I've just filtered through the last of 500 megs of data on my web space. I think I've eliminated all traces of my hacker infiltration. Some of it I was able to upload from archives here at home. In several other directories, though, I had to go through and edit the html code one page at a time to removed the offending script. With both the desktop and my laptop now scrubbed of malware, let's hope all of this hard work sticks this time around.

So, to repeat from an earlier post... Does any have any recommendations for more modern web design and file transfer software? I'm currently using AOLPress and WS_FTP95... which means I might as well be running my web emprire from a 486DX.

I run or host about a half-dozen Web sites in addition to JohnDoe.Org. Most of them are pretty static. The content doesn't require constant updates, so I make like Ron Popeil and "set 'em and forget 'em." This is a good thing because I'm a web designer who is stuck in the last decade. I use AOLPress (which they stopped updating a decade ago) for WYSIWYG design and WS_FTP95 for FTP. It's hard to keep things fresh when you're that archaic.

So, imagine my surprise when I got an e-mail from Google the other day that said, "We recently discovered that some of your pages can cause users to be infected with malicious software. We have begun showing a warning page to users who visit these pages by clicking a search result on Google.com."

Malware? Warnings? Bah, humbug!

I went through, found the offending script that had been added to the HTML code of a million pages (or so it seemed), changed my password and uploaded script free versions of the page files. I don't operate a gigantic web space or anything -- but I'm knocking on 500mb and I'm just one guy with some software held together by duct tape.

Everything ran smoothly for a couple of days until Google knocked on my door again. Um, yeah. The unwanted visitors were back. It seems that even though I try to play it safe and use protection, I contracted myself an FTP trojan horse on our desktop. Once it obtained my password and played its game, I changed the password, it obtained it again and set up round two. For the record, this will ruin the holiday spirit faster than Cousin Eddie dumping his shit tank into your storm sewer.

I've since run an anti-malware program from Malwarebytes that picked up on things that Norton and McAfee overlooked. I guess the next step is to restore the web site. My host keeps a 14- or 21-day archive of the web site online, but I can't restore from any of those files because many of them are poisoned, too. So, it looks like I'll be going through folder by folder uploading from the desktop once I feel I'm safe on this end.

In the meantime, I've got a little birthday cash on hand. What does everyone recommend for modern web design and file transfer software? It's time I step into the 21st century.

ETA: JohnDoe.Org is on a separate account and appears to be perfectly healthy. By looking at the dates of the last updates over there, it seems abstinence really is the best policy.

I sometimes point to 1994 as the year I came of age. A lot happened in those 12 months that turned me from a very clueless kid into someone who at least had the potential to become a man. My grandmother died in January. Shortly afterward, I got my own ride. I had my first broken relationship in the form of Megan Adams. I went to Space Academy. I got my second-ever "real" job. I quit that job two weeks in and started working for a newspaper. I wrecked my ride -- breaking my brother's arm and his trust in me in the process. I think I may have even had my first real conversations with Jessie that fall. There was a lot on my plate.

In June, I left for what was supposed to be a four-week stint as a lifeguard at a Boy Scout camp about an hour or so away from home. I didn't know it at the time, but I was pretty much clueless about how life, the world, people or relationships worked. I wasn't even an afternoon's drive from my momma, but when I showed up at camp -- a place I'd spent quite a bit of time at as a kid -- I was home sick. If I could have quit that very first day, I would have. In fact, I think I may have tried. I remember something about telling the boss that I didn't feel good and that I might need to head home. Luckily he was wise in the ways of sad little teenagers and didn't believe any of my bullshit.

( ...I ain't working here no more. )

So today, I found myself at the mall -- twice.

That's pretty much the extent of my story. With that said, I'm convinced that surviving the mall two weeks before Christmas is harder to do than leaving a strip club with Tiger Woods empty-handed. You couldn't stir them with a stick in there... although there were a few I wanted to beat off with one.

