Everyone,

In the spirit of Christmas, I thought that I would write a short, very
personal note telling you how things went for us this last year. I've
noticed over the years that our friends who live in Oklahoma (and those
who live in that tiny part of New Mexico near that touches Oklahoma)
tend to send us long notes on their families at this time of year.
Although the tradition is somewhat corny and the notes are generally
filled with more bad news than good (who had what kind of an operation,
who got divorced, and who got remarried, that kind of thing), the
practice is somehow nonetheless very pleasant -- and I thought that I
would repeat the tradition here.

In that vein, let me begin with perhaps the worse thing that happened to
me this last year. I found that I had to make repeated trips to the
psychiatrist for about six months, beginning in May. Early in the year,
I began having these terrible dreams. I blame their occurrence totally
on the pressures associated with the incredible job demands of
computing, and being on-line for 24-hours a day. During the night, I
would dream that I WAS a pup tent. Then I would switch to being a
teepee. Then back to a pup tent. And so it would go, all night long,
switching back and forth, faster and faster, until I would wake up in a
cold sweat. However, I'm pleased to say that everything eventually
worked out all right. I was cured when the psychiatrist said, "Relax,
Wirt! You're just two tents!"

Perhaps the second worse thing to happen to me this last year is the
rejection of all of my jokes from the local newspaper. The newspaper ran
a contest looking for the best joke from the local citizenry. I've
always been very proud of my puns, so I gathered together my 10 best
puns and submitted them to the contest. When the edition that held the
winning results came out, I eagerly looked to see if any of my puns won.
Unfortunately, no pun in 10 did.

On a more medical note, I recently had to have by dental plate replaced.
I love Hollandaise sauce (on pretty much everything). Unfortunately,
Hollandaise sauce contains a lot of lemon juice, which is quite acidic
-- and it eroded my old plate. However the dentist told me that
everything would be fine. The new plate would be made of chrome. When I
asked why chrome?, he said, "Wirt, everyone knows that there is no plate
like chrome for the Hollandaise!"

I also went to UC Berkeley just a few weeks ago to give a short talk.
All in all, it was a very pleasant experience. I got to meet a number of
people that I hadn't met before, and that alone was very enjoyable.
However, if there was any one part of the meeting that was unpleasant,
it was the stay at the small hotel right next to the campus. The
Berkeley chess club was holding their tournaments there in the hotel for
several days, and they proved to be an insufferable lot. There is
perhaps nothing worse than a bunch of chess nuts boasting in an open
foyer.

Finally, to add a bit of Christmas cheer, I've included a poem below,
written by everyone's favorite American Christmas-time author: Edgar
Allen Poe. The poem was sent to me just a few days ago by Alfredo Rego.
It's best read aloud.

================================================================

THE RAVIN'

Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bed sheets, still I sat there doing
spreadsheets.

Having reached the bottom line I took a floppy from the drawer,
I then invoked the SAVE command and waited for the disk to store,
Only this and nothing more.

Deep into the monitor peering, long I sat there wond'ring, fearing,
Doubting, while the disk kept churning, turning yet to churn some more.
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token.
"Save!" I said, "You cursed mother!  Save my data from before!"
One thing did the phosphors answer, only this and nothing more,
Just, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

Was this some occult illusion, some maniacal intrusion?
These were choices undesired, ones I'd never faced before.
Carefully I weighed the choices as the disk made impish noises.
The cursor flashed, insistent, waiting, baiting me to type some more.
Clearly I must press a key, choosing one and nothing more,
From "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

With fingers pale and trembling, slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee, timidly, I pressed a key.
But on the screen there still persisted words appearing as before.
Ghastly grim they blinked and taunted, haunted, as my patience wore,
Saying "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

I tried to catch the chips off guard, and pressed again, but twice as
hard.
I pleaded with the cursed machine: I begged and cried and then I swore.
Now in mighty desperation, trying random combinations,
Still there came the incantation, just as senseless as before.
Cursor blinking, angrily winking, blinking nonsense as before.
Reading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted.
Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw a dreadful sight: a lightning bolt cut through the night.
A gasp of horror overtook me, shook me to my very core.
The lightning zapped my precious data, lost and gone forevermore.
Not even, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

===================================================

Merry Christmas,

Wirt Atmar