marcie Prowst, who was famous for that. Give her a cookie with her tea and it was like turning on a switch-- you were right back in Europe during the old days, and on the frontier, when the coming of the Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company's supply wagon was the high point of the year.

How she could go on! One time she had a French great-great-nephew visiting for the summer, and he was fascinated by those old stories. He'd keep feeding Marcie these Frenchified cookies she liked so much, and pumping her full of tea on the porch under the sassy tree. Since she had no teeth she would dunk the cookie in the tea and start munching and spinning out her tales. One of the few regrets I have is that I didn't pay more attention back then. It would have been a wonderful idea to have written down all those old remembrances of things past....

I'm sorry-- what was your question again?

12-20-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

What do you all talk about there at Living Dead "R" Us? It must be like a Living History lesson every day.

--Traditional in Traverse City 

Dear Traditional:

Not exactly. You see, most of us here in longevity's rubbish bin are, shall we say, auditorily challenged. (Years ago we could say "deaf as a stump" and get away with it, but no more.)

So our conversations are sort of sketchy, largely based on inference, deduction, lipreading and flat-out guesswork.

Here's a sample:

"What a beautiful morning."

"Yes, it was, and so was the funeral, with all those flowers."

"Too much flour if you ask me. That gravy locks my bowels up tighter than a witch's wazoo."

"My great-cousin Alvin one time played the kazoo on Major Bowes Amateur Hour!"

"My bones say it looks like hail inside the hour, too."

"Hour of two already? How time flies!"

"It's because they leave the damn door open when they go out for smokes."

"I used to like them smoked, too, but they made me so thirsty."

"Thursday? Is it Thursday?

"Well so am I. Let's ring the bell and ask for some tea."

So you can see that our conversations will probably never make the Smithsonian's archives.

I SAID ARCHIVES! A-R-C-H-I-V-E-S!!

<sigh!>

12-21-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

What would you like Santa to leave under your Christmas tree?

--Curious in Curaçao

Dear Curious:

Half a gallon of youth serum, a million dollars, a Dodge Viper and Mel Gibson.

12-22-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I an concerned about the "Navidad" virus, which will apparently do a number on my computer if it gets into it through a carelessly-opened e-mail. How serious is it? What sort of Grinch would send this kind of thing around during the Christmas season?

--Vulnerable in Ventura 

Dear Vulnerable:

It's even worse than you think. The "Navidad," or "Spanish Xmas" virus is sequential-regressive. That means as soon as you attempt to eliminate it, it calls up another, even more damaging version of itself, as well as invoking the earlier version. Here's a map of how this dreaded virus functions, beginning at the stroke of midnight on December 25th:

On the first day of Christmas the virus gives PCs: 
A Pedophile Directory 

On the second day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
Two Trojan Duds , and a Pedophile Directory 

On the third day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
Three French Hacks, Two Trojan Duds and a Pedophile Directory 

On the fourth day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
Four Callback Bugs, Three French Hacks, Two Trojan Duds and a Pedophile Directory 

On the fifth day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
Fried Token Rings, Four Callback Bugs, Three French Hacks, Two Trojan Duds and a Pedophile Directory 

On the sixth day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
Six Geeks Quake-Playing, Fried Token Rings, Four Callback Bugs, Three French Hacks, Two Trojan Duds and a Pedophile Directory 

On the seventh day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
SEVENTH_SEAL a-Spinning, Six Geeks Quake-Playing, Fried Token Rings, Four Callback Bugs, Three French Hacks, Two Trojan Duds and a Pedophile Directory 

On the eighth day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
Eight MUDs a-Bilking, SEVENTH_SEAL a-Spinning, Six Geeks Quake-Playing, Fried Token Rings, Four Callback Bugs, Three French Hacks, Two Trojan Duds and a Pedophile Directory 

On the ninth day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
Nine PIED_PIPERs piping, Eight MUDs a-Bilking, SEVENTH_SEAL a-Spinning, Six Geeks Quake-Playing, Fried Token Rings, Four Callback Bugs, Three French Hacks, Two Trojan Duds and a Pedophile Directory 

On the tenth day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
Ten LEPROSY.DANZIGs, Nine PIED_PIPERs piping, Eight MUDs a-Bilking, SEVENTH_SEAL a-Spinning, Six Geeks Quake-Playing, Fried Token Rings, Four Callback Bugs, Three French Hacks, Two Trojan Duds and a Pedophile Directory 

