Where am I?
I must confess abject embarrassment at how infrequently I update this thing. I can't figure out if that points to how little time I actually have to, like, think, or if it simply points to the fact that I'm lazy and lack self-discipline. I refuse to concede that it's simply because my life is boring.

It's been an odd news week. Can't remember the last time a major plane crash in the United States fell off the front page so quickly. "Hmm, well, it was an accident, let's move on." Normally, there would be days and days and days of follow-up, and we'd be waiting on the NTSB's every word. Not anymore. Scary.

Or maybe we were wrong all along originally.

Attended the dreaded "company picnic" today. At our company, that means a private party at a very large amusement park near our large Texas city. It's always weird to see work people outside of the work environment. Making it more interesting was the number of people who got to see my children covered in the remnants of the huge lollipops that some parent thought would be a good idea. "Hey, they're only kids once," she said. Can guarantee you that had that been my idea, there would have been hell to pay for that one.

Yep, just not enough time in the world. So much interesting stuff I could be writing, you know. Just no time.

AA 587
used to be, when i'd hear a report of a major plane crash, i would almost involuntarily go into Breaking News Mode: intensely focused, thinking about nothing but gathering up all of the elements for the story at hand, and keeping an eye and an ear on everything possible relating to said story.

i heard about the crash of american flight 587 when i got in the car to come to work this morning. listened for a few minutes, felt myself going into Breaking News Mode. listened a minute longer, determined, "hmm, that sounds like an accident" ... and then punched the button for ESPN radio. they were talking about mark mcgwire. i left the radio there.

i wonder if i'll ever go into Breaking News Mode ever again.

Some things I know ...
... and others, I just wonder about:

--I'm painfully aware of all the imagery from the Sept. 11 attacks: all the smoke, all the people, all the destruction. It leaves me to wonder: What must that have sounded like? What does a jet flying full throttle at less than 1,000 feet sound like? What kind of sound does it make when it crashes into a building? It seems impossible to me to think that sound could be mistaken for anything else. I don't know why I wonder about such things, and it's something I certainly would rather not think about. But I think about it anyway.
--(hold on for a really jarring transition from real world to sports:) Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones is an idiot. I don't think there's much debate on that subject. But I wonder: If he's so stupid, and he is, how did he acquire all that jack? And does that mean there's hope for the rest of us, financially speaking? Anybody who thought it was the coaches' decision to pull Clint Stoerner -- who wasn't real good Sunday, but God knows we've seen worse -- isn't thinking straight. Jones has a woody for Ryan Leaf, and needed to see him play, no matter how it interfered with the flow of the game. I'd like to dig through NFL annals and see when the last time a healthy quarterback was pulled from a tie game with four minutes to play.
--I wonder if the Cleveland Browns are wondering how they went from kneel-down territory to overtime loss in less than a minute. Memo to Browns special teams: That onside kick isn't supposed to be that easy for the kicking team to recover. Memo to Browns defense: On the last-second fling, you're supposed to tip that ball backwards. Memo to those of us who watch football: Looks like we'll be watching the Bears in January.
--Mariano Rivera has a wicked curveball. Too bad for the Yankees he threw it to second base.

It's Monday. A good day for unguided wondering.

So I was sitting at the computer, noticing that I hadn't batted out an update in several days, and I asked myself: "Why isn't my life more interesting?" Other than the fact that I'm tethered to many duties, sometimes simultaneously, I came to realize this: I spend a lot of time driving back and forth to work. A lot of time.

Circumstances conspired this week to force me to spend more than two hours on my 35-mile drive home Wednesday night. I left work at 6 p.m. with all good intentions of getting home about 45 minutes later to participate in trick-or-treat festivites. But alas, an 18-wheeler was stalled in the absolute worst possible square yard in all of the greater metropolitan area in which to stall. Being trapped in the left lane, I couldn't even contemplate an alternate route.

I could, however, contemplate the utter futility of a traffic jam. I could do nothing. It's like being trapped in a vacuum. I could do nothing but sit, wait, take my foot off the brake and accelerate to 2 mph every once in a while. Otherwise, nothing. Except wonder why there was nothing more interesting going on in my life than sitting in a traffic jam.

So, of course, I missed trick-or-treating. The kids were already in bed by the time I got home. So much for good intentions.

