Movin’ on up to the east side.

Originally published in Countryside Post, Issue 2.7.

By the time you read this, Countryside Post will have moved across Highway 49 to Lake Center near Lake of the Pines, to the space tucked between Round Table Pizza and Hunan Restaurant. Hence the change of addresses in the newspaper.

Now as to why: Jill likes to describe it as a “total business decision.” That’s probably the most accurate way to put it. The rent is better, the foot-traffic promises to be better, and we expect that if the water pipes should ever explode, the landlord will accept liability.

Sick of the Y2K bug.

Originally published in Countryside Post, Issue 2.6.

Back in 1986, in a moment of idle curiosity, I wanted to see how far in the future I could reset the clock on my high school’s new Macintosh Plus. I discovered a Y2K bug of a different sort—it went as far as 2014 before it dialed back to 1915. I also recall how the computer neither shut down, nor exploded, nor refused to run my programs. I never expected it to act up anyway. Still don’t.

I was reminded of this recently, what with all the silly rumors regarding the Y2K bug, most of them generated by people who don't know squat about computers other than they seem to go berserk in a lot of science fiction movies. This may be why they expect the bug to make every system go FOOM on Jan. 1, 2000—even though less than 2 percent of computer systems are year-sensitive. Date-sensitive, yes: most of your bills are generated by computers that take note of the new month and send bills accordingly. Year-sensitive, no; this is limited to Social Security and other agencies which keep track of people's ages. And Social Security announced they’re Y2K-ready. The worst-case scenario of the Y2K bug is that a few people may get some funny figures on their bills, and THAT’S ALL.

Aw, you’re no fun.

Originally published in Countryside Post, Issue 2.5.

“Hello, you’ve reached Countryside Post. Jill isn’t here and Kent is tired of taking her messages, so if you’re calling for her, leave a message; if you’re calling for him, speak up; if you think this is unprofessional, aw, you’re no fun.” Beep.

That used to be on the Post’s answering machine. We had to take it off. We started getting hang-ups, likely from people who thought it was “unprofessional,” which is a code-word for “not dried up and humor-deprived like me; dangit, business is work!” The headline of this Letter is for them.

To me, a phone call is a request, not a demand, to talk. Don’t confuse the two. Many do, and thus become annoyed—especially when they discover that, at home, I don’t even answer the phone. I put a nutty message on the machine, which drives away all the people I don’t want to talk to. I answer, if I feel like talking, those who have the decency to leave a message.

Thumbs down on reviews.

Originally published in Countryside Post, Issue 2.4.

I’ve had to put off some people who have offered to write reviews for the Post—movie reviews, book reviews; you name it, they want to write what they think of it, and I don’t want to print it.

I don’t care for reviews. I find most of them useless; the only way I can tell whether I’d like a book or movie is by watching it. Few have the same criteria for picking entertainment anyway. We’re all entertained by different things. The only use for reviewers I have is that they tell me what something’s about, and I can get that from the advertisements.

That aside, the reason the Post doesn’t do reviews is that the Post covers local stuff, and most reviews are not of local things. The Prince of Egypt, fr’instance, is a nationally-distributed movie and is therefore not local; besides, it’s been out a month, and if you haven’t seen it by now, you’re waiting for the video.

Deadlines and Monday moveable feasts.

Originally published in Countryside Post, Issue 2.3.

Monday wasn’t really Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday, but the government has taken a tip from the church calendar and turned every holiday that isn’t on a Monday into a “moveable feast” so they can get three-day weekends. Since the Post uses a government agency called the U.S. Postal Service to distribute papers, we can’t give them the papers on those Mondays for Tuesday’s distribution. Instead, we have to give them the papers Friday, which means we have to print them the previous Thursday, which means you are now reading old news.

Heck, you’re always reading old news. Every newspaper writes its stuff the day before. You want up-to-the-second stuff, try TV, radio, and the Internet.

‘Your paper’ means you write for it.

Originally published in Countryside Post, Issue 2.2.

IF YOU WANT TO SEE SOMETHING WRITTEN UP IN COUNTRYSIDE POST, WRITE IT UP AND SEND IT IN.

I half wonder if I shouldn’t say this in every issue. It makes me tired when people complain that they attended an event and were disappointed when they didn’t see anything on it in their paper. Of course not—if you didn’t write anything about it, what makes you think anyone else did? Whatever happened to that saying, “If you want something done, you gotta do it yourself?”

How about that weather, eh?

Originally published in Countryside Post, Issue 2.1.

It’s an immediate indicator that the conversation well has run dry when someone starts talking about the weather. Therefore I won’t blame you if you skip reading this, ’cause it’s mostly about weather. Y’see, this is the first winter I’ve experienced in this area since moving here, and it’s been so cold that going to Lake Tahoe over Christmas was a relief. A relief to go someplace colder? Well, follow my logic: they’re prepared for it. The heater won’t run out of propane after one night, the pipes won’t freeze, and the hot water heater won’t burst and flood the office. Well, okay, it won’t burst there. It did burst here. So if you’re wondering why the Post’s website isn’t yet up to date, it’s because the computer got rained on. Expect the website to be updated soon; the computer’s dry now.