Vacuuming the Corners of My Brain

We just bought a new television. I would’ve gotten a plasma set, but I don’t like needles.

I’ve finally convinced my wife that I don’t like Italian restaurants. The truth is, I don’t like Frank Sinatra’s music.

Ever notice how mathematical logic is opposite of grammatical logic? It’s drilled into us that you can’t divide by zero. Zero is another way of saying nothing. If you have an apple, and divide it by nothing, that apple hasn’t been divided; you still have one whole apple. If you divide it by one – that is, with one cut – you have two pieces. Two cuts can give you three or four pieces. I think I’ll apply for a grant to reconcile this. Beats working.

I heard a news broadcast the other day that announced that the Bald Eagle had been dropped from the Endangered Species list. The only reference they made to any of the efforts to protect the bird was linking the comeback to the banning of DDT use. Does it matter to the environMENTALists that there has never…never…been an established link between DDT use and the fate of eagles? (http://www.junkscience.com/ddtfaq.html#ref7) No it does not. They use the favorite tool of the Left – “A lie, repeated often enough, becomes truth.”

In a similar vein, Harry Reid stood on the steaming corpse of the Immigration bill, a bill that was rejected by over 80% of the American people, and whined that “Republican obstruction has gotten so bad that now they’re blocking bills that they actually support.” What a fucking idiot. No, Harry. It means that they listened to the people that pay them. You work for us, you serpent, not the other way around. Yes, it was obstructionism, but of a kind that exemplifies the way the system should work. The “GIVErnment” pissed us all off by ignoring our wishes, and we stopped you, both Republicans and Democrats. We don’t trust any of you. How else do you explain that the President’s approval number is around 32%, and Congress’s is 14%?

Is it too much to ask to have a work day devoid of drama? I have a coworker that has only two reactions: no problem, and apocalypse. It really isn’t a disaster of Biblical proportions if we’re out of envelopes. Take your Prozac, and go sit down.

My city recently called for suggestions on how to improve our infrastructure, and got replies from thousands of pissed-off motorists. My suggestion, to call a special Planning Council meeting, take them all out into the field, and shoot them, was apparently lost in the mail. Preliminary reports indicate that the Council is considering building roundabouts throughout the city. Oh yeah…that’ll be perfect. Instead of fixing the glaring problems we already have, let’s add a system of negotiation that no one is familiar with. I really shouldn’t be surprised. This is the same group that decided that putting stoplights on a bypass was a good idea, and thinks that if you have two lanes at an intersection, one of them should be a dedicated left-turn lane, while the other should do triple duty as a left turn, straight ahead, and right turn lane. The rules of the road that I learned state that you can turn right on red, while you have to wait for green to turn left or cross the intersection. Why in the hell wouldn’t you reserve the right lane for those that are turning right? Why make them wait behind someone going in the opposite direction? Morons.

I’ve heard a lot of talk lately about reviving the Fairness Doctrine. If you’re unfamiliar with this legislation, it required that broadcast licensees present issues of public importance in a balanced manner. The Left is all verklempt because they’re getting their asses handed to them over the internet and talk radio. They’re insisting that right-wing personalities are driving us mindless hordes to do their evil bidding, and that the only way to combat it is with government intervention. That’s standard operating procedure for these brain-damaged ideologues. They know in their heart-of-hearts that their mindset is rejected by anyone with a double-digit IQ, so they use the power of law to force people to tolerate them. Their doctrines and dogma wither away in the light of reasoned argument, so they hate the competition the Free Market engenders. Compare the numbers between Rush Limbaugh’s show and Air America, and it’s pretty evident which opinions the market favors. So the Liberals want to make sure that if a station carries Savage Nation, for example, they’ll have to balance it with three hours of Randi Rhodes. I don’t think the Left fully realizes what reviving this doctrine will do. For decades, Liberal ideology has been the primary mover in media, particularly in the area of newspapers and TV news. Conservative thought in those mediums is limited to FOX news, the Op-Ed columns in the Wall Street Journal, and the Washington Post. Pretty much everything else is Left-Wing. There are already web sites devoted exclusively to exposing the bias in news broadcasts and AP/Reuters stories. Under the Fairness Doctrine, Ann Coulter would be within her rights to co-host CBS News with Katie Couric. Not only would it improve the ratings dramatically, it would be a delicious schadenfreude moment.

No one likes pop-ups. Who, then, over at Dictionary.com decided that opening an entire other site under my word search was a good idea? Red Orbit will never get any of my business, solely because of that. If you think that forcing your site to open in my browser is a good business strategy, not only are you probably a Liberal, but you haven’t read any basic marketing books.

I’m turning into a font snob. I suppose it was inevitable, given that part of my job entails my evaluating fonts to use for different marketing efforts. When I first encountered the Papyrus font about two years ago, I immediately adopted it as my e-mail font of choice. Now I’m seeing it everywhere, and it’s starting to annoy me. I’ve seen it used for banks, churches, banner ads, delivery services, and on food packaging. That’s too much to ask of any one font. Part of my annoyance I know is based on the fact that I like to be individualistic, and I had to give it up when it exploded into the mainstream. But I also expect others to show some individuality, and not follow the crowd. Sheep-like behavior does not impress me at all. I use a nice Art Deco-inspired font now, which I’m almost sure won’t be turning up on the boxes for frozen beef and broccoli meals anytime soon.