This time of year is pretty much centered around the kids, so not having any gives me a unique perspective. If Jessie & I ever add any curtain climbers to the mix here at Casa de Fletcher, I'm sure we'll do our fair share of spoilage. Yet I can't help but wonder how many parents skip the mortgage payment or dip too far into savings just to buy their kids' happiness for a few minutes on Christmas morning. It's not just a joke that half of the toys are broken or discarded by the time Valentine's Day rolls around. So, where is the middle ground? And does anyone live there? Will we?

I've often said that one of the greatest feelings in the world was to walk out after finishing the last final of the semester. Although I'm hoping to revisit that feeling in the next few days, knocking out a shit ton of course work in three days is a pretty impressive feeling, too.

I did a pretty good job this semester of keeping up with my two online classes. I'd never done the online course thing before and was worried that my procrastination streak might do me in. In the last couple of weeks, life has been very distracting and my schedule relentless... so sure enough, I got behind one unit in my Fire Administration class (not counting the paper) and two units in my Health & Wellness course.

I'm a smart guy -- not genius or anything -- but smart. Yet, I seem to trip up on my own brain like you'd expect a klutz to trip on his own feet. Too often, I let circumstance get in the way of me just doing what it is I can do. The paper was fine example of that... But so was the health class. Initially, I was a little intimidated by the fact that I had to read six chapters and take two tests in a couple of days. And then I remembered that this is freshman level stuff. This is not hard. So, I kicked the course in the head and I've got an A going into the final.

I just don't get why my brain doesn't work like I want it to. Well, actually, I do know why. It's called ADHD, but that's another entry for another time. One of the best ways I can describe life inside my brain is that it's like a giant game of Plinko between my ears. Sometimes, I get lucky and my chip lands in the $10,000 spot. Other times, it doesn't even make it all the way down. This week, I'm enjoying the former.

There is never enough time in December. It can be a little overwhelming to think about all of the things that must be done in the first three weeks of this month every year... Parties... Christmas cards... Shopping... Hanging decorations.. The annual viewing of the Muppet Christmas Carol. It really does boggle the mind. But what there could never be enough time for is soaking up the ol' tannenbaum.

There are two trees at Casa de Fletcher and you can see them both from the black leather armchair in the living room. I could probably spend hours sitting in that chair and just sort of visually inhaling the trees. I realize I'm a grown man (quit laughing) of 31 years... but there's something that makes me feel six years old when you put a tree in a house and light it up.

Tannenbaum v2009.1 This guy is a third-hand artificial tree that sold for less than $100 at a Wal-Mart 13 or 14 years ago (the sticker is still on the box). People think it's real when they lay eyes on it. I sort of feel old when I say, "they don't make 'em like they used to." Well, they don't.

The living room tree has a pretty nice mixture of ornaments from both Jessie & I. Merging our Christmas decor was an interesting experience. In her family, Christmas decorations don't necessarily carry any meaning. They buy ornaments because they look cool or, more likely, because they are on sale the day after Christmas. Meanwhile, 97.8% of the stuff on my familial tree back home has a story or meaning to it. I think our tree sort of leans toward the Fletch tradition. Most notable are the ornaments we've brought back from all of our travels. After our cruise this summer, our tree is now participating in NAFTA. All three countries are represented.

Tannenbaum v2009.2 We've got a red room, so we made the big creative leap to have a red tree in there. It is the artificial job I picked up during my bachelor days when I decided I didn't want to fool with dead needles.

The paper is out of the way. Of course, I've got less than 22 hours to finish up a couple of units in my two classes and take the final regular online tests. The tests themselves shouldn't be hard, but shoving all of that knowledge into my brain in such a short order is liable to give me a headache.

You'd think it would be good to know that some things do not change. That doesn't apply, however, when the thing not changing is my piss poor time management skills during the seven years I've been out of college. Of course, considering it took me nearly 48 hours to write a five page paper (that's like 9+ hours per page), perhaps a Master's Degree is not in my future.

Speaking of 48 hours, I just did the math and I've been awake for 41 of the last 44 hours. It's just like college! Except that I'm older and more easily fatigued. At this rate, the hallucinations should begin any moment. I'll keep you posted.

