We had a pretty good 2004, and we hope you did, too. Dr. No and I appreciate your many visits and we hope this humble corner of cyberspace continues to serve you as a virtual Stephenson Hall living room into the new year.

Me personally, I'm gunning for a better second half of the decade. It's gotta be pretty spectacular to compensate for Sept. 11, war, tsunamis, trucker hats, American Idol and Paris Hilton.

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Finally, there's one place you can go to take care of all of your sock monkey needs.

via Mefi.

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Clare Doveton's little brother Mike and his girlfriend were swimming in the sea near Phuket when the tsunami hit. They survived, but are currently stranded in Thailand.

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Thank the gods. Scott Baio is returning to TV. (Thanks to Gothamist for outpointing. Seems Chachi's a Brooklyn kid.) His intense acting in the episode of "Happy Days" when he accidentally burned down Al's seared my heart.

Have you listened closely to the lyrics of the Charles in Charge theme? To my ears, it sounds like a love song to totalitarianism.

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I totally missed that Ward 8 has once again elected Marion Barry as its representative on the Council of the District of Columbia after he left the office of Mayor under a cloud.

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Wisconsin is in mourning due to the death of Reggie White over the weekend. Expect to see a lot of tributes to him over the next couple of days. Three things that likely won't be talked about much are:

• His views on homosexuality.
• His thoughts on race.
• The disappearance of $250,000 that Reggie White raised from Packers fans to rebuild his church after it burned down.

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The Souls will be at Thinman's on the 27th. You should either call him or otherwise let him know how to get a hold of you so we can see you while you're in Lawrence.

You too, TSI!

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Tadpole Termination

I am looking for an appropriate means of euthanizing tadpoles, but with the added hindrance that I intend to use the tadpoles for chemical analysis. I am uncertain of the action that MS-222 or any other chemical euthanasia agent may have on the chemical makeup of the animal. Any information on the action of euthanasia agents such as MS-222, or others that anyone is aware of, would be of great help to me in preparing my protocols. Or, if anyone would like to suggest an acceptable method of euthanasia for tadpoles from egg stage up to metamorphosis that doesn't use chemicals, I would gladly listen. At the moment I am thinking of: 1) cooling tadpoles and then freezing (in ice or dry ice -- assuming that dry ice would freeze individuals faster). 2) cooling tadpoles and attempting to decapitate (with the inherent problem of locating the cervical column in a tadpole) or 3) immersing in liquid nitrogen (although cost and storage are a concern because it is a field-based study that will require use for ten weeks -- resulting in high costs?). If anyone has any ideas, comments, or advice, please contact me.

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Urban India has been roiled by the story of a boy recording a girl performing oral sex on him with his camera phone and sharing it with his friends. The recording ultimately got offered for sale on eBay's Indian subsidiary. Citing India's laws against cyber-porn, the president of the eBay subsidiary and the boy who recorded the sex act were soon arrested by authorities.

Pawan Duggal, described in the article as a cyberlaw expert, had the best quote of the entire article:

"Ultimately we have to see bigger picture. We want to increase Internet penetration. All this will only happen if you allow service providers the freedom," he said.

It's such a great double entendre that I have to wonder whether it was intentional.

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My background music for today has been The Supremes Sing Rodgers & Hart. Track 4 is their version of "Where or When," a song that I've been fond of since Charity sang it at the memorial service we went to together.

After hearing the Supremes' version of the song a couple of times today, I decided to check out other artists who've performed the song. Naturally, there are versions by Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Harry Connick, Jr., Barbara Streisand and just about everyone else who has ever belted out a torch song. The most surprising best finds of my search however, were versions by ex-Roxy Music rocker Bryan Ferry and Regis Philbin's earnest version on It's Time for Regis!.

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Last night my bicycle lock wouldn't work. The temperature was in single digits and I was hoping it was just the cold. It wasn't. I went back today when it was warmer and the lock still wouldn't work. My solution? 36" bolt cutters. If you've never used them before, I highly recommend the experience.

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Skidmore, MO has gotten a reputation for violence, but I'll always remember it as the hometown of my favorite childhood band: Festival!