Hi, Fred. :)

Half Man – Half Machine

I’m inadvertently becoming a cyborg, and it’s not as cool as I thought it would be. I have too many useful gadgets, and they have fundamentally altered how I function.

For the longest time, I resisted getting a cell phone. I even wrote a blog entry about how much I hated them. Then Dad let me use one of his on our trip to Disney, and it turned out to be so damned handy. I managed to dredge up some remaining resistance, but when I started traveling more for work, I broke down and got a pre-paid phone. Of course, you end up spending as much money on one of those as you would to just go ahead and get a real service plan, so we went ahead and got a real service plan. Well, once you have all those capabilities, you’re wasting your money if you don’t use them, right? So I download new ringtones and agonize over my wallpapers, set up groups and voicemail options, and browse the accessories selections. I’m not sure I would know what to do with a plain old wall phone anymore. I find myself having slight panic attacks if I go somewhere without the cell phone, which is annoying. This thing we bought “only for emergencies” has successfully redefined “emergency” to “Can you get some milk on the way home?”. I’m obviously happy to get the milk, but I fear my cell phone is adversely affecting my ability to do advance planning.

Similarly, the media player on my computer lets me instantly choose whatever I want to hear out of hundreds of options. Whatever mood I’m in, I can augment it or change it with a click of the mouse. And if I have to travel, I have a portable player that can jack into my car’s system. Radio? Why suffer commercials or take the chance that they may play a song I don’t absolutely love? I sometimes enjoy the random factor, but I fear my media players are adversely affecting my spontaneity.

My DVD player lets me watch any movie I want, when I want. If the phone rings, or my kids need something, I just pause it. I never miss anything, can skip over the boring parts, and get all those cool extra features. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t enjoy going out to the actual theatre anymore. What if I have to pee? I’ll miss something. Establishing the backstory is taking too long. Can we skip to the explosions, already? I like the control, but I fear that my DVD player is adversely affecting my patience with the suspension of disbelief.

The computer sits in the middle of the den. This is partly a parental oversight thing, for when our eldest is using it, and it’s partly the fact that that’s the best place for the computer desk. Now, I am a trivia freak. Music, movies, TV shows, and other pop culture minutia occupy about 90% of my brain. I use probably 3% for social interaction, 2% for work-related stuff, and I’m guessing the remaining 5% handles autonomic functions like breathing and heartbeat, and keeps me from walking into closed doors or trying to put food in my ear. Consequently, if I can’t quite remember an actor’s name, or a song lyric, I go straight to the magic box. Where I would take the time to thoroughly memorize something in the past, I find that I don’t put as much effort into it anymore, because I know that I’ll be able to find it whenever I want to. I love the instant gratification, but I fear that my internet connection is adversely affecting my self-reliance.

My digital camera. It’s a good, solid, mid-range camera. I got one of the bigger cards with it, so we can take tons of pictures. (It’s ironic, because we don’t. It sends the family into apoplexy, because they’re many hours away, and would occasionally like to see pictures of the kids in between the holiday visits. Sorry, again, y’all.) We don’t have to worry about focus, cropping, lighting, positioning, framing, or any of those things that matter when you’re, you know, using a camera. Anyway, when we do take a picture, we get the image right there on the screen, and if by some miracle the picture is good, we can choose to save it. Yes, we keep it confined to the electrons on the card, never printing it out or e-mailing it, but that’s beside the point. I like knowing that every picture we’re hoarding is a “keeper”, but I fear that my digital camera is adversely affecting my sense of composition.

Speaking of pictures, I do love Photoshop. I get to play with it in the course of my job, so I’m always trying to expand my knowledge of it. The precise control it gives you is incredible, and in the hands of an expert, it can create scenes that cannot be distinguished from reality. I like to use it to put my friends into compromising tableaus. Probably not the most illustrious use for it, but it’s good for some easy laughs. I didn’t realize how deep I was into it until recently. I had gone outside to get some fresh air while I was mulling over a project, and I decided I didn’t like the color of the sky. I actually got annoyed that I didn’t have a slider switch to adjust the hue and contrast. It kind of frightened me, if you want to know the truth. I like being able to put my friends’ faces onto farm animals (don’t ask), but I fear that Photoshop is adversely affecting my comfort with my surroundings.

Well, that’s all I have for this post. I’ll put it up here on the internet, and save a copy to my flash drive in case my computer melts down. Then I’ll send a TXT message to some fans to let them know a new post is up. After that, I’ll do a quick ‘shop on one of our pictures and Bluetooth it to the cell phone so I can send it to the Family group. I may put that off until after I watch the latest Netflix delivery. We’ve had it here for a while, and we need to get it back so we can get the next one in.

I tell you, with all of these labor-saving devices, I don’t have time to just relax anymore.

Well this is annoying.

I’ve spent the last half-hour or so just staring at a blank page. It’s not that I have nothing to say, it’s just that it all seems to come out in small chewable-sized bits. Nothing like the fire hydrant torrent of opinion and invective that I can usually summon up at will.

Oh god…am I mellowing out? Surely not. Be better for my blood pressure, but there’s something so inherently satisfying about cranking up the volume and ripping off the damn knob. It’s my safety valve.

I still have the same pet peeves: tuneless whistling, arrhythmic tapping, people backing in to parking spaces. That one really drives me nuts. You follow someone into a parking lot, and they pass an open space. But before you can swing into it, their brake lights come on, followed by the back-up lights. Oh crap. Come on! You planning on robbing the place, Sparky? Then why do you feel it necessary to have your car parked head-out? Just pull in like a normal person instead of making me wait behind you while you take your Beemer through a 17-point turn. I could be digging into the complimentary breadsticks before you get your seat belt off. Not to mention the chain of us that all have to back up to give you the room to maneuver. And you have the balls to look at us with impatience? Bite me.

