More Virulent Strain of Y2K Strikes

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta announced today that a more potent form of the Y2K bug has begun spreading around the world in what might be the worst pandemic since the notorious H1N1 flu virus infected millions and resulted in scores of deaths. 

“Contrary to the original Y2K bug that merely caused a lot of unnecessary anxiety, this strain is far more virulent and may indeed trigger a lot of the technology glitches that were so feared during the waning days of 1999,” said Dr. Ruby R. Riley, chief of epidemiology at the CDC.  In fact, to distinguish this outbreak from its predecessor the CDC has named this strain Y2K-II and recommends that all computer users pay close attention to their key files, applications, and web pages in the days and weeks ahead.

Scientists became aware of the Y2K-II bug several months ago when vast numbers of college students began calling tech support at Apple, Dell, Lenovo, and other computer makers to report that they could not log into their Facebook accounts when the clock struck midnight on December 31, 2009 and 2010 was ushered in.  “I was like totally bummed out,” said Bill Hurley, a 19 year old sophomore at Boston College, who added, “I kept putting in my login name and password, but just got one error message after another.  After an hour my hands began to shake and I couldn’t focus on anything.  Without access to Facebook I didn’t know what to do with myself.”  This was a common symptom in the reports that flowed in around the globe at the very start of the New Year.

According to Dr. Morrie Cohen, a renowned computer scientist at MIT, the problem seems to be related to the date field associated with common computer programs and processes.  “It looks like we were right about the Y2K bug after all, just ten years too early,” he declared.

While high school and college students seem to be the most troubled by this disruptive computer virus, older adults have not been immune from the fallout, especially those who have discovered they too have been addicted to Facebook, YouTube, and other social websites.  One distraught middle aged woman, who requested her name be withheld, said, “Now when I want to tell people about the cute things that my cat Bubbles is doing, like rolling around with a ball of yarn, I won’t be able to.  The government needs to fix this problem immediately.”    

In one of the unforeseen positive consequences, businesses have reported a 22% increase in worker productivity in the days since the Y2K-II outbreak.  “This surge in productivity strongly argues that, while computers have made many work tasks easier, they have also encouraged workers to waste an inordinate amount of work time surfing the Web and tracking useless posts and videos on the major social networks,” said Chris Kavanaugh, executive director of Toward A Saner World, an organization that according to its mission statement is dedicated to raising awareness of the growing stupidity of humans.

City Guy In The 'Burbs

Episode Four

The more I think about it this next topic is going to require many posts.  The topic is kids’ games that are particular to the city versus the ‘burbs.  There is a lot to write about.  And already I sense my bias. 

Let’s tackle the ‘burbs first.  As I consider the ‘burbs, the first activities that come to mind are the traditional sports like soccer, softball, peewee football, and little league.  All of them require a “field” and a gaggle of parents to organize leagues and transport the players around for practices and games.  These games are fun, but they have spawned two regrettable consequences -- the obnoxious sideline parent and the gas guzzling SUV.  May God forgive us. 

After sending out an SOS to friends and family asking about other suburban games, not much came back that I would say qualifies as exclusively suburban.  One that passes this test is flashlight tag.  Having a yard, with lots of options for hiding behind tress and bushes, is what makes this game a suburban favorite.  Also, since darkness is a critical ingredient in the game, it is a natural for the ‘burbs where artificial lighting is relatively scarce.  By contrast, seeing a kid in the city with a flashlight is a ludicrous concept.  When I was in the city flashlights only appeared when ConEdison was hit with a blackout.           

On the other hand, city games are quite numerous and generally are more inventive, kid-driven activities that, with some imagination, can be played right outside your apartment building or row house.  No parents or rides required.  Here is a partial list of the games I played as a kid in the city.  Johnny-ride-a-pony, ring-olievio, box ball, off the stoop, punch ball, stickball, chase, fox and hounds, and flies up.  In my twenty-five plus years in the ‘burbs I have never seen these games played there and wonder if the kids in my current neighborhood would even know what these games were.  At the playground we also played lots of basketball, as well as games like taps, twenty-one, and horse.  I once beat a friend one-on-one to 100 points.  It took several hours and I wore my fingertips raw. 

Now, when I drive through my suburban neighborhood and see a bunch of kids moping in some driveway I’m tempted to jump out of my car and tell the kids to get some chalk, bottle caps, and wax.  Then I’d draw a skully box, melt the wax into the bottle caps, and teach them the game.  That’s if they hadn’t already run inside when they saw a strange man get out of his car and head toward them.  

The Sporadic Diary

November 21, 2010

I was hospitalized last week.  It was the first time I ever had to stay overnight in a hospital.  The care was great by the standards that you would judge hospital care.  But the experience reinforced that old adage that when you have your health you have everything. 

Of course, from what I’ve heard others say I expected the food to be terrible.  But it wasn’t bad.  Really.  Especially if you like oatmeal.  Understandably, roommates can also be tough.  You can get a loud one or a moaner.  He could be a tv fanatic and love to watch all those horrific daytime shows.  But my roommate was a pleasant and quiet guy from Worcester who never watched tv and actually knew my brother-in-law from high school about fifty years ago.  The nurses can be annoying I’ve been told due to their frequent visits to check vital signs, draw blood, etc.  But my nurses were a succession of young, perky, and attractive women that I couldn’t wait to see.  Want to take my blood pressure again?  Sure.  Listen to my lungs?  Absolutely!  And by the way what’s that perfume you’re wearing? 