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Dear Everyone,

You might suppose that a techy like me would have made the switch to computerized Christmas cards long ago, but actually, I’m a bit of a Luddite at home. Maybe this will be the year we upgrade from Windows 95. Turns out though, that procrastination and old-timey ways don’t go together very well. So here are the year’s events, in recap:

The twins, Raynalda and Mark Jr. are enjoying kindergarten. MJ does seem to have a thing for paste, but he’s nothing if not crafty. He cuts a mean triangle with those tiny scissors and he’s been working on his rhombus in his free time.

Raynalda’s immersion program for Spanish seems to be going great. We don’t talk much anymore.

For my part, I’m preparing to charter a sailboat around the Caribbean. This has so far mostly involved visiting the ocean and envying other people’s sailboats. I suspect I may have some previously untapped natural nautical talent.

Rebecca has been, as usual, our rock. I don’t see how she could even be thinking about getting another cat. She’s selfless, that one is.

Speaking of animals, we still have two, Aslan and Sabine. We’re getting the carpet cleaned soon. That says it all, really.

We recently renewed our PBS membership. I can't benefit from America's Test Kitchen in good conscience without doing my part.

We have been considering people less fortunate than ourselves, but not in a way that would prevent an enjoyable holiday.

We will probably not be getting a projection TV this year either, even if they are only $1499 at Costco. But thanks for the tip.

Yes, our side of the duplex is contributing love and peace to the universe this year and we hope your home is, too.

Love,
DoubleOh and Mrs. Soul

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When I call Jebus, I usually address him with a serious tone as "Dr. Jebus." I'm kinda pickin' on him -- after all, he ain't a doctor. At least, 'til this week.

From here on out, it won't be a lie. It wasn't easy, it took several years and an awful lot of drinking, but Mr. and Mrs. Jebus are now Dr. and Mrs. Jebus. Jebus earned his doctorate after an hour of sweat-drenched grilling by three eminent researchers in his field. Among the distinctions this bestows him, he's now the best educated of this group. I'm now looking askance at this bachelor of science(?!?) in journalism degree I got myself nine and a half years ago and thinkin' it ain't the shiny Corvette it once was.

Congrats to Jebus and TSI!.

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Madison has developed little problem with people rioting on Halloween. The general consensus is that its out-of-towners who cause the problems, so one of the proposals is to close the isthmus.

While I think it's a silly idea to prevent rioting, I always like it when a snow storm or conference of mayors shuts down the isthmus. It keeps all of the outsiders away and lets us near eastsiders just hang out and reconnect with each other.

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Giuliani, in a sad imitation of Ricky Ricardo, says that Bernie Kerik has a "fair amount of explaining to do." Like convincing people that there even was an illegal nanny.

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Sex sex sex. Sex sex sex sex sex sex sex.

If you can see this message, the Norlos.com web host has discovered the Power of Love.

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Does anyone else get that feeling?

Props to The Morning News.

*The company that runs Norlos's server no longer likes the S-E-double-sticks word. I've brought it to their attention that we're all adults and the S*xual Revolution occurred four decades ago. They're working on a solution, but in the meantime maybe it'll cut down on the filth around here.

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McCain is threatening to hold up every piece of legislation in the Senate if Congress doesn't create a national boxing commission. His Senate has put out more press releases on boxing issues than on crime issues. McCain also had a hand in destroying the UFC to protect established boxing interests. What's the deal?

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Okay, so it involves a single Stephenson Hall Man, and the entomological press may or may not be "the news", but M. Engel's new co-authored book, "Evolution of the Insects", is out. The big (700 page) book is receiving glowing reviews. An example: "A landmark contribution, not just to entomology and evolutionary biology, but to the life sciences as a whole. Beautifully conceived, splendidly written, and exquisitely illustrated.... Bound to remain a primary scientific reference for years to come. A must for naturalists, young and old. Truly a definitive work."

I have not read it.

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I've had this theory for a long time that the biggest beneficiaries of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks were the people who were in office at the time. Pull a public salary, show up that day and you're set, and competence be damned.