Another one that’s gained recent prominence in my forebrain is the ongoing substitution of “said” with “was like.” And she was like, oh no you dint. And he was like, uh-huh I did.

And I was like, shut the fuck up, you morons; you make my head hurt. Specifically, that part of my head that’s devoted to processing rudimentary English sentence structure! Listening to you jabber is like a chalkboard being dragged across a wall of broken-off fingernails.

Interruptions for stupid stuff. I’ve admitted that I’m in Marketing, so the majority of my day consists of writing. Newsletters, sales letters, postcards, ad copy, and press releases pour forth from my desk in a never-ending flood of creativity, swamping my coworkers in the ebb and flow of precise verbiage and the inverted pyramid style. The majestic waves of language build into a veritable hurricane of eloquent locution, in the face of which no customer can resist faxing us their credit card numbers.

*snort*

Bullshit aside, I do put a lot of effort into my writing. If you write, then you know the mental effort it takes to build something up word by word. Rearranging half-formed ideas or entire paragraphs over and over, digging through the thesaurus to find just the perfect expression. You’ve got the headphones cranked to block out the rest of the world. But then there’s the breakthrough. You hit the zone. Your fingers blur over the keyboard as you hurry to get it all down before it flies away again. Misspellings and grammatical mistakes abound as you frantically pound away at the helpless characters. We’ll let the DJ fix it in the mix – this stuff’s golden. Oh yeah. This is the sweet spot. This is what it’s all about.

Invariably…

*tap on shoulder* “Hey. Sorry to interrupt, but I need this (file, disc, golf ball, left shoe, etc.) from you right away. I’m taking it home with me tonight.”

My fingers get tangled over a tricky sub-clause, nearly breaking my wrists, and my words pile into each other like patrons trying to escape a Great White pyrotechnics show. I look at the clock. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon. This bitch just killed an entire morning’s work for something she doesn’t even need for another 3 ½ hours? Ever hear of e-mail, chickie? Sure hope that file doesn’t corrupt your hard drive. Now go away. I’ve got some coding to do.

School sales. We spend more money on Education in this country than we do our military. Why, then, am I constantly assaulted by bake sales, magazine drives, tubs of cookie dough, car washes, candy bars, candles, and all of the other assorted crap that our local schools try to pawn off on us so the band can get bus tickets to some podunk competition somewhere, or the cheerleaders can get new uniforms, or they can pay the hospital bills of that one really clumsy chemistry teacher? You’ve already gotten as much money out of me as you’re getting, Sunshine. It comes out of my paycheck without my consent. How would these people react if I came to their door at night, interrupting their dinner to try and sell them a coupon book to raise money so I could take my homeschooled kids to the zoo for a biology lesson? They’d probably be a tad upset, wouldn’t they? The way I see it, I’m being forced to pay for services I’m not using. Where’s that money going? Maybe if you stopped pissing it away with your top-heavy administration financing every fucking “feel good” program that comes down the pike, the Glee Club wouldn’t have to resort to selling shitty homemade T-shirts outside the Wal-Mart to get a new microphone.





Ah. I feel better.

Go Here. Read This.

I'm not feeling particularly inspired, so I'll lift a recent post from Jales. Hey, she stole it herself. Karma's a bitch, eh?

http://barelydressed.blogspot.com/2007/06/death-of-common-sense.html

Just Wondering

I want a bumper sticker that identifies me as a Bjørn again Scandinavian.

Speaking of reincarnation, why is it that everyone who “remembers their past lives” was always someone important or powerful? It would be refreshing to hear someone cop to being the assistant dung-scraper for a forgotten tradesman in Feudal England, or being a leprous quadriplegic begging outside of Fort William in Calcutta during the mid-18th century.

Further proof that environmentalists should be burned for fuel: the Spanish region of Navarre currently gets 70% of its energy from renewable resources – mainly solar and wind. Even so, there are those environmentalists that complain about the windmills spoiling the landscape and killing birds. “What they are doing is absolutely unsustainable and completely illegal,” says Antonio Munilla, of Gurelur, an environmental group. “We have taken this matter before the Congress and European Union.” http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article1873123.ece
Hey, Antonio – shut your agujero. Your argument is complete and total bullshit. The wind and the sun are totally sustainable (until the sun dies in about 5 billion years, and even that event will be about 4 billion years after it starts to expand and destroys all life on Earth). As for the legality of the enterprise, it seems that your group is mostly upset because the number of avifauna deaths was underreported in accordance with some whiny law. Boo hoo. I went to your web site. Where do you get the electricity to run your computers? Shut the fuck up. You bitch about the power generation while simultaneously availing yourself of that power. Hypocrite.

Bush is now desperately trying to get the GOP to back his amnes - oops - I mean, his immigration bill. Apparently, he doesn’t understand why we’re all pissed off about it. According to a Washington Times article, “[t]he president pleaded with senators to ‘show courage and resolve’ to withstand outrage from voters in their districts.” Uh, Jorge? Do you remember who works for whom, here? We don’t want this, and if those senators would like to be reelected, they’ll listen to us, not you. We stopped you on that stupid Miers nomination, remember? I both like and respect Tony Snow, but I sure wouldn’t want to be in his shoes right now. From the same article: “Tony Snow said the administration was trying to ‘lower the temperature and get people to talk about basic principles.’" Okay. Build the damn wall. Punish anyone that knowingly employs illegals. Deport the ones we catch. Basic, enough?

