dsandler.org

Rice Thresher: Zeff named to Accounting Hall of Fame. No word yet on the Racquetball Hall of Fame.

The Boston Globe claims that the major roadblock (so to speak) to the completion of the Big Dig is software problems. One of the programmers speaks out on Slashdot.

There’s a followup story at Plastic on the topic of the Voronoi zen rock garden.

I have recently received complaints that the recounting of my recent CHP encounter is most infuriating due to the notable absence of a citation and fine.

To those people I say, “OK, fine, but let me tell you about the time Boston decided that I had been delinquent in paying hundreds of dollars in excise tax on my car, and had informed me that they would impound it if they saw it. They were right; I hadn’t paid any of that tax. (But I had also MOVED AWAY the year before.) It took about a year and a half, and several hundred dollars, all told, to get them to stop trying to collect taxes on my California-registered car.”

I had a hard time getting to work today. Traffic was lousy, and I was kind of distracted (I’m getting sick, so my head is getting foggy). Oh, and I got pulled over.

Travelling westbound on 92, I debated turning on my wipers; my car had been parked under a tree all weekend, and was full of schmutz. I was going slowly enough (up a hill on 92) that I figured I was probably not in danger of over-spraying wiper fluid all over the car behind me (this is a point of highway courtesy seldom followed). I checked my rearview mirror to see what kind of car I might be offending in case traffic started moving, sending some of my wiper fluid onto his windshield.

“Hey, it’s the CHP! And they have their lights on! And are motioning me to pull over!”

[The officer walks very, very cautiously up to the passenger-side window of Dan’s car.]

Dan: Uh, good morning?

Officer: Do you know why I pulled you over?

Dan: Um, no.

Officer: Your registration has expired. Six, two thousand two. That’s a long time ago.

Dan: Uh, oh, gosh, wait, did I forget to put the sticker on? [Note: the rest of Dan’s lines must be read in the style of the geeky monsters from Monsters Inc.] I must have forgotten to put the sticker on. [rummages around in glovebox, to the increasing unsettlement of the officer; removes an envelope and empties the contents.] See, here it is, I just forgot to put on the sticker!

[The officer takes the sticker-carrying registration sheet from Dan’s hands and scrutinizes it. He turns it to face Dan, slowly, and begins flicking the sticker, even more slowly.]

Officer: You’ve gotta put this on. [Flick, flick.] Where are you driving this morning?

Dan: Uh, to work, sir.

Officer: And where is that located?

Dan: Uh, Sunnyvale, sir. [thinking: “I work for the White House.]

Officer: Well, when you get there, you put this sticker on right away. They’ll pull you over for it again if you don’t. Now accelerate slowly, and merge when it’s safe. [walks away]

Dan: Thanks, sir, yes, I will, sir!

Twitch, twitch. I simply do not handle interaction with The Law gracefully. (Ask E. to tell you about the time we went through Canadian customs. Remember to imagine the geeky-monster voice!)