Bernard Kerik was the ultimate test, the indestructible force against the immovable object. Even short-term residents of the world's best town knew the guy was a tool. He was constantly credited for New York's improving crime rate, even though it stemmed mostly from the economic boom, computer technology, William Bratton, rising real-estate costs, the Rockefeller laws and other onerous mandatory sentencing rules, and, yes, the big drag queen himself, who deserves a shout-out for this despite his many failings. I don't recall Kerik ever claiming credit. With the exception of passing it on to his boss, I don't recall him deflecting it, either. More easily he deflected the allegations of mob ties.

Turns out he had many other aspects of his life he wished to hide -- including, thanks to Newsday via Gothamist, an undisclosed wife. The worst kind to have!

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In Georgia, a man who was hosting a bonfire placed a plastic bottle of diesel fuel in the fire in the hopes that it would melt slowly and fuel the flames. Not surprisingly, things didn't go as planned. Instead of melting, the bottle exploded and injured five people. In response to the injuries, the local sheriff said:

"Greg is real compassionate and has a real big heart. He loves children and he's beating himself up pretty bad. It was just a freak accident."

Now, in my opinion, you cannot call the explosion of a bottle of diesel fuel that was deliberately placed on the fire a "freak accident." Poor judgement, maybe, or a horrible miscalculation, but not a freak accident.

The sheriff's defense of Greg Keene strikes me as very similar to statements made by Bush supporters: Bush is real compassionate and really cares about Americans. It's just a freak accident that hundreds of soldiers are dying in Iraq thanks to inadequate armor and there are fewer jobs in America now than when he was elected in 2000. It has absolutely nothing to do with poor judgement or planning on the Bush administration's part.

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It doesn't look like NHL strike is going to end anytime soon. So how are NHL occupying themselves during the lockout? Well, some are playing in charity hockey games. Others are playing for their hometown minor league teams. Then there are those who are travelling through time.

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Bill Rancic of 'The Apprentice' Signs Contract for Residence in Trump Tower at City Center

WHITE PLAINS, N.Y., Dec. 13 -- Bill Rancic, who catapulted to fame as star of Donald Trump's "The Apprentice," is Westchester's newest celebrity resident. The 32-year-old executive has signed a contract to purchase a two-bedroom luxury condominium in Trump Tower at City Center in White Plains.

Mr. Rancic, whose new home in the 35-story tower offers commanding views of the Manhattan skyline, said Trump Tower at City Center combines the best of both worlds -- Manhattan-style conveniences, quality and amenities without the high Manhattan prices. "Trump Tower at City Center offers Manhattan-style living that's priced well below the Manhattan market, and it's only 30 minutes from my New York City office," said Mr. Rancic.

"A luxury high-rise condominium in Manhattan with the level of sophistication, convenience and spectacular views of Trump Tower at City Center can easily cost in excess of $2 million in Manhattan, and, typically it offers far less space," he added.

Trump Tower at City Center features spaciously designed 1-, 2- and 3- bedroom residences priced from $600,000 to $1.6 million. Residents enjoy a full array of luxury amenities and services including 24-hour doorman, concierge service, garage valet parking, a fully equipped state-of-the-art fitness center, indoor and outdoor pools and tennis courts; as well as sweeping views of the Manhattan skyline and Long Island Sound. Residences feature high-end finishes including hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances, marble bathrooms, cherry kitchen cabinets, granite countertops and numerous other luxury features.

Mr. Rancic joins a growing roster of savvy homebuyers who have discovered the tremendous value of Trump Tower at City Center. Since opening for sales in October, contracts for 65% of the 212 condominiums have been signed.

Louis R. Cappelli, who is building Trump Tower at City Center in partnership with Donald Trump, congratulated Mr. Rancic on his purchase. "We are thrilled that Bill will be among the new residents who have chosen Trump Tower at City Center as their new home. Trump Tower at City Center offers the best in sophisticated, luxury high-rise living with all of the advantages of a Manhattan location but at a fraction of the cost," Mr. Cappelli said.