More whining from the Gay lobby, now they’re all a-twitter because e-Harmony doesn’t cater to them, and they’re bringing a lawsuit. Just stop it, okay? There are plenty of dating services and websites that you can go to in order to find a deeply meaningful relationship. Several a week, if that’s what you want. That’s what drives me up the damn wall about ideologues - on both sides. They won’t rest until everybody believes exactly as they do, and they’ll use every tool available to convert, sway, or force people to accept their views. If I own a business, and I think it’s worthwhile to court the “pink dollars”, or the pesos, or the Confederates, I will. Any market I deem to be a waste of time or have a negative ROI will not be pursued. Period.

My daughter came up to me and innocently asked: “Daddy? What are the strongest days of the week?” Huh? What an odd question. “I don’t know, Sweetheart.” “Saturday and Sunday,” she told me confidently. “The rest of them are weak days!” Groan. As a dedicated punster, I should’ve seen that one coming a mile away. I’m sure my friends are arranging an intervention for her as I type this. The scamp.

My littlest is enamored by the Teletubbies. The whole thing freaks me out, and I don’t even care if Tinky Winky is gay, or is just comfortable with his man-purse. The whole show smacks of social engineering, with dark Orwellian overtones. Every time the windmill starts up, the Tubbies are compelled to line up outside and see which of them will receive a transmission in their abdomen. And no matter where they go, one of those speaker trumpets pops up out of the ground and starts instructing them. It’s creepy. I much prefer the old Kroft shows, like H.R. Pufnstuf, which at least were powered by some really good LSD trips.

We went to the Disney store today, because our collective blood sugar was dropping. I was waiting for the girls to finish machete-ing their way through the princess stuff, hanging out by the Pirates display (because that’s the coolest place for a big manly tomcat), and was approached by one of the animatronic salespeople. She asked if there was anything she could help me find. I told her that I was a fan of older Disney efforts, and was it possible that they had any 20,000 Leagues or Song of the South merchandise? No on both counts, though she said that she thought there had been some talk about re-releasing Song of the South on DVD. This would absolutely thrill me, as I am a huge Br’er Rabbit fan. I am enough of a student of the modern, “feelings not facts” culture, though, that I am positive that some idiot like Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton would oppose it on “racial” grounds. This would be truly unfortunate, as the Shakedown twins would be (once again) fomenting discontent and dissension where none exists. The Uncle Remus stories were faithfully collected by Joel Chandler Harris, and are accurate retellings of African trickster tales. (There is some overlap between Br’er Rabbit stories and Anansi the Spider stories.). His publishing them insured that those anecdotes took their place alongside Aesop’s fables and some of Chaucer’s animal tales. Instead of focusing on the positive aspects of the African contributions to the canon of the world’s great literature, the parasites that make their living off of racial strife would rather scream about perceived slights and reparations. Which is more of an honor? Making sure that a new generation is made aware of the history of these great narratives, or making sure they were never seen again? Would stories passed down by slaves prefer to be free…or kept chained up?

The new trailer for the Transformers is better than the whole of Spiderman 3. Behold, the power of editing.

The new Nessie footage from Scotland shows the new "slimline" model of the monster. Expect the Loch Ness Diet to hit the shelves soon. Of course, anyone that tries to live solely on Scottish food will lose weight anyway. It's called Involuntary Bulimia. (All right - That was a cheap shot against my ancestral clans. Sorry, guys. I actually like haggis, if it helps.)

What's with All the Corporate Shenanigans?

I work for a company that distributes products worldwide across three different industries. Consequently, we have three different divisions.

Recently, one of our divisions released some new training materials. I saw the pdf proofs of these, and I passed them on to a couple of managers that oversee training in our division (one internally, one externally). They asked me to get actual copies of the material when it was available. Simple, right?

Heh.

I start, logically enough, with an e-mail: "Hey, Training Guru for Other Division, can we get a couple of copies up here?"

A week goes by. Nothing.

I follow up with a phone call: "Hi, Training Guru. Where are we on this?"

TG: "Who is your manager?"

Me: (WTF?) "Well, my manager is so-and-so, and she happens to be in your office right now if you have to talk to her. Since she's not the one requesting the information, I'm not sure what difference it makes. It's actually for another manager."

Another week passes.

I e-mail again: "Hey, TG, my manager said she never spoke to you, what's going on?"

TG: "I'll take it up with the other manager directly."

Well excuse the fuck out of me. I didn't realize I needed a membership badge and a secret fucking handshake to get these things from you. It's not a pile of gold, you idiot; it's a corporate document, and it should be freely available to any employee that asks for one. I'm not selling them on E-Bay, you know. Just because you can't conceive of any possible reason we would want them doesn't mean that they are useless to us. And while you're bending your mind to come up with reasons to deny my request, how about you take a look at the top of your paycheck. What does it say, there? What a coincidence! It says the same fucking thing at the top of mine! We work for the same company! Rest assured that if you ever requested anything of my creation, you'd have it in your Inbox so fast you'd think I travel through time.