...I'd pardon you.

There are still a few hours left to go, but I thought I'd go ahead and cast out my Thanksgiving wishes now. Of course, I'm not without my motives. I'm posting this entry on my brand new Motorola Droid. Before last week, leaving the house meant losing connection with the world. That's not always a bad thing, but it can put a kink into my connectivity from to time. So, as leary as I am of having my e-mail follow everywhere I go... I'm pretty stoked to be LiveJournaling from the passenger seat as Jessie drives us back to our hometown for the big day of gluttony. I haven't been this technologically savy since I got my bag phone in 1995. Heh.

Hope you guys have more things to be thankful for (and more turkey) than ever before this year...

Post from mobile portal m.livejournal.com

I own more shoes than any straight man probably should.

In the fire department, things don’t always go the way you would think. I’m sure you could say that about all sorts of aspects, but in this case I’m talking about the runs we make.

On Tuesday, we were hopping. Three of our runs came back-to-back-to-back. Not only were we busy, but most of them were interesting in one way or another – usually a welcome thing. Yet, on Friday, with football games and parties and drinking and the tendency for people to fight with those they love, we almost pitched a shut-out. The only thing that kept us from the goose egg was a pretty boring medical call halfway through the shift.

The upside to Friday's inaction was that I had all night to sleep and that had been my plan when I turned off the light around midnight. Instead, I seemed to be awake at least every hour or so. Somebody called the wrong number – twice – to wake me about 1:30a. I rolled over a little while later to hear the other engine company on the radio in the next room over (I’m usually oblivious to that). And then there were the dreams…

I wish I could remember them all. I know I woke up at least three times because of the dreams, but I only remember part of one. I do know that none of them were pleasant at all, and I’m sure that further diminished the quality of sleep I got.

The one dream I do remember had me and some family member – maybe Jessie – at a state park type of place. It had a coastal feel to it because it was rocky and I don’t really remember seeing anything on the horizon. We were walking along a path that was made of rock and sort of jutted out on a cliff, but had been smoothed out much like a sidewalk.

While walking along this path, some woman – I don’t know if she was with us or we just passed her – started complaining of having a heart attack and dropped to the ground. Instead of sticking around to do what I could to help, I went to run to call for an ambulance. I had to leave to call because for some reason, I didn’t have a cell phone on me. I almost always have a cell phone.

To return to the car to get my phone, I remember climbing up crazy steep steps. When I got to an area that felt as though it was halfway to the car, I rounded a corner and saw two guys lying in the ground who had been shot. I didn’t stop to help because I thought whoever did the shooting was still hanging around. But I didn’t keep running to get my phone so I could call help for all three people. Nope, I ran back to heart attack woman to tell her that I couldn’t call for help on account of the two dudes who had been shot.

And then I woke up.

Analyze that.

I don't know if it was good sleep, but it was hard and much needed.

Being up for at least 24 hours was almost a weekly occurrence in college. I ran the university newspaper for most my time on campus, but I was horrible at time management. So every Wednesday, I started out with a dream of getting done on time... but it never seemed to happen. Lay-out nights for the weekly paper that used to end about 10 or 11p started slipping later and later through my career. Wrapping up at 4 and 5 in the morning was probably the norm. The longest night I remember was one where we finished the paper about 8a the next morning. Ouch.

If there was a perk to being awake all night, it was crawling into bed the next afternoon. We had a paper staff meeting every Thursday night that I had to be awake for, but the few hours that I had clear before them to sleep were pure bliss. Even if I didn't get as much sleep as I needed, I still felt refreshed. (Which probably explains all of the Thursday night drinking I did.)

That's the one thing I miss about my youth. Keeping long hours hurts more now than it did 10 years ago... and it takes so much more time and effort to recover. Come to think of it, the same goes for drinking. Heh.