On the eleventh day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
Eleven Overloads a-Beeping, Ten LEPROSY.DANZIGs, Nine PIED_PIPERs piping, Eight MUDs a-Bilking, SEVENTH_SEAL a-Spinning, Six Geeks Quake-Playing, Fried Token Rings, Four Callback Bugs, Three French Hacks, Two Trojan Duds and a Pedophile Directory 

On the twelfth day of Christmas the virus gives PCs:
Twelve "Dummies" Handbooks, Eleven Overloads a-Bleeping, Ten LEPROSY.DANZIGs, Nine PIED_PIPERs piping, Eight MUDs a-Bilking, SEVENTH_SEAL a-Spinning, Six Geeks Quake-Playing, Fried Token Rings, Four Callback Bugs, Three French Hacks, Two Trojan Duds and a Pedophile Directory 

12-23-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

Do you celebrate the holiday season at Living Dead "R" Us?

--Ebenezer in Evanston

Dear Ebenezer:

"Celebrate" is too strong a word. "Endure" is closer to the truth.

You see, the short days and cold weather around this time of year affects the brains of otherwise normal people. They feel obliged to Do Good, regardless of the consequences. That means us innocent and undefended old folks have to bear the brunt of the holiday onslaught. People who wouldn't give you the time of day during the rest of the year show up on the doorstep to hang tinsel, deliver goodies and-- worst of all-- sing!

We don't need any of this. Most of us here at Living Dead "R" Us couldn't care less what time of year it is. We're completely out of touch with what you people call reality. Our families and friends are dead and gone, along with our homes and reasons for living. And reason itself in most cases. All that keeps us here is the failure of Congress to pass decent euthanasia legislation.

When the third week in December rolls around the circus begins. All of a sudden we're being dragged down to the Community Room every fifteen minutes to let yet another gang of feel-gooders get their seasonal rocks off. One year we had Shriners in little cars covered with blinking Xmas lights zooming around and scaring the bejesus out of anyone with a walker. Poor Rosalind LaChance spent her remaining days popping out of her naps yelling about the Fat Men and the Little Cars.

The staff here is even worse. They make us "presentable" for these visitors by sticking Santa hats on our heads and decorating wheelchairs and walkers with ribbons and tinsel and all manner of crap. Last year they draped so much tinsel on Buster Rinehart's electric wheelchair that the first time he put it into reverse he electrocuted himself. I remember it well. Some church group was here serenading us for probably the fourth time that day. It was "Hark, the herald angels-- ZING!" and old Buster was off riding the lightning to that great Xmas party in the sky.

For weeks afterward none of us could bear to order that snap, crackle and pop cereal for breakfast.

12-24-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

Are you dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones you used to know, where the treetops glisten and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow?

--Seasonal in St Louis 

Dear Seasonal:

Oh, balderdash! Christmas back in the old days was even worse than it is today. Nobody went dashing through the snow at 48 below unless they were looking for instant apoplexy, and without plows and such you were pretty much marooned from the first blizzard 'til the thaw. Lots of people came down with terminal cabin fever, and the springtime would always bring the scandals of farm families that had gone around the bend and would end up devouring each other or worse.

And don't remind me of sleigh bells in the snow. The combination of horses and snow produced roadways that were little better than long brown streaks that led from house to house and were unspeakable in the spring.

12-25-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

What's your favorite Christmas carol?

--Tuneful in Toonerville

12-26-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

Why do they call December 26th "Boxing Day"?

--Gifted in Gifford

Dear Gifted:

The term goes back to Merrie Olde England, where Christmas was celebrated in fine old style with 18-course dinners, followed by getting dressed in tight-fitting clothing and dashing through the snow to visit neighbors and friends for more food, especially plum pudding, a dessert so dense it has its own place on the Periodic Table of Elements.

Needless to say all this unaccustomed indulgence and outdoor activity killed people like flies. On your typical Victorian Christmas Day up to one-fifth of the population died of apoplexy, overeating, or having that final slice of plum pudding tear out of their innards and head for the center of the earth.

So December 26th was a field day for coffin makers and became known by the euphemism "Boxing Day."

December 27th, which was known as "Gravediggers Day" has gone out of fashion since the invention of mechanical diggers.

12-27-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

Is old good?

