My wife called me at work.

"Ted, there's a woodpecker out back. He's tearing up the wood around the tomatoes."

"Chase him away."

"No. I'm afraid of it."

We had just gotten back from Germany, and were renting a house in Maryland. Nice place on a large lot, with a fair sized garden patch lined with telephone pole sized timbers.

Liz gave me more details, and the more she told me, the less plausible it all sounded. I told her that I'd take care of things when I got home in a few hours.

Oh. My. God. She wasn't exaggerating a bit. Examining the aftermath, the timbers looked like someone had machine gunned it. Foot-long splinters were everywhere, and the wood was peppered with holes big enough to poke your finger into. The wood was shredded. Our landlord was a jerk, and he was going to be pissed for sure.

Later, as we ate dinner we heard the woodpecker again. I went out on the deck and I swear this sonuvabitch was the size of a chicken. Once again he was attacking the timbers around the garden, and the splinters were flying. He flew off when I approached him, but reluctantly. I had an uncomfortable flashback to Hitchcock's The Birds.

He returned a few more times over the next few days, and on the weekend I threw rocks at him when he went after the wood siding under the eaves of the house. He finally did leave, never to return again.

Good riddance.

Posted by: Ted at 08:36 AM | category: Boring Stories
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I don't talk a whole lot about work. Let me just say for the record that this week was the culmination of literally years of effort (and millions of taxpayer dollars), and I am so freaking glad it's almost over.

I've come in early every day and I've worked through lunch every day. My 'office' is a refrigerator, and I don't mean I'm chilly, I mean it's damn cold in here.

My big accomplishment this week is arranging 17 years worth of data into useful form and then putting it out there for other folks to upload into a brand new computer system due to roll over like a dead dog come online monday. Well, almost all of the data. It turns out that we're going to be short some .8 million records because we're running out of time. And I'm not coming in to work this weekend. Screw it, I was all set and ready to go, but some genius had to make unneccessary last minute changes that destroyed our carefully planned schedule.

Enough whining. They can get it monday.

Posted by: Ted at 02:29 PM | category: Boring Stories
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Some folks will never forget where they were when they heard that JFK had been shot. I remember every second of my morning at work when the shuttle Challenger tragedy happened. I also vividly recall where I was when I found out that John Belushi had died. Everyone has different events that touched them in deeply personal ways.

This story is about my most memorable 'where were you' moment. It actually has a happy ending, although it was by no means a sure thing at the time.

It was the early 1980's, and my best friend Paul and I were on leave from the Air Force. We'd gone to his hometown in southeastern Minnesota - near Mankato, Little House on the Prairie country - for R&R. We'd spent this particular day road drinking, at least that's what I call it. Basically, we were out running around to all the various small towns dotting the area, visiting his old friends and stopping for a beer at every bar we happened across.

In one town (Blue Earth? Good Thunder?), we stopped at this little hole-in-the-wall biker bar, obvious from the line of dusty Harley's parked out front. We walked in and went to the bar and ordered beer. There were 8 or 10 people in the place, and they all looked like stereotypical bikers. We were getting a pretty good looking over because, well, with our military haircuts we didn't exactly blend in. Drinking our beer, I glanced up at the TV going in the corner and asked the bartender to turn it up.

President Reagan had been shot. Attempted assassination. He was conscious, and was heading into surgery.

Paul and I bought a round for the whole bar, and as all these bikers came up to see what was going on, Paul lifted his shot and said "To the President". I echoed him, and then so did every biker.

I'll never forget that moment.

Posted by: Ted at 07:20 AM | category: Boring Stories
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Yep, that's me. Honesty compels me to admit that I did once have a letter published in Penthouse. Because of the younger and/or more sensitive folks who visit and read, I've put the text of my letter into the extended entry. more...

Posted by: Ted at 01:02 PM | category: Boring Stories
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I know lots of people do the Friday Five. This week I saw (among others) Tink and Dawn answer, and one question in particular jumped out at me.

