I had started a pretty long entry on the seventeenth, but a technical problem stalled it and I was at an Apple Tech Update yesterday, so we're going to pick up where I left off, then add new stuff at the bottom. See you then!

A busy weekend, all told. Busy in good ways, but still. So, let's cover what we can.

First, there was Friday night, or my second night of dorm duty. Rather than the more "dormlike" building I had Thursday night (Sargent II), I had a more homelike Senior Dorm on Friday (Hughes.) Of the two, I'd rather live in Hughes, but I greatly prefer Dorm Duty in Sargent. There's a separate office for it, and it's quieter and less chaotic.

The kids were great, however. It was tiring, though mostly I listened to a Wrestling Online Radio Show and played with an In Nomine database I've been working on in Filemaker Pro. Occasionally, students would come down and debate tech office policy with me.

A note. Our kids love to debate tech office policy with me. No matter what time of day, whether I'm in the middle of a meal or not, or even if I have my talk to me and die a slow death involving mayonnaise face on. It's the downside of being a professional. I'm always on duty to talk to the kids. They think so and who am I to argue?

The reason they're debating tech office policy with me is because we've given them more access than they had before, meeting their needs better and giving them a lot more free time Internet roving than we had before.

You read that right. We expanded their access. Therefore, they're debating with us. It makes little sense to me, either.

One student came to argue because he doesn't have access to ICQ.

"There's a technical problem with sending ICQ through our Firewall," I answered. "We're working on it, and in the meantime you can use AIM during the posted hours."

"But all my friends are on ICQ," he shot back.

I paused.

"Um... we can't do ICQ right now. We're working on it, and when we can we will. You do understand that."

"Oh yeah. Yeah, I understand." He paused. "But my friends are on ICQ."

"Well, I'm sorry -- we'll get it working as soon as we can."

"Okay." Another pause. "Will it be like AOL Instant Messenger, so we can't get on it during the day?"

A note here -- AIM's restricted during the school day, as lots of our students last year would use it during class to chat with their friends across the room. However, from late afternoon to early evening and then after study hall (which is a zero network time) it's open for use.

"Yeah," I said. "It's school policy that there's no chatting during school hours."

"But my friends are on in the day. That's when I'll want to talk to them."

I paused again, and took a breath. "Well, that's when we want you to actually pay attention in class, so chat programs aren't allowed."

"But that's when I want to chat."

"Well, yeah. It's good to want. It's good for your soul."

That's about when the student scowled and went upstairs. Remember, this is a senior. Chances are likely he's got the right to vote, make love and drive a car. Happy motoring.

I made it home and crashed. I didn't want to, but exhaustion from the week just nailed me square between the eyes. I mewled a bit and crawled into bed.

And my phone rang at one thirty. My friend Deb, referenced in the last. She needed to talk to someone, and I don't blame her. And I hope that I said something that helped in my eleven-twelfths unconscious state. I know we spoke until well past two, but I don't know what was said. And I feel badly about that.

Saturday was a truly beautiful day. The air was crisp and the sun was shining. I woke up around ten and couldn't force myself back asleep, so I laid in bed and listened to cartoons, and then wandered over and climbed online to check in.

Mason was at work -- Brewster is a six-day-a-week school and he's the poor sa-- lucky soul who gets to work Saturday mornings. During the school year, it's a time to catch up on things as they occur. Right now, it's a time for him to face the onslaught alone. That's never a comfortable thing.

I met him for lunch (well, I had coffee) and we made plans to pick up Van and hit Portsmouth. It was Van's birthday so we figured we'd stand him to some good food and a movie and shopping excitement. "Right," I said, "let's hit the adventure." I felt vaguely like Steve from Jim's Journal saying it, though.

Speaking of Jim's Journal, though, if you hit the right under my daily links to the left, you'll be taken to the Jim's Journal Jenerator -- a web site from those wacky MIT kids that will generate an entirely random Jim's Journal strip from the pool of available ones. Despite the fact that this should work perfectly, it doesn't. Jim's Journal has a pattern, and it is mundane in the extreme. And yet, a certain essential Jimness carries through on it.

We drove on down, chatting away. Once down there, we discovered we were about an hour ahead of the next showing of Dudley Do-Right, which I'd seen with Eileen but it was a good, inoffensive return-to movie with the guys. While waiting, we walked over to Barnes and Noble and I did something I dreaded doing. I asked about my wallet.

That's right, my wallet was missing. And this concerned me more than it had in the past, because unlike most of my previous life, I have a tendency to keep my apartment clean. Cluttered, yes, but few things on the floor, few places for a wallet to hide... and being a creature of habit, I tended to keep my wallet in one of a few places.

Well, it wasn't at Barnes and Noble, and I thanked the fortuitous providence that had me somewhat randomly collect more money than I usually carry when I deposit my check.

We also hit Best Buy. While there, we discovered they had a copy of Civilization II Gold Multiplayer for Macintosh.

I'm not a gameplayer by nature, but CivII sucks me in and holds me tight. Mason was into it too, and later we saw Van who was independently holding a copy of the game. Once we have the firewall opened for it (for Faculty use) I expect it will be a huge amount of fun. Heck, even playing by myself it's a huge amount of fun. But I'm getting ahead of my story.

We saw the movie, which remained great fun. And then we headed for Bugaboo Creek -- the land of the disturbing trout -- for some well cooked grub.

Or so we intended. The line for people waiting went literally outside and close to the cars.

"Well," Mason said. "Let's not go there."

We tried Olive Garden. Same deal. Fine. We decided to Zen Navigate, looking wanly for a place where we could eat good birthday food. It became a visionquest. And we drove. And drove. And drove.

At one point, the cry the Hell with it, let's go to Boston came out. We were all for it, but I was on duty at the school, and pager or not being in Boston would be a bad idea on a duty weekend. There's nothing like being two hours away during an emergency. So we drove. And drove. And drove.

And a curious thing happened. We were heading for Hampton Beach... and everything become flat. Like, Kansas flat. You-can-clearly-see-houses-ten-miles-away flat.

New England isn't flat. It's bumpy -- crinkled, almost. Glaciers reshaped New England millenia ago, forming furrows that wind erosion and water have turned into rolling hills and occasional mountains. It's a land of infinite texture. Flat disconcerted me.

We drove through Hampton Beach. Arcades gleamed at us from white-painted-over rusty metal buildings. Booths were everywhere announcing "Fry Dough." Tourist Hell arose.

And so did the reason for it. The beach was white and fair to gleamed, but more than that the powerful, ancient Atlantic Ocean spread out before us. The hardcore Atlantic -- even moreso than Penobscot Bay, which has islands and the like within view. This was the real "if you look hard enough you can see Ireland" deal.

It was impressive for us all, and kind of pretty in the midst of all that tawdry dreck. It reeked of summer and youth and tourism, but in the end it came back to the ocean, which was so much bigger than the rest of it.

Eventually we made it all the way back to Bugaboo Creek, where we had good food and were frightened by the fish. We were kind and didn't report Van's birthday to the staff, and as a result Van didn't have to kiss the stuffed moose.

Weird place.

I got home that night, and Andrea had left a voice message for me. That was very very nice indeed. It's the kind of thing that you miss in your life when you don't have it, and which you don't realize you've missed until you do.

This is where the new stuff would go, but I'm running late. So, tomorrow or whenever. Enjoy!