--Youthful in Yuma

Dear Youthful:

It may not be good, but it's certainly necessary. Who would pay to see Young Ironsides or Young Faithful, or salute Young Glory? Who would drink Young Crow or Young Granddad, or order a young-fashioned before dinner? Who would sing "Young Man River," or "Young Folks at Home"? Would you seriously place any faith in the Young Testament? Or believe young wives tales? Or drive a Youngsmobile?

No, like it or not, old is here to stay. Except for the Oldsmobile, I hear.

12-28-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

As a dog fancier I'd love to introduce a new breed into this country that would make me the envy of my American Kennel Club friends. Unfortunately all of them have already been introduced-- except one. Do you think America is ready for the introduction of the Indian Pariah dog?

--Cynophile in Canaan

Dear Cynophile:

I confess to knowing nothing about dogs, so I forwarded your question by snail mail to the head of the Royal Kennel Club in England, where they are just daffy about doggies. Here's the response I received. The tone is so snippy that I sent a copy to that nice Senator Helms in Washington with the suggestion that we cut off their foreign aid for a spell.

The Kennel Club 
1-5 Clarges Street 
Piccadilly 
London 
W1Y 8AB 

Dear Madam:

Your letter was kindly forwarded to me from the Postmistress at Lancashire. It would have been forwarded from 'Lancastashire' as addressed, save that there is no such place, not that you bloody colonials either know or care. The 'Royal' was dropped from the British Kennel Club name in 1873, by the way. Please make note of it in any future correspondence.

Obviously the AMERICAN Kennel Club guidebooks would make no mention of the Pariah, this unique Anglo-Indian breed so beloved of the Raj. The Pariah does not fit into the common KC canine classifications such as Working Dog, Gun Dog, or Utterly Useless Spoiled Rotten Lap Dog, but falls into the group known as the Loathsome, or Disgusting Dog. These cringing, diseased, worm-ridden whelps of the most destitute streets of Calcutta and Bombay are not 'shown,' per se. They are rounded up, fired from catapults and blasted with sporting guns for the amusement of the gentry. On Sundays in cooler weather in Kashmir, the head of the RSPCA and I would spend an entire afternoon 'smoking' these abominations with magnum skeet loads. The remains were then turned over to local orphanages, for what purpose I never cared to ask. Anyone wishing to import these creatures into another country should have a serious talk with a psychiatrist.

By the bye, the term 'pariah' also applies to humans of the guttersnipe caste in India. I had a guttersnipe houseboy once in Madras that could do things with his tongue that would leave me limp for a week. It was a real pity that I had to flog him to death one day when his shadow fell on mine.

For further reference I direct you to the definitive work on the pariah dog, Lord Sutch's classic 'Vermin of the Hindoo Kush' (London & Bombay, 1793).

Sincerely, 
H. Bedlington Downboy 
Alpha Male 
The Kennel Club 

12-29-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I was shocked and dismayed by your callous dismissal of pariah dogs as unworthy of serious attention by dog fanciers in the USA. I'll have you know that I have a friend who was a Jesuit missionary in Hyderabad for many years who worked among the pariahs, both human and canine, with excellent results.

--PETAish in Patterson

Dear PETAish:

Well, you know how Aunt Nettie hates to give out wrong advice, so I wrote again to the British Kennel Club, this time to their legal department, asking for a definitive answer on the status of pariah dogs among international canine fanciers. Here's the reply. Personally, from the tone of these replies I think we should be glad that England seceded from the Union in 1776 or whenever.

-------------- 

Madam:

I have been advised by my crack legal team that the pariah 'dog' in question has not qualified for canine status since 1926, and has not been considered an 'animal' since the International Geophysical Year of 1958, when it was reclassified as an extinct crustacean. The pariah is such an utterly horrible thingy that a plan is in the works to have it reclassified as a mineral at the next meeting of the Linnaeus Society in Stockholm. That will open the way for the governments of India, Pakistan and Bangladesh to begin intensive strip-mining of their affected neighborhoods. The pariahs will be rendered down to their fundamental organophosphates, ground all to flinders, sold by the long ton and fed to kelp.

I have nothing against animals or Jesuits myself; as a matter of fact I had a pariah Jesuit houseboy in Madras who was an absolute joy to have around in spite of his ulcerations, spasms and random tubercular-like growths. Unfortunately he was eaten by a hyena one night, and I had to pay 3 rupees, 10 pice to the hyena's owner when it had convulsions and died as a result.