Impatience and the American Way
I detect a bit of boredom with the ongoing war effort. Not enough progress being made fast enough; too many discouraging reports of civilians dying; Our Guys haven't caught this bin Laden character and given him the .50-caliber shower he so richly deserves. We don't remember that World War II took four years, or that we were in Vietnam for practically 20; all we know is that in the last War, we started it in prime time and had it over before the local news was on. We like neat endings. I don't think we're going to get one here.

I'm just as anxious as the next guy to know how the story ends. My mind drifts back to 1992, and the biggest news story of my life up to that point. Three women who disappeared from Anytown without a trace. No sign of a struggle, no sign of foul play, no sign of any sort of robbery attempt. They were just gone. The Daily Bugle ran a daily graphic with their faces and bios: "Missing, Day 3; Missing, Day 5; Missing, Day 249." We finally pulled the plug on it after Day 365. It's been 9 1/2 years. They're still missing. Every day, we all wondered how that story was going to end, where they were going to be found, etc. We knew there would be an ending; there always is, right?

I'm kind of straying from the point, because I was so enamored of that reference to the case in Anytown. It's been a while since I thought about that one. The point is, I don't think we're going to get a clean end to this thing. Somebody else came up with this line, but I like it, so I'm going to steal it; I'd credit it if I could remember who wrote it: "It's going to be the Cuban Missile Crisis for the rest of our lives."

Makes 13 days kind of seem like 13 seconds, doesn't it?

The good news
The Young Daughter is fine, according to the little MRI done on Friday. A "totally unremarkable" scan, remarked the doctor. This is good news. It doesn't definitively mean she doesn't have whatever it is they think she has -- the spots on her skin remain suspicious, and we still have to be referred to a specialist -- but as of right now, as I asserted earlier, everything's fine.

And now, page ... two
We're now a week into this little adventure, and I've learned a few things:

--My life really isn't all that interesting, when you come right down to it. Comfortable, yes. Rewarding and enjoyable, absolutely. Fun, most of the time. Interesting, well, probably not so much.
--I could use a good editor. Writing is not a skill you maintain without actually using it. I have a ways to go yet to get back to where I was 10 years ago, when I was using the written word in something other than a memo or an exhortation to please-for-Christs-sake-do-it-right-next-time.

Other random musings:
--The Old Daughter's soccer team fell to 1-4-2 Saturday after getting waxed, 5-0. I used to say I didn't know a good 7-year-old soccer player from a bad one, but now I do. I haven't softened my stance on soccer -- I still think it's a Communist sport -- but I do think it's a great game for 7-year-old girls. They can run around, kick the ball, bump into each other every once in a while and still have a good time, all without having the first clue what the score is.
--Anybody else share my non-surprise that the Yankees will probably go back to New York down 2-0? Anybody think they won't win anyway?
--My News Blackout Saturday didn't go so well. I got all the way to 6 p.m. before accidentally hitting the button that changed my car radio to AM. Oops. The news was on anyway, so, well, I listened. I have no self-discipline at all. I should work on that.
--I buy a lottery ticket about once every two years, like when I find a dollar in the couch cushions or feel lucky for some reason. I bought one last night, with the usual results: I got zero of the six numbers. There ought to be some prize for that. At least give me my dollar back so I can put it back in the couch.

Friday Night in Texas
I live on the far edge of a very large metropolitan area -- an area so large that my boss, who lives on the other far edge, lives 61 miles away from me. Think about what is 61 miles away from you for a second, and you get an idea of how much gawdawful White Plastic Suburbia surrounds me.

I broke free from White Plastic Suburbia tonight -- from my position in the metropolitan area, it doesn't take too long -- and, with the Old Daughter, took in some Texas tradition: small-town high school football. The daughter enjoys the little preview of high school life, and I get to watch a live sporting event, which is rare for me these days.

Celina is one of the few remaining places in North Texas not touched by the ever-lengthening fingers of Dallas and Fort Worth. It's a little town in the middle of a cornfield with no real distinguishing characteristics, except that it has a monster high school football program. With a victory tonight, the Celina Bobcats would tie a half-century-old state record for most consecutive wins. In Texas, that's Really Big Stuff.

The game itself was no contest: When we left in the third quarter, it was 42-7, Celina, and their backup quarterback was playing. I didn't buy a program, so I can't verify this, but I swear the PA announcer's pronunciation of the backup quarterback's name was "Jacques Chirac." One somehow doubts the French president has ever been to Celina.

Some images from under the Friday Night Lights:

--Teenagers apparently don't get acne anymore. I never saw more clear-faced 16-year-olds in my life.