Remember that line in your employee agreement about anything you create becoming the property of the company? Yeah. They actually mean that. That implies that you don't have the power to deny me copies of these things because you're too stupid to figure out that it's only a small matter of editing to make them applicable across divisions. I don't care how long it took you to compile it. I have personally spent over 200 hours updating our division's technical manual, which I gave away to everyone, regardless of whether or not they requested it. I wanted everyone to see the work I'd put into it. Now, maybe you're shy, or you half-assed it and don't want anyone to find out, but we honestly don't care. We want that formatting, and we will get it.

I know your division has this enormous ego, despite how many times we show you up, but this isn't a pissing contest. I shouldn't have to file a fucking FOIA request to get these things. Suck it up, and take them to Shipping. They'll handle the hard part for you. You can then take as much time as you want complaining to the other sycophantic assholes there.

In the meantime, we'll be quietly surging ahead.

What does a Guy Have to Do?

So it’s Memorial Day weekend, and like a lot of lucky people, I have this Monday off. Also, like a lot of married people, I have a list of things to do that I have been putting off until I had a long weekend. Of course, now that the time is here, I just want to relax. I know I should be dusting the bookcase, straightening up the sun room closet, turning the mattresses and changing the batteries in the smoke alarms, but I’d rather finish my book, see a movie or two, and spend time with the offspring. I have six days’ worth of things to do, and three days to do it in.

All of which leads me to ask: What does a guy have to do to get a montage over here?

It’s my favorite part of “plucky underdog” movies. The director spends about 50 minutes – practically in real-time – getting the audience to sympathize with a likable-but-unpopular or “fish out of water” protagonist. At the end of the hour, the character makes some sort of pledge to:

get the popular boy/girl in school
win the fight/race/big game
land the promotion
write the novel
learn to dance

What follows is about five minutes of rapid jump cuts showing the character engaged in various efforts to better themselves. Sometimes humorous errors or painful setbacks are shown, because it ain’t always easy, but in general there is an upward trend towards progress as the goal is approached. These scenes are almost always accompanied by invigorating music in the style preferred by the target audience.

It’s been pointed out that the fastest way to travel in movies is by arrow. You know, when the image of the boat or plane is shown superimposed over a map with a moving arrow on it. Similarly, the fastest way to get through your “honey-do” list is with a montage. I can see it, now: Shots of me pulling books off of the shelf and my daughter stacking them on the table – maybe making doll houses out of them; a brief cut to me struggling with the King-sized mattress; a series of humorous slapstick escapades with the chair I’m using to reach a light bulb that needs changing; a quick shot of me closing the cover of my book and looking thoughtful; a clip of me and my boy feeding the ducks at the playground. And as the music winds down, I’d snuggle under my quilts and drift off into an untroubled sleep, ready to head back to work on Tuesday.

Fade to black.

We Don't Need No Education

Found a great blog here called Rate Your Students. http://rateyourstudents.blogspot.com/

I stumbled across this gem yesterday, and I really wish I had written it, because it nicely sums up my opinion about most people:

[excerpt]
Dear Students:
The collective attitude you have shown toward reading and writing during the past semester is neither new nor surprising. You are not well-suited to do either. To your credit, you hate ignorance, as I do. To your discredit, you really only hate being shown that you are ignorant, through encountering words and ideas that are foreign to you and your immediate experience. Rather than look them up and learn about them, as is moronically simple these days, you disdain them, and then complain that you do not understand them. This complaint is disingenuous because you show no interest in having them explained.
[end excerpt]

You really ought to go and read the rest, because it’s wonderful. It’s here: http://rateyourstudents.blogspot.com/2007/05/may-your-perfidy-ramify-through-your.html

I was hooked by the title, and was actually waving my lighter in the air by the time I finished.

Let me post the opening lines again:

“The collective attitude you have shown toward reading and writing during the past semester is neither new nor surprising. You are not well-suited to do either.”

I do this because I went to look at it today, and found this proof that God has a sense of humor:

[excerpt]
I gaurantee you Ms lecturer, i'll be one of those "stupid" people that write 4 pages worth of comments on your student assessment forms. Bare in mind i have never bothered to write one before. Thanks alot for the semester, a unit that no one will ever remember because you tried to force them too
[end excerpt]

http://rateyourstudents.blogspot.com/2007/05/i-just-had-whinge-and-i-feel-better.html

Someone didn’t need quote marks.

I really wish that comments were enabled on this blog, because I so wanted to correct all of the spelling, grammatical, and editorial mistakes in this entry and repost it. My fervent prayer is that this was written to the student’s English professor. I grouse at my coworkers enough about misusing their native language; I could easily go thermonuclear on a Brit for writing as horribly as any other MySpace TXT-addict.

A warning to all you students out there: Grammar counts. When I was in a position to hire people, I would throw away any résumé with spelling or grammatical errors. I simply didn’t want that person representing me or my company. I saw one cover letter where the applicant actually misspelled the name of his home town. If you can’t take the time to proof the document that supposedly best represents you, you will be a burden on the rest of us. Only when you have proven that you can write correctly will you be allowed to branch out into colloquialisms, dialects and slang.

You feel me?

You, Again!

You’re my biggest fan, my partner, my best critic.

You let me rant when I need to, but never let me feel sorry for myself.

You give me room to be goofy.

You give great advice, even if I’m being stubborn.

You tolerate my sledgehammer wit.

You gave me two awesome kids, and you are an awesome mom.

You watch my favorite movies with me over and over.

You are a fantastic cook. Even those few dishes that didn’t turn out the way you’d planned were creative and entertaining.

I love waking up next to you in the morning.

