Winston Churchill is said to have defined the history of humanity as "one damn thing after another".  Lately, I've felt that A WHOLE LOT of humanity has been happening at my house.  Hence, the absence from the blog list these past few weeks.

But of all the things that have gone down -- ear tube/adenoid surgery for the younger daughter, jaw surgery for the older daughter, projectile emissions from both ends of the cat that have resulted in astronomical vet bills -- the one thing that really left me irritated was the dastardly deed that befell The Spouse.  No one was hurt, but property was taken. 

Was it something of personal importance to us?  Not really.

Was it something of great value?  Not really. 

Was it irreplaceable?  No.

Somebody stole the registration sticker from our license plate!  Ripped it right off.  Who thinks of something like that?

I was using The Spouse's car because the lingering smell of spilt gasoline in my mini-van was making me gag.  (Oh yeah, I failed to mention earlier the fuel spill from a new snowblower that happened in my car and that we eventually had to have professionally cleaned.)  I was putting groceries into the trunk and just happened to notice that the registration sticker said "05".  I thought that was strange, and then it dawned on me that someone had stolen the sticker.  Who knows how long it had been missing.

Rather than making the trek to the Waukesha DMV, I went to the closest vehicle emission testing place to see if I could get the sticker replaced.  I got a new sticker there free of charge, after showing them my current certificate of registration.

The clerk who was helping me gave me this advice, which I'll share with you.

Scrape off all the old stickers.  Clean (as best you can) the area where you are going to put the sticker.  Then, once the sticker is in place, take a razor blade and score the sticker.  Although scoring doesn't prevent a thief from trying to take the sticker off in the first place, it causes the sticker to come off in pieces and makes it difficult for the thief to remove and re-use it.

I know it was a little thing, but it was just one of those "You have got to be kidding me" type moments. 

My blog today is about Michael M. Taylor, a man I don't know. His name was provided to me by Project 2996.

Founded two years ago, Project 2996 pays tribute to the victims of 9/11 by asking bloggers to blog about a victim and then post the written tribute on September 11.  A blogger can choose a specific person or, as in my case, write about a person that the website selects.

Michael ("Mouse") Taylor was 42 years old when the first plane hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center, his workplace.   He grew up in Pennsylvania, was a graduate of Duke University and UCLA, and was working as a bond trader for Cantor Fitzgerald when his life was tragically cut short.

At the time of his death, he was survived by his parents, a brother, two sisters, and a fiancee. 

There is one story about him that I particularly like.  In the 90's, he bought a Porsche Carrera.  The car was a stickshift, but he didn't drive stick.   So, he got his buddy, a professional NASCAR driver, to teach him how to drive stick in exchange for golf lessons.    Why do I like that story?  First, it shows that Mr. Taylor had great taste in cars.  (The Porsche Carrera just happens to be my dream car.)  Second, he had the good sense to know that the only way to drive a Porsche is by stickshift. 

I wish that I had more time to write this tribute.  As it happens, I only found out about Project 2996 at around 5:30 p.m. on September 10 and am writing this at 11:10 p.m. so that I can post it on September 11.

The bits and pieces I've related to you about Mr. Taylor were gleaned from other sources.  In addition to the nytimes.com article linked to above, here are the other sources I found:

Duke Magazine 

Elsie's Yoga Class  (Seriously -- Elsie blogged about Mr. Taylor as part of the 2006 Project 2996)

There is a poem by Pearl Cleage called We Speak Your Names.  It was recited as part of Oprah's Legends Ball.  Although the poem was recited in order to pay tribute to African-American women pioneers, the power of the poem was in their names -- after every verse, the names of several women were pronounced slowly and solemnly.   In a single name, there was weight, substance -- reverence.

So today, on September 11, 2008 -- MICHAEL M. TAYLOR -- I speak your name.

*****

To see a list of the 2008 bloggers and the people they have chosen to honor and to learn more about Project 2996, click here.

H/T to Cindy Kilkenny at Fairly Conservative for the info on Project 2996.