4. Have you received any gifts with messages engraved upon them? What did the inscription say?

When I was stationed in Germany, I was in charge of a wonderful group of people. These men and women were the type you could give instructions to, then leave alone knowing that they would get the job done. I was very protective of them because they made me look good.

Occasionally, one of my people would be on the phone getting frustrated with a nitwit-du-jour, and because of the nature of our work, it was usually someone of higher rank. If it went far enough that I needed to get involved, I'd say "Let me talk to that twinkie."

When I left that assignment, my people gave me a beautiful plaque (it's hanging above my desk right now) that has this inscription:

Posted by: Ted at 07:27 AM | category: Boring Stories
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1 "Don't let the twinkies get you."

In gay-speak, that has a TOTALLY different meaning.

Posted by: Dawn at January 19, 2004 12:56 AM (LD0tK)

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Last week I had to do the interview for my security clearance update, which is routinely done every five years or so. The Special Agent came to my place of work at the time agreed on, and we sat down so she could conduct the interview.

These interviews start off with about five minutes of "Privacy Act..." and "Civil Code..." and "You can..." and "If you so desire...", accompanied by much form signing and reading of paperwork.

Then comes the personal questions. Most of it is just verifying that what you told them on your paperwork is correct, and asking for certain amplifications to an answer here and there. It's the price you pay for the clearance, and in this neck of the woods, the clearance is worth extra bucks on your resume.

After a standard series of questions about "illegal substance" use, I asked the agent whether anyone still answered with "I didn't inhale". She laughed and said that she had never had anyone use that line.

I told her about my last interview, when asked if I ever smoked marijuana that I had replied "I suppose the politically correct answer is: I didn't inhale". That agent wasn't amused, so I quickly revised my answer to a simple 'no'.

The interview was easy, because I'm boring. The agent said that for this purpose, that's a good thing.

In the next month or two, the neighbors will tell me about being visited by an agent asking questions about me. Personal privacy is a relative thing.

Posted by: Ted at 08:09 AM | category: Boring Stories
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The Weekly World News doesn't even pretend to be serious anymore. This week's headline sums it up: Bat Boy Led Our Troops to Saddam's Hole!

I miss the good ol' days, when you knew they were full of crap, but they didn't serve it up with a big ol' wink.

When I was stationed in Germany, in our office we had this big bulletin board. On it were various stories from the tabloids, by category. Bigfoot story, UFO story, and so on. Every week, we'd pick up a copy of each of the tabloids, cut out the best stories, and put them up as well. Then everyone would vote on the 'best' for each type of story. That one stayed up and the loser was removed. It was entertaining, and we kept up with the important news.

Totally unrelated. My wife hates going to the grocery store with me, because in line at the register I'll track down a copy of the Weekly World News and read it out loud to her. I make sure everyone can hear me. My favorite parts are Dear Dottie and Ed Anger. Are they even still around? It's been awhile.

Changing gears again, my 'brush with fame' bit for the tabloids involves a WWN story from a few years ago, about a possessed dishwasher in Italy and the priest who performed the exorcism on it. The 'priest' in the photo was a co-worker of mine, the 'owner' of Satan's appliance was his girlfriend, and the Italian kitchen was located all of about two miles from my house. I don't care though, it's still all true.

Posted by: Ted at 07:07 AM | category: Boring Stories
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If you live in a neighborhood under the control of a Homeowners Association (HOA), then it's quite possible that you've had a run-in or two with some power-mad board member who acts like he has more authority than he really does.

I've had a few encounters with my HOA over the years, and for the most part they've learned to leave me alone. I know the rules better than they do, and refuse to let them push me around.

The last bit of fun I had with the HOA was when they announced that nobody was allowed to have satellite dishes on their roofs for aesthetic reasons. I threatened to install a dish on my roof and disguise it with one of these fake rocks. I'd make that sucker look like a meteor crashed right through my roof, but the dish would be hidden.

Not surprisingly, they dropped their objections.

Posted by: Ted at 09:20 AM | category: Boring Stories
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