15 years is nothing when every day is a new adventure.

It’s you and me against the world.

Let’s attack.

Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart.

State of the Union

I’m not a fan of Unions. I think they were a good idea once upon a time, but I believe that their necessity has passed. All they do now is interfere with the Free Market by jacking costs and obstructing timely progress. People are forced to pay too much for not enough.

My company has a big trade show every year, and for the past few years, I’ve been tapped to go down early to help set up. I got to see how Unions operate up close and personal.

They’re shakedown artists.

Here’s the way it works: You are required to hire at least two Union workers to help construct your booth. Doesn’t matter if the whole thing unfolds from a bag and snaps in place, those two workers will do the unfolding and the snapping for you. You are not allowed to use any sort of hand truck or dolly to move your merchandise in from the loading bays – that’s Union territory. We were even stopped as we were bringing in cases of water for our own consumption to be told that a certain Union had sole concessionary rights to the show. I saw the Union Steward screaming at a man who had brought his own pallet jack, threatening to “shove that jack up your ass!” One of our hired hands even boasted that his brothers and he had completely surrounded a booth that had neglected to obtain their Union workers. They wouldn’t let anyone in or out of the space until the exhibitors filled out the paperwork. I’m sure the two women trapped inside this ring of testosterone cowboys enjoyed that experience.

What assholes.

The thing is, they’ve convinced themselves (or at least the only answer we ever got) is that it’s all for “safety reasons.” Like only the highly-trained Union workers know how to use a drill. In fact, we were oh-so-gently threatened by one obersteward who cruised up in his little golf cart while one of our guys was on a ladder. “Where are your workers?” he demanded. “At lunch.” “Well why don’t you let them take care of that when they get back. We don’t want any (brief pause) accidents.” What a con.

I realize that these people need the work, but you’re screwing with free enterprise, here, boys. Make the talent pool available, and we’ll pick what we need. You have an electrician? That’s great. Me and electricity have an agreement: I don’t mess with it, it doesn’t kill me. I’ll be happy to have him come down and run the splices. But to get in my face because I dared…dared…to use a hand truck to bring in a couple of cases of water? Piss off, Chico.

Our booth was built for us by a company in the UK, and we had a couple of their guys in to put it together for us. They told us that the UK has done away with unions, and the “safety issues” are handled by a number of event inspectors that cruise around and make sure none of the exhibitors are doing stupid things during construction. These inspectors have the power to shut down an exhibitor if necessary. That’s it. No extra expenses, no intimidation tactics, no confusion.

It would be slightly more tolerable if there was just one contact for all of it, but that’s not how it works. You have to see seventeen different stewards for power, concession, construction, loading, carpeting, etc. We even had to stop work at one point because we had two different Union reps arguing about which of them had the sub-clause in our secondary contract to use the left-handed pliers on the upper tier of our auxiliary light post.

I’m only slightly exaggerating, here, but it really was ridiculous. At one point, my coworkers and I were wondering aloud which Union rep we’d have to drag along to the bathroom to hold our dicks for us after drinking all that water. (Not too loudly, understand, since we were surrounded by none-too-bright gorillas sporting prison tats and power tools.) That naturally led to much juvenile, Y-chromosome influenced humor about “heavy lifting” and “pipe wrenches,” which I’ll spare you.

I really enjoyed it when the forklift drivers would get pissed at us because our crates were sticking out into the aisles. “Hmmm,” I would muse. “I wonder who put this 1000-pound crate here? I’m fairly certain it wasn’t one of us, because #1, we’re not allowed to move anything ourselves, and #2, even if we did want to move it, we don’t have a fucking forklift!”

To give credit where credit is due, two of our workers were very good. They did everything we asked, did it quickly, professionally, and well. We enjoyed working with them and talking to them. I understand that they work for the Union because there is no other choice, but I’d like to think that they could have done better in the private markets, where they wouldn’t have to pay dues into the big Ponzi scheme that is the Union hierarchy.

I’m fairly certain that introspection is not big at the glorious worker gatherings, but you have to wonder if any of them have ever contemplated: “If we are having to force people to use our services, perhaps we represent an outdated business paradigm.” Maybe the designated Thinker for the hive mind missed that meeting.

In other news of “Unions Gone Wild,” I notice that every music lover’s favorite wet blanket, the RIAA, is now considering charging radio stations for playing their songs.

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/business/la-fi-radio21may21,1,1028211.story?coll=la-headlines-business-enter

I love how the RIAA blames collapsing sales entirely on downloading, and not the CDs containing one good song and 11 crappy ones. I stopped buying CDs when I found out that they cost less to make than a cassette, but cost me more than twice as much to purchase. I was making my own CDs and cassettes until I discovered that the Audio Home Recording Act mandated that the price of recorders and blank media include royalties to be paid directly to the record industry. Thank you, George H. W. Bush. You asshole.

Now I eschew the RIAA-controlled sales centers completely, and copy music off the web with some freeware I downloaded. It has a feature that lets me record anything played through my speakers. I can watch a music video online and record the song if I want. If I find a groovy new band, I’ll see them in concert or buy the album directly from their web site. I think most people know that the artists make most of their money by touring rather than through record sales. (Remember records, kids?).

This may be the final push to get radio stations to switch to an all-talk format, and if those public serpents in Congress restore the “Fairness Doctrine,” we’ll have nothing but dead air. But that’s another rant for another day.

I just hope that the radio stations respond to this by charging the RIAA advertising rates for promoting their product. It would be good if those rates equaled the royalty payments. It would be better if they were higher.