Donald Trump praised Mr. Rancic for making "an intelligent quality of life decision. He will truly have the best of both worlds of living in a world- class luxury residence that is conveniently located in the heart of Westchester only 30 minutes from Manhattan and five minutes from Trump National Golf Course in Briarcliff Manor." …

Mr. Cappelli noted that Bill Rancic typified the young professional who works in Manhattan but is "attracted to the sophisticated, high-rise and loft- style living that we are offering in White Plains." He noted that Trump Tower and The Lofts at City Center are also attracting empty-nesters who have sold their large single-family homes and are seeking maintenance-free living.

"With more than $1 billion in new construction already started or about to begin, downtown White Plains is rapidly emerging as a true 24-hour city with thousands of new residents as well as new stores, theaters and restaurants all within easy walking distance of Trump Tower," said Mr. Cappelli...

/CONTACT: Geoff Thompson for Cappelli Enterprises Inc., +1-914-762-1900, geoff@thompson-bender.com /

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It started with liquid handsoap. I was in Target contemplating which liquid handsoap to purchase. Faced with a tear-drop shaped bottle of designer soap for $2.99 and an understated bottle of Target-brand soap for $0.85, I ended up going with the Target soap. Slowly, the Target logo started taking over my apartment.

Target toilet paper? Check. Target facial tissues? Check. Target paper towels? Check. Target sheets? Check, check, check, check.

While the quality of the products are comparable to brand name products and the prices are lower, the reason why I've started solely purchasing Target-brand household goods is for the packaging. I never noticed it until Target products reaced critical mass in my apartment, but purchasing household products from a number of different producers creates a riot of design and branding. Target products, however, have a uniform design style of a solid color with the target logo in an appropriate accent color.

It may not be the sign of a healthy mind, but it makes me feel good to look around my apartment and see a uniformity of design among my household products, especially when that design agrees so closely with my own aesthetic.

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Dr. No outpoints this story from the Onion that's of special interest to Jebus. Remember, if God's a mouse, then Jebus is soooo screwed.

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Tonight, at Mother Fool's, it's the Buffali versus Yammer in Band to Band Boggle Combat.

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With all the furor surrounding the Ukrainian election, one question that hasn't been answered to my satisfaction is whether Viktor Yushchenko is actually a zombie. According to the Zombie Survival Guide, mysterious illnesses, such as the one Yuschenko is suffering from, are a common prelude to the dead walking the earth.

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A city grappling with the rising cost of housing, an education system still badly in need of repairs and the possibility of still more terrorist attacks is instead riveted to the saga of a homeless bird. Pale Male's nest was torn down this week, and Mary Tyler Moore and a bunch of other midtown do-gooders are hopping mad. Pale Male is apparently a long-time media darling, but the landlord says residents in the co-op were starting to complain about pigeon carcasses.

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So a guy in Ohio shot "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott, the former guitar player for Pantera, as well as several other people. While I find these instances sad, I can't help but notice the irony of shock from violence among fans who listen to bands with names like "Damageplan" and who loved Pantera hits like "Mouth for War" and "Cemetery Gates."

Reminds me how the band Anthrax backpedaled after the anthrax attacks of a few years ago.

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The Feast of the Goat. So far, I'm not terribly wild about it, and I usually love novels about insane Latin American dictators. It's told in three narratives -- a woman in her forties returning to the Dominican Republic for the first time since... well, it's unclear why she left. He's playing that tension nicely. Vargas Llosa also puts us in the chamber of the Goat himself, Trujillo, as he deals with the dissolution of his country and his family, which is trying to loot the place. The third narrative, about some guys sitting and waiting to kill the Goat, drags.

It's no Autumn of the Patriarch. How cool is the craziness of the child lottery and the cold marbles? Subconsciously, I'm reading it to avoid returning to Ulysses. Turns out I'm no Marilyn Monroe in many, many ways.

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I'm a bit behind this week, so I totally missed the Paris hidden-explosives missing-suitcase imbroglio.

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My friend Matt points out that Tipsy McStagger's, the Irish pub name that tickled me and made me think of "The Simpsons," does, in fact, come from "The Simpsons." Specifically, the Flaming Moe episode.

Get your Tipsy McStagger's business card here.

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What does it mean when television ads for digital photography make better use of music than television ads for digital music?

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A Washington Post article describing the "friendly fire" death of Pat Tillman makes heavy use of the word "fratricide." Much to my surprise, one of the definitions of fratricide is "fire that injures or kills an ally." I always thought that it just referred to killing your brother.

