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.