For much fun, go here: http://www.dontdownloadthissong.com/

Are Your Papers in Order?

Today is the beginning of the National “Click It or Ticket” campaign, which runs until June 3. Police everywhere will be targeting motorists that fail to wear their seatbelt, especially night drivers.

We’ve all heard the statistics: 2/3 of all traffic fatalities are from not wearing seatbelts; 9,500 lives were saved with seatbelts last year; blah blah blah.

One disclaimer before I begin the rant: Kids should be in car seats. They cannot make their own choice, as they cannot foresee consequences. Parents that don’t secure their kids should lose their car.

Now…


This isn’t about safety. This is about police departments filling their coffers. Don’t think so? Think about this: A motorcyclist wearing only a helmet, but otherwise unconstrained from flying through the air in the event of a collision, is a perfectly legal rider, whereas an unseatbelted driver completely enclosed within a metal cage is illegal. A 200-pound passenger in a vehicle will be breaking the law by not wearing a seatbelt, but a 200-pound mannequin in the passenger seat is not required to be belted.

Look, I always wear my seatbelt, because I enjoy walking upright and breathing unassisted, which may no longer be an option if I go through a windshield. My kids are strapped in to the point of near immobility, mainly so they can’t spill anything on the seats. But I don’t need the nanny-state making laws about it.

For those that argue that traffic injuries raise everyone’s insurance rates, here’s a simple solution: If you get injured in an accident because you were not wearing your seatbelt, you are not entitled to insurance payouts. It’s not a mandatory, nagging law, it’s a simple statement of consequences for personal choice. Rates stay down, people can choose, and Darwin weeds out the losers of the highway crapshoot.

I got into a (very genteel) argument with a trooper that had stopped me for a burnt-out brakelight. (Side rant: Why do they always ask if you know your brakelights are out? Can anyone you know simultaneously depress the brakes and check the lights? It’s not like I carry a masonry block in the car to hold the pedal down while I do a walkabout.) He came up to the window to tell me about it, and mentioned that he would have to add a fine for my not wearing my seatbelt. I told him that I had removed it to get to my wallet and glove compartment to have my papers ready (he didn’t catch that inference, luckily). He adopted an “Oh, yeah?” demeanor, and asked what I would do if I’d been hit while pulled over. I replied that I would happily file a claim with that driver’s insurance company, since it would automatically be their fault, and furthermore, the fact that they’d have to go through the trooper’s car to get to me pretty much put me at ease.

But the whole point of that story is to illustrate how it’s all about money (fortunately, you can’t be ticketed for being a smartass…yet). Cops stop you on a pretext, then rack up the fines. “Sir, I stopped you because you were doing 68 in a 65 zone. I need to see your license, registration, proof of insurance, emissions test results, the contents of your ashtray, whatever you’ve got in the glove compartment, and that empty bottle in the back seat. I also need you to empty your pockets, walk this line, recite the alphabet backwards, breathe into this tube, let my dog sniff you, and stand with your feet apart. Oh, and you’ll need to pop the trunk, too.”

Ja, mein Kapitän

And to my next door neighbors (both of whom are cops), I’m not talking about you guys; you’re cool. :)

Current Mood: Stabby – OR – The Chippendales Go to War – OR – I’m in ur Phalanx, Killin’ ur Persians

Finally got around to seeing 300, and OMG, how gorgeous is this movie? The lighting, colors, and cinematography were just amazing. The director did a great job in capturing Frank Miller’s artistic style, and the cast was superb.

The structure of the storyline was extremely well-done, with the same narrator bracketing the three key arcs. This is something I think a lot of people missed, especially the idiots in Iran that bitched about it being mere propaganda. The story is told from the point of view of the Spartans, so naturally they would exaggerate the attributes of their enemy. That’s been the prerogative of soldiers ever since the first rock-throwing incident in Olduvai Gorge. Plus, when President Ahmadinnerjacket leaves his Holocaust-denial conference to opine about propaganda, he kind of loses some credibility, you know?

I’m a fan of grotesqueries, so I particularly enjoyed the Persian characters of the giant and the executioner. Mrs. Cat doesn’t get into the freaks as much, but I did have to wipe up the drool during the slow-motion battle scenes. She’s a huge proponent of righteous ass-kickings, so chiseled men in leather loincloths taking a principled stand and dispensing damage with sword and spear pushes her buttons. There are only two prominent female characters in the show, but they’re both beautiful women, so there’s something for the het crowd to ogle, too. I’ve heard the term “warnography” applied to this movie, and that’s a great term. I didn’t read the article, so I don’t know if the author was disparaging the focus on physiques, or the “glorification of war,” but it’s still a cool label. It wasn’t nearly as violent as I expected, and the various blood splatters and decapitations were shot so stylistically, you can’t really say they were graphic. There were worse depictions in Saw and Hostel. Their very realism makes them harder to watch.

I personally don’t see anything wrong with the glorification of war, but within limits. War just for war’s sake is a path to tyranny. Getting satisfaction from your military prowess, and being able to finish whatever fight gets started is a matter of national pride. Call it arrogance if you want, but when the shit hits the fan, you want people that excel in wholesale slaughter fighting for you, rather than against you. That was Sparta’s raison d’être, and it’s one reason we still know the story of the 300 today. Yes, the story was simplified, but it’s a movie based on a comic book, not a historical recreation. People that attack the movie on those grounds are missing the point. PETA may as well complain about the way the digital rhinoceros was treated (and I’m confident that some of those losers have).