Truth be told, I could have gone to sleep last night as soon as dinner was finished. So, why was I still on LiveJournal at 11p? And why did I fight sleep like a four-year-old for a couple of hours more after that? I knew I needed rest and I refused to get it. That makes no sense whatsoever. Maybe it's the same reason I've been eating like I'm pregnant and have found 10 of the 60 pounds I'd lost this year.

I'm not cutting myself, but this is obviously some sort of self abuse. What's crazy is that I have identified the problem and still haven't repaired it. That makes even less sense that not sleeping when I should.

If my math is right (and it might not be), I've had somewhere in the neighborhood of four hours of sleep out of the last 41. I don't think that's a good average.

I was up yesterday about 5:30a for my shift at the firehouse. We had a crazy full day that began in earnest about 8:30a or 9 and didn't so much as slow down until it was nearly 11p. When the calls finally stopped, I accidentally fell asleep (accidental because it occurred without my knowledge while sitting up instead of being planned and under the covers of my bunk). The quick nap was just enough that I didn't need to sleep any more.

Instead of forcing myself into bed, I wrote the reports I'd planned to put off until this morning. I handled a few other clerical chores I'd been neglecting, and I finally crawled into the rack about 3:30a and slept for three hours or so until it was time for shift change.

I had a great plan to come home and sleep all morning today, but you know how well poorly great plans work out. One thing led to another and now here I am, writing an LJ entry instead of being unconscious in the bed. Well, I don't think I can put off unconsciousness much longer. It's about to take me down whether I want it to or not.

Wish me sweet dreams.

One good thing about Halloween was that even with 200+ kids, nothing really creepy happened. One year, a bunch of high school kids were prowling the streets entirely too late in the evening with pillow cases. It was hard to tell if they were punctually-challenged or looking for a 7-11 to knock over. Another year, I had a kid threaten to jank my candy if he didn't get the kind he wanted. I told him he was going to enjoy the penitentiary. Yep, 2009 was pretty laid back... except for the yard pissers.

You read right. Yard pissers.

A group of four or five kids had just left my house when I saw one of them wander into my neighbors' yard across the street. Now, every light was turned off on that house, so it was obvious that they were closed for the holiday. I stuck my head out the door to keep an eye on things and saw the kid stop about three or four feet into their yard and assume the position. His back was to me. His feet were shoulder-width apart. Both hands were in front of him. His shoulders relaxed. He was pissing in their yard!

Now, I've found myself urinating in a lot of unique places -- some much worse than a stranger's front yard. And certainly, I'd hate for a kid to have to finish trick-or-treating with warm, soggy, stinky britches... But is the front yard really the best place when you're 12, sober and dozens of people who don't want to see your tallywacker are walking the street? I headed outside with the desire to stop him, but pretty much drew a blank on what to say.

By the time I reached the curb, I'd laid eyes on dude's little brother. Yep. Same deal -- feet wide, hands in front and pissing in the yard. And then, of course, I noticed that the whole scene was being supervised by the kids' parents -- or some other guardian-type person appearing to be of legal age to... I don't know... run for president.

With what was essentially a yard pissers foreman on the scene, I decided against taking any intervening action. Besides, if my neighbors' yard was good enough for #1, I didn't want them coming back to my place if they suddenly felt the urge for a good ol' #2.

I'm not sure she's ready for canonization (namely because she's still alive), but today is alison22lynn's birthday. I don't want to tell a lady's secrets, but she's knocking pretty heavy on 30's door. That doesn't make her old, of course... but it makes me feel older. If I'm doing my math correctly, I still remember a time when she had all of life's answers -- at the ripe age of 21.

There was a time when I thought a man who shaved his foot hair would be... Well, let's say fruity. That was before my own toe hair started to itch every now and then inside of my socks. Fruity? Itchy? I know which one I'm going with.

So, from time to time, I trim the sprigs that appear on my toes and foot. This usually occurs without incident while providing an aesthetically pleasing and itch-free appendage. Yeah, I said usually.