Now I’m not saying it was like being at a spa, but it definitely could have been worse.  Like I wish I had a small light so that I could have read during the night without disturbing my roommate.  Instead I did mental arithmetic problems.  (I kid you not.)  Which, I discovered, after about ten minutes lose their fascination.  And if there is one thing I could recommend to hospitals, it is this:  offer patients an ass massage.  Charge extra for it if you want.  Lying in bed for three or four days can make your ass feel like a piece of roughly hewn wood.  Having someone turn you over and rub aloe cream on your ass would be a pleasure beyond words.  At least that’s what I kept fantasizing about.     

Center Of Attention

Everyone says the game starts with the quarterback.  That he is the most important player ‘cause he is THE ONLY ONE who touches the ball on every play.  And that’s why the quarterback is the face of football and why he gets most of the attention.  But, HELLO. I say HELL FUCKIN’ LO.  Everything starts with the center!  Like me.  I touch the ball on every play and, DAMN IT, I touch it BEFORE the quarterback touches it!

Let’s face it, the center isn’t properly appreciated.  We centers are the ultimate hod carriers, JUST DOIN’ OUR FREAKIN’ JOBS AND MAKIN’ SURE EVERY PLAY STARTS OFF RIGHT.  We’re lunch pail guys, the unsung heroes of championship teams.

Think about it.  While the quarterback’s got his hands under my ass, tryin' to remember the freakin' signals, I’m doin’ important stuff, such as pointin’ out defenders to watch out for and shit like that.  I’m pointin’ this way and pointin’ that way.  All that pointin’ really fucks up a defense.  They don’t know what is fuckin’ goin’ to happen next.  Quarterbacks like to point too, but they’re just copyin’ what a good center does already.  WHAT A BUNCHA LOSERS! 

Another important thing I do before the snap is I make sure the ball is dry.  If the ball is wet ‘cause it’s rainin’ or snowin’ ‘n shit, I tell the ref to get a different one.  Wouldn’t want the ball slippin’ out of Mr. Star Quarterback’s prissy little fingers when he was tryin’ to make a handoff or throw a pass.  If he made a mistake like that it might hurt his feelings.  GIMME A FUCKIN’ BREAK!

Also, every once in a while after the play’s called and the line’s set I jerk my head up real sudden as if I’m snappin’ the ball to draw the defensive linemen offside.  I don’t do it too much, just when a penalty will give us a first down.  Sometimes it’s just a flinch.  So's the ref won’t notice.  Just a small movement that you’d barely pick up unless you was a defensive lineman who wanted to get a quick jump, beat a block, and then smash the quarterback to tiny bits.  I’m known around the league as one of the best flinchers the game as ever seen.  Am I proud of that?  FUCKIN’ A.

You know, it’s a war out there for the center.  A fuckin’ war on every play.  Centers don’t get to run down the field like the receivers and away from where all the hittin’ is done.  No, we battle in the trenches each and every time the ball is snapped.  Like when I’m over the ball, the guys on the other side of the line, those big motherfuckers, are spittin’ in my face and tellin’ me their goin’ to cream my ass.  That don’t happen to freakin’ Peyton Manning or Tom “Pretty Boy” Brady.  NO FUCKIN’ WAY.  And if it did, you know what they’d do?  They’d go cryin’ to the ref.  Oh, Mr. Referee, that big man over there spit in my face and called me a dirty name. THEY’RE JUST A COUPLA MAMBY FUCKIN’ PAMBIES!

In the pit known as the line of scrimmage, we centers end up on the ground a lot.  Me myself, well I’ve had my hands stepped on millions of times.  Do you think I complain?  No.  That would be chicken shit.  Centers don’t do that.  We just pick ourselves up and get ready for the next fuckin’ play.  I don’t care if I’m hurt.  I gotta be a good soldier and carry on.  I gotta create a hole for a running back to burst through.  Running backs, they’re another group of fuckin’ prima donnas.  But don’t get me started.  And on passin’ plays, I gotta snap the ball, get erect, and protect the quarterback.  I love that shit too because I got perfect technique.  I back up with my head swiveling left and right like the turret on a fuckin’ tank, lookin’ for someone to hit.  If a linebacker blitzes, BAM, I flatten his fat ass.  And if one of those scrawny safeties tries to shoot the gap, I closeline him with a forearm and then stomp on his crotch before he can get up.  All so’s the quarterback can throw a winning touchdown and get all the good lookin’ girls and make a shitload of money.  WHAT A CROCK!

As you can probably tell, I’m kinda ticked off.  THIS SHIT HAS GONE ON FAR TOO LONG!  It’s gotta change.  I want fans to be wearin’ the jerseys of centers.  I want centers to be interviewed before and after games, bein’ asked all those dumbass questions that the quarterbacks get asked.  I want centers to be drooled over by starlets and underwear models.  I want centers to be doin’ tv commercials and makin’ more freakin’ money than we know what to do with.  And I know how to get everyone's attention to make that happen.

I’m gonna organize all the centers.  And when the quarterback calls for the snap we’re just goin’ to hold onto the fuckin’ ball.  Imagine delay of game penalties one after another!  Nothin’ will happen except the ref steppin’ off the yardage backwards.  Eventually the ref will be tryin’ to figure out what half the distance to the goal line is when the ball is on the eighth of an inch line.  IT’LL FREAK EVERYONE OUT.  Especially the team owners who will be starin’ at the value of their investments goin’ down the toilet.

No, the game starts with centers and everbody better fuckin’ remember that.