I’m going to add Troy and Alexander to my Netflix queue to see why those movies tanked, and 300 and Gladiator did so well.

If you haven’t seen 300 yet, try and catch it on the “big screen.” It’ll lose too much impact on a television screen. One tip: pee first. You won’t want to miss anything.

Just Wondering

Saw a sign that gleefully informed me that 1/20/09 would be Bush’s last day in office. What will happen to the Democrats when the target of their vitriol leaves? Will they turn on each other at that point? Isn’t this the same tension that keeps the Dark Knight and the Joker in lockstep?

A sign on a restaurant told me that they were serving Ice Coffee. It’s Iced Coffee, you morons, same as Iced Tea. The first word is an adjective that modifies the noun behind it. “Ice” is not an adjective. I know that a lot of people say “Ice Water,” but unless you’re serving actual meltwater, that’s incorrect. When did grammar become so difficult?

Speaking of grammatical challenges, a coworker that gets way too much ego gratification from MySpace came up to me recently. “Know who I was talking to last night?” He leaned forward and paused, building the drama. “Nikki. Hilton.” Then he stepped back with this smug “Who’s the man?” look on his face. I asked him what rigorous identification verification procedures he had to endure to create his MySpace account, and was he aware that on my blog, I was personified by a talking cat?

I absolutely despise the current sartorial trend of placing logos and catchphrases on the rear of tight sweatpants sold to young girls. I am a compulsive reader, having been conditioned by evil marketing agents to seek out their messages. I am also of an age and moral character where I do not wish to be seen staring at a 12-year-old’s ass. In this Megan’s Law “for the children” era, where we stop just short of the death penalty for child molesters, and the merest hint of opprobrium can ruin a man’s life forever, who decided that this was a good idea?

Surely I can’t be the first to think of how much more work we could get done if we’d stop having meetings about how much work we’re getting done.

I really don’t ask for much out of life. A healthy, happy family, a small circle of excellent friends, a satisfying career, my own submarine, and an island fortress. That’s not too much, is it?

It’s been said that the lottery is a tax on idiots. Looking at the current crop of Presidential candidates, I’m beginning to suspect that our elections are, too. There are none of them who wouldn’t benefit from a road trip to Emerald City. The dispensation of a few brains, hearts, and some courage would improve the selection immensely.

Compassionate Conservatism is no way to win a war. Particularly the war against Islamic fanaticism. My humble suggestion is to get biblical on the terrorists. In II Samuel, Sheba, a Benjamite that revolted against King David, is holed up in the stronghold city of Abel. Joab, the commander of the king’s army, attacks the city. A woman asks him why he is trying to kill her, and he tells her that he is looking for Sheba. This woman goes and convinces the people to cut off Sheba’s head and throw it over the wall. Joab then calls off the attack. Similarly, we should line up our bombers, missiles, and tanks, and make it clear that unless the terrorists are delivered to us, we’ll turn their cities into dust. We know where these folks are, we just don’t know who they are. If the rest of the inhabitants want to be martyrs about it, we can help them with that, too. If II Samuel isn’t to your liking, how about Samuel L. Jackson? “And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger!” It always amuses me that the same people that sit in the theatre going “Yeah! Get him!” recoil in horror when it’s instituted as official Foreign policy.

Why do airline pilots feel compelled to chatter away on the intercom? Do they think that enhances customer service? Don’t you have a button to push, or traffic to monitor or something? I’m trying to read, here. I’ll consider your customer service obligation fulfilled if I get there on time, and can walk away from the plane. I don’t need a guided tour from 30,000 feet.

There’s a guy in our office that enjoys being annoying. You don’t dare ask him to stop doing something, because then he knows that it bothers you, and he does it more. My solution to this is to fuck with his OCD. When he targets me, I just knock his paper clip holder onto the floor. If he keeps it up, I rearrange his desk. He’s learning.

Some phrases just stick with you. Currently, I have the echo of some dialogue from Dark Passage stuck in my head. Bogart asks Bacall “So you like Swing music?” Her answer, “Yes. Legitimate Swing.” intrigues me. Was the market being flooded with cheap foreign imitators? Was there some epic battle in the music industry in the 40s to determine what was going to be labeled as Swing music? I’m sure the answer would add all sorts of nuances to Bacall’s character, but I’ve not been able to track anything down.

10 Days in a Genial Hell

A series of observations, ruminations, and generalizations from Las Vegas

French women have the prettiest clothes. French men also have pretty clothes, and appear to be competing with their women, rather than complementing them.

The homeless man singing along with the aria out front of the Bellagio’s dancing fountains? Yeah…there’s a story there.

The Luxor and the Excalibur casinos are apparently reserved for the trailer trash Mullet heads that are tired of Gatlinburg.

Italian women have the most self-assurance. Italian men are friendly, but they’re also too laid back about everything.

Used to be that Vegas was known for cheap food…not so much, anymore. Not only is it expensive, it’s tasteless. On the other hand, it takes real talent to blend the flavors of filet mignon, asparagus tips, sautéed mushrooms, shallots, and red wine so that they completely cancel each other out. That kind of chef doesn’t come cheap, I suppose.

New York New York is a great place to shop, and the walkway between there and the MGM is the best place to take pictures of the strip.

Mexican women seem to go from stunning young nightclub-fantasy chica to squat peasant grandmother without passing through any intