You made it! Thanks for visiting.
Once again, there is proof people ACTUALLY read my column, even years later! The first time I visited Seattle, I wrote a column about many of my experiences there (click here to reminiscence). I also mentioned a car I saw, covered entirely in floppy disks. I asked readers to put me in touch with the driver.
Well, the driver found me ... here's her response to the column:
People who use instant messenger services occasionally receive chat requests from people they don't have on their buddy list. Usually these messages are from random people or lost friends and mean no harm. Every once in awhile, though, a message will pop up from your IM stalker.
I thought I had found some sort of glitch in the space-time continuum. One of the local rock stations plays songs from the band Rush as often as any classic or even current band. But after a trip to Chicago a week ago, where I managed to find myself in the middle of a Rush block one day and not being able to change the channel while "Tom Sawyer" played the next, I realized I wasn't alone.
I'm really, really getting frustrated by the advice Dear Abby hands out to people on a daily basis. Millions of people read this, and many times, what she has to say is incorrect!
In a previous column, I mentioned that I might try to make the world's largest waffle, and an observant reader wondered what the record actually was.
Of course, I had no idea, so I attempted to look it up. Here's what I found:
Many people are familiar with the movie "Catch Me If You Can," which describes the early life of Frank Abagnale and his ability to change identities at a moment's notice. Some know this was based on a true story, and even fewer people know that Abagnale worked with the FBI for 32 years to thwart identity theft.
Terry, an innocent bystander until he read one of my columns and emailed me, sent me a pretty good take on the prequel to the Y2K Bug, which, of course, is the Y1K Bug. It took me awhile to find the original author (remember, taking more than a minute to find anything on the Internet is way too long), but I finally did.
Augustine J. Fredrich begins the story with a dateline March 15, 999, in Canterbury, England. He writes:
As I was exiting the grocery store yesterday, I overheard a conversation between a woman and what I assumed was her teenage son. She was holding at least four candy bars in her hand.
Remember that email you sent to the random senator about spending money to build igloos in the desert? The bad news is that I don't think the interest groups can raise the $200 million you need for research funds. The good news is that the email could be read again 60 years from now and will never be deleted.