On a separate note, the article draws attention to an issue with the military that I've commented on before: officers make the rules, so it's the soldiers in the field who pay if there's a fuck-up.

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For those who can't get enough of our vacation, the full pics are up.

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• Don't believe the hype. A Guinness in Ireland and a Guinness here taste exactly the same.
• Speaking of brews, when the Irish retire to their traditional pubs, they enjoy perennial favorites: Budweiser and Miller Genuine Draft
• Favorite pub name, seen somewhere in County Clare: Tipsy McStagger's. Should the Duff brewery sponsor a furry new spokescharacter on Krusty the Klown's show to introduce children to their brand, it would be hard-pressed to think up a better name
• In Ireland, they drive on the left side of the road -- or, as I like to call it, the crazy side of the road. Also, the driver sits on the right -- or, if you prefer, crazy -- side, doing everything that doesn't involve the steering wheel with his left hand. I asked a local how they expect a person to shift and use his turn signal at the same time. Responded the local: We don't use turn signals.
• If your meal comes with only one form of potato, complain to the management. Dr. No settled for two forms but always hoped for three. At some point, she would like to return to Ireland to open a business serving potatoes in new form. Perhaps liquid. She's thinking potato smoothies. Me, I'd skip that step and go straight for gasificiation, for mainlining starchy goodness.
• Act like a native. Play the ponies.
• The one person we met who seemed to like President Bush turned out to be Australian.
• The Irish still rely on coal -- a very clean sort with a texture similar to wood -- to heat their homes. You can walk down the street on a cloudy night, since there's rarely any other kind, and see the smoke drift between the chimneys and soften all the lights to a golden blur. I wish I could bottle the smell
• For tapping your inner fur-clad warrior, nothing beats a visit to a 1,200-year-old castle. Dr. No kept wanting to lay seige to something, which can be an embarrassing urge to deal with when the only thing around to lay seige to is the suburban bed-and-breakfast where you've stayed the night
• A close second to tapping that inner fur-clad warrior comes from viewing the mists swirling around rocky mountaintops. The day I saw Connor's Pass outside Dingle, I kept involuntarily searching my pockets for dice with more than six sides and wondering whether the night before I'd lost a saving throw against hangovers.
• A weak dollar sucks. Dr. No plans to write an angry letter to the president today.

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Gentlemen: are you looking to "spice" things up in the bedroom? Look no further than the Intimo Tuxedo Style Thong available at JC Penney.

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This Sunday, there's going to be a fashion show at Natt Spil. The studio in our apartment has been the epicenter of preparations for the show. This has given me many opportunities to stroke my goatee, look at the dress form, and say things like, "I'm seeing faux fur and pink spandex accents."

Then I go back to my room and watch football.

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Charlemagne, the latest Carl Johns project, is cool even if a couple of its members like to knit on stage.

Carl Johns' mustache tried going solo a couple of months ago.

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My hangover this morning stands as a testament to the power of poitin. We arrived yesterday to Dingle, which is a less-touristy alternative to the Ring of Kerry and is also really fun to say. The second pub we stopped at had a friendly owner ready to chat with a couple of Yanks.

Somehow the coversation's topic turned to poitin (pronounced "put-cheen"). An older American woman at our bed and breakfast that very morning told us how her long-lost Irish relatives gave her some they'd been saving for 10 years, and in her words, "It tasted just like water." When we expressed our curiosity, the pub owner ducked behind the bar. He knelt down on the floor. He moved the big black trash can and groped underneath the cupboards. Now, I may be conservative, but when a bartender keeps a liquor in a hidden corner, the stuff might not be trustworthy.

It doesn't help that, when the pub owner emerges with a smile and an unmarked bottle of clear liquid, the three older Irish people at the bar oohed in appreciation. He passed it to them -- they sniffed it one by one and recoiled (except for the one male, who opened his eyes wide and said, "Aye, that's poitin, all right.").

A few minutes later, after our eyes were watering from taking the stuff down, an American resident wandered in. "It's Everclear," he told us. Ah! That's where I've tasted it before.

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