Somehow, I managed to scrape skin off both of my second toes the other night. (Second toes? Index toes? Pointer toes? Whatever.) I've cut myself shaving before. No biggie. Well, this happened Friday and my toes still hurt. Luckily, it's not "real" pain anymore. A night or two of band-aids and Neosporin helped eliminate that, but I can still feel where I botched the job.

God bless you women who do it all of the time without needing a transfusion.

...but in a good way. In the last 28 hours or so, I've left the National Fire Academy, driven to Philadelphia, taken in as many of the sites I possibly could, headed northeast and met jeniferrobin for the first time in person, visited Liberty State Park, driven through the Holland Tunnel, and navigated Manhattan traffic with my Hyundai Accent like the bad ass I am. I went to the Empire State Building, but the rain is already here... and there is no sense in paying good money to observe clouds from 86 stories up. I can just wait for the next foggy day and do that on the ground.

Tomorrow, I'm going to take the $5 umbrella I bought at Walgreen's and wander the city. I've got a couple or three places I'd like to see before climbing back into the rental and making tracks to Maryland for one more week of class. You should see this umbrella. I've used it once and I think it's already broken. Oh, well. It was dry under my broken umbrella... It's good for something.

G'night, John Boy.

Why can't I ever be motivated to do something at a reasonable hour of the day? Why do I do my best work when there's a deadline breathing down my back, which is usually when the rest of the world is sleeping and I should be, too? Answers? Anyone?

After landing at BWI Sunday night, we made the world's shortest taxi to the end of the terminal and then abruptly stopped. It was almost as if the pilot was surveying the gates in search of the parking spot closest to the door. He came on the intercom and said, "We have a good news, bad news situation."

"The good news is that we arrived on time. The bad news is that the local folks don't know it yet." It was indeed good news since we'd left Atlanta some 20 minutes past our scheduled departure time. As a murmur of sorts rolled through the cabin in response to the announcement, the captain keyed the mic again. "The great news is that I just saved a bundle by switching my insurance to Geico."

It's good to know a sense of humor still exists in the airline industry.

* * * * *
That story reminds me of one of my first plane rides ever -- in 1984 on a family vacation to Disney World. My children -- who, God help them, will only know a "post-911 world" -- will find it hard to believe, but cockpit doors weren't always locked and sometimes, you even got to take a visit inside.

All of the details escape me since I was six years old at the time, but I remember us being held at the gate on one leg of our trip. In an effort to kill time and to entertain the masses, the flight attendants started inviting kids up to tour the cockpit one-by-one. All of the kids were older than me, but I wasn't discouraged me. I finally caught a flight attendant's eye and (I'm guessing) laid out the perfect puppy dog face. I was one of the last one's picked before we finally pushed back to leave.

In the cockpit, one of the pilots seemed to give the perfect explanation on how to fly the place -- except that he did so while talking like the Micro Machines Man. Seriously. Everything he said seemed to make sense, but it zipped by me pretty quick. Besides, six-year-olds -- even precocious ones -- are easily lost with talk of throttle, thrust, ailerons and lift.

After the lesson, the other pilot handed me the mic with instructions to make an announcement. I was to repeat after him -- "Buckle your seat belts. Big daddy is about to blast off." I said it, but I'm not sure anyone understood me through my laughter.

We need more laughter on airplanes.

"I have no ambition in this world but one, and that is to be a fireman. The position may, in the eyes of some, appear to be a lowly one; but we who know the work which a fireman has believe his is a noble calling. There is an adage which says that, 'nothing can be destroyed except by fire.' We strive to preserve from destruction the wealth of the world, which is the product of the industry of men, necessary for the comfort of both the rich and the poor. We are defenders from fires of the art which has beautified the world, the product of the genius of men and the means of refinement of mankind. But, above all, our proudest moment is to save lives of men -- the work of God Himself. Under the impulse of such thoughts, the nobility of the occupation thrills us and stimulates to deeds of daring, even at the supreme sacrifice. Such considerations may not strike the average mind, but they are sufficient to fill to the limit our ambition in life and to make us serve the general purpose of human society."

- Chief Edward Croker, FDNY
(Circa 1905)