For further information on the legal declassification of truly unpleasant life forms, I suggest you peruse the classic work on the subject, 'Like Sea Slime, Without The Personality' by the noted Eustace Nematode, Esq. (London and Bombay, 1893)

Now, if you're looking for a fine pet that can absorb any number of severe beatings and remain affectionate, I suggest the South African Weasel Retriever. It 'takes a licking and keeps on licking,' as we say in the trade. The Club can furnish a fine specimen for you at £ 26, 18 shillings sixpence, airtight shipping container included. (I should know what that is in euros, but the Threadneedle Street people haven't honoured my request for a conversion chart as yet.)

Tallyho, 

Hon. Bassett Attaboy 
Legal Beagle 
The Kennel Club 
Piccadilly 
London 
(second hydrant from the left)

12-30-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

Are clams happy? Really and truly happy?

--Bivalved in Billings

Dear Bivalved:

Oh, yes! I refer you to the definitive work on the subject, 'The Interpretation of Clams' by Seaweed Frond (London & Bombay, 1793), Chapter 47, 'Rendezvous at Mussel Beach: On the Dating Habits of the Common California Clam,' my translation from the German:

"[Inasmuch] that the many species of the common clam hermaphrodites are, no need there exists in clam bars to around hang, 'waiting for Mr Goodvalve,' as in English they say. Hermaphrodites never have a problem a date for the prom getting. Bi is best, it appears, except during months that an 'R' are having. Clams they themselves describe as happy, jokes about 'my better half' and 'just like dating the girl/boy next door' common being. Breaking up is much, much harder to do, however, which is why the painter Botticelli such a hard time finding a Venus on the half-shell as a model had."

Also see the movie version of 'Clamdiggers of '33,' a typical Busby Berkley extravaganza with Ginger Rockfish and Joan Barnacle. It is generally recognized as the first stage musical to deal with the riotous social life of homaphrodites, featuring such songs as 'My Baby Is Me,' and 'Just the One Of Us.' The comic masterpiece 'Who Does Which to Whom with What?' quickly became one of the classic 'patter' songs of the decade.

Only in recent years has the existence of 'homophrodites' been accepted in the United States, although in France there have been quay bars for years.

12-31-2000

Dear Aunt Nettie:

Can you tell me exactly what is the story behind that "ball" thing in Times Square?

--Celebratory in Celebes

Dear Celebratory:

That's an easy one.

The tradition began in 1907 to celebrate the invention of the soccer ball the year before (previously the game had used a dead piglet, or at least a piglet that was odd-looking and unpopular). The immigrant Armenian swineherd J. Alonzo Baboonian, who had made his fortune on Wall Street as a bootblack and freelance financial consultant, sponsored the very first Times Square "ball" event as a way of saluting the thousands of piglets who had sacrificed their lives for the glory of the game. You probably remember reading his famous quote in your high school history books. With the invention of the soccer ball, he said to the assembled members of the media, "you won't have *de knigzon* ['the piglet' in colloquial Albanian] to kick around anymore."

The intention was to have the ball rise into the air like a well-placed goal kick, reaching the top precisely at the stroke of midnight, at which point a shower of candy piglets would rain down upon the cheering crowd. Unfortunately this was in the days of easily-reversed DC electric motors and the operator of the ball-raising mechanism, G. Zagreb Snafu, an overworked Serbian handyman moonlighting as an unlicensed ball-heister, threw the switch the wrong way, lowering, rather than raising the ball.

Since the ball could not descend any further, being at the base of the lifting platform already, the motors overheated and exploded, raining death, destruction, fricasseed Serbian and flaming candy piglets onto the crowds below. The following year a law was passed in New York City requiring the ball to be placed at the TOP of the mechanism and gently lowered by gravity to prevent a recurrence of the tragedy. And so a tradition was born.

Curiously, the event attracted so much press coverage that the expression "dropped the ball instead of raising it," as a metaphor for incompetence --later shortened to simply "dropped the ball"-- became part of the American language, as did "snafu," the name of the unfortunate handyman, as an expression of chaotic bungling.

Baboonian was, of course, bankrupted by lawsuits after the disaster and left the country penniless. He later became a Moldavian missionary and explorer, dying tragically in Africa in 1919 immediately after his encounter with a new species of ape, which was named in his honor.

----------

Source: The Big Book o' Facts & Other Stuff, 3rd edition (London & Bombay, 1981)

2004
JANUARY
FEBRUARY
MARCH
APRIL
MAY
JUNE
JULY  
AUGUST
SEPTEMBER
OCTOBER
NOVEMBER
DECEMBER