--Apparently Celina is a racially diverse town, which is rare for a small town in this part of Texas. Unfortunately, less rare: From the visitors' side of the stadium (the only place we could find seats), racially tinged catcalls rang out, directed at one of Celina's black football stars and a black nominee for homecoming queen. It was said relatively quietly, but it was still said, and it still made me want to grab the guy and kick the crap out of him -- until I turned around and realized the source of the remarks was probably 10 or 11, which just gave me the bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. We're so close to having stomped out this racism thing for good, we really are, but occasionally there's the ugly reminder that we're not close enough.

--After the homecoming queen was crowned, people swarmed to congratulate ... her dad. What exactly did he have to do with it? I also should note that it is apparently a tradition in Celina to bring back the homecoming queen from 10 years ago and give her the duty of crowning this year's queen. Based solely on aesthetics (which is the whole point, right?), the 1991 Celina homecoming queen would still have been a very viable candidate in 2001.

--On the way from my house to the Celina stadium, I passed a very, very large house in the middle of nowhere. A really ornate mansion, really out of place in the middle of a cornfield. The homeowner: Deion Sanders.

--Even a lopsided Class 2A contest is really entertaining football. Most Class 2A teams in Texas -- schools with enrollments of about 300 -- could wipe the field with any of the teams from the 1,300-student schools in Missouri. And I couldn't help but notice that this tiny little stadium in this tiny little town had a double-level, enclosed press box. This means nothing to most people, but as a former sports writer, it really impressed me. I covered probably 80 high school games in Missouri, and I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I sat in an enclosed press box. (The time in Cabool when I could watch the game from inside my truck doesn't count.) As somebody who once covered a state playoff game from an open-air press box with the thermometer showing zero degrees, I can tell you an enclosed press box is the hallmark of a first-class football stadium.

Back to reality:

I'm declaring Saturday a News Blackout Day. No newspaper, no TV (except the Nebraska-OU game, and maybe the World Series), no msnbc.com. If it's happening somewhere other than my house, the soccer field or those aforementioned Major Sports Events, I won't know about it. And I couldn't be prouder.

The first thing
The ax began swinging yesterday at the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper. Oddly, there was no sort of dramatic announcement; we learned who was laid off in hushed whispers from department heads. I only heard two names, which means the rampant speculation continues. I am told that everyone in my department who was going to be let go has been already. I'll allow myself to feel some relief. The final toll: 73 out of more than 2,000 employees. I hope they all land on their feet.

The headline implies there will be more to today. And there will.

The second thing
Spent the early part of my day with my wife and the Young Daughter at a very fine children's hospital. She underwent an MRI today, as doctors pursue the reason for some small but noticeable light brown spots on her skin. The medical technical term is "cafe-au-lait" spots. The disease in question is called neurofibromatosis. What they found from the MRI ... well, we won't know until Monday. Dread diseases take no holidays, but doctors are human and they must.

In case you're wondering, by the way, the Young Daughter is fine. Perfectly healthy in every way, and developing well. Whatever this is, if it is at all, manifests itself later. Right now, everything's fine. I've always been a big fan of Right Now, and I'll stick with that.

Real stories from real life
I'm less than a week into this and I've already skipped a day. My youngest daughter's birthday, no less. Her first. However, as nearly every parent knows, we'll still have to express her age in months for another year. It's a big leap from 13 months to 20 months, even though she'll still be 1. She had a happy birthday, I think; lots of toys and clothes and stuff that makes a 1-year-old smile real big and say "Aaaaaaaacccck!" (That's what she says. Really.)

As it turns out, Mom and Dad have had better days. More on that later. But first, some totally unrelated thoughts:

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On my Very Long Drive Home one day last week, I was flipping through the smorgasbord of talk radio stations that spew forth right-wing invective. I stayed on one long enough to hear this much of this exchange:

HOST: And now, on a car phone, here's John from Houston.
CALLER: Uh, yes, thanks for taking my call. I, uh, I've been microwaving my mail ...

and I moved on to the next idiot rant on the dial.

Today, I'm making the Very Long Drive Home, and I'm flipping through the talk-radio smorgasbord. (I have a very nice CD player in my car; I really should start using it more. Anyway ... ) I'm flipping through the talk-radio smorgasbord at the top of the hour, and I hear ...

ANNOUNCER: This is CBS News. The Postal Service is considering irradiation of the mail as a means of neutralizing anthrax ...

Another example of my world: Gone from mildly amusing to completely stupid.

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One day last week, it was announced that the company that owns the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper for which I work is planning to cut 160 jobs at the end of the month. If our math is correct, that means about 20 of my co-workers won't be my co-workers when I change the calendar at my desk to November. A lot of breath is being held as we wait for the ax to fall. No announcements yet; really not much in the way of general buzz or rumor or innuendo, for that matter. Each one of us thinks we're the one getting cut. That kind of makes speculation less than fun.

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My source at RER tells me that there's some bad Listerine going around in the Carolinas, dude. I'll steer clear of that stuff.

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Received word last week that one of the finest sports scribes at the Anytown Daily Bugle called it quits Saturday after 38 years. He basically taught me how to write, when he wasn't threatening to fire me. No greater teacher in all the world than he, I'll say that. Dedicated himself totally to his job -- at the expense of pretty much everything else, I fear. But he found a way to weave his life -- watching sports, hunting and fishing -- into his work. Not very many of us get paid to do what we love, and not very many of us are allowed to do it for our entire lives. Catch a crappie for me, Rigg.

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Now back to our top story.

The Young Daughter (not to be confused with the Old Daughter) went to the doctor on her birthday, which in itself kind of sucks. Nobody should have to get shots on her birthday, but hey, when you're 1, you don't have to worry about a whole lot else. When she balances the checkbook for us, she can decide when and where she gets shots. We're feeling bad enough about giving her vaccinations for her birthday when suddenly the doctor wrinkles her nose a bit. In roughly the time it took her to execute that wrinkle, we've gone from routine checkup to having to make an appointment for an MRI. Seems her birthmarks are a matter of concern. The MRI happens Friday. The disease we're trying to rule out is neurofibromatosis. In its mildest form, it's an appearance concern. I never voluntarily go to worst-case scenario, so I'm not even concerned about that. We get answers Friday. Until now, everything's fine.

And after then, everything'll be fine, too.

Certainly was a solid reminder that the anthrax is half a continent away.

Tree-killer!
Back when I was a writer, I wrote stuff that people generally wanted to read. Now that I'm a manager, I write memos. The recipients of these memos generally do one of two things: 1/toss them directly into the trash or 2/read them, then come back and argue with me about some arcane detail or something I've forgotten.

To keep those arguments to a minimum -- and because a large portion of the intended audience for these memos is, ahem, copy editors -- I try to edit these things meticulously. Today, I burned through about 124 sheets of copy paper because in mid-copying, I 1/discovered I had some questionable grammar on a word, fixed it, began copying again before 2/discovering I had also misspelled the word in question.

The word: Minutiae.

There's some symbolism there. Of that I have no doubt.

What is this white powdery substance in my coffee?
The Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper for which I work was the target of a biohoax on Friday. A "suspicious package" was received in the newsroom. That portion of the newsroom was cordoned off for a few hours while dudes in moonsuits, breathing like Darth Vader, converged on the suspicious substance. It was nothing more than a moderate inconvenience -- we spent an hour scrambling to find seats for the displaced workers, who spent about 22 minutes actually working at their newly assigned seats -- but, despite the fact that we all knew from Minute One that there was nothing dangerous in that package, it was still a tad scary anyway. My world has gone from mildly amusing to completely stupid.

I'm angry about that, and I'm not even sure at what or whom to direct my anger.

Infrequently asked questions
Q: Why are you doing this?
A: It's not like I don't have anything better or more pressing to do, certainly. But it's available, it's relatively cheap and on the off chance that somebody might find it amusing, I decided to give it a shot. Basically, this site is a cheap knockoff of a really good repository of writing created by a guy I've known since he was a very tiny mini-human. He does it way better than I do. This saves me having to annoy him with constant e-mails reacting to the great stuff he's posted. Now I have my own outlet.

Q: Who are you?
A: I'm just a guy. Grew up in Missouri, in a place that was neither a big city nor a small town -- Anytown, USA. Early 30s. Wife, three kids, house in a far-flung suburb of a large Texas metropolitan area.

Q: What do you do in real life?
A: By training, I'm a journalist. Once I was a sports writer. Now I'm in charge of news page design at a large metropolitan newspaper. It's a pretty long leap from one to the other, but the other pays better.

Q: If you call yourself a "designer," why is your web page so friggin' ugly?
A: Hey, I'm new at this. As it turns out, this is how I'm going to learn HTML. This is just a template. It'll get better. I hope.

Q: If you call yourself a "writer," why is this crap so boring?
A: It could be that I'm just not that interesting. It could be that I have no skill. It could be that your standards are too high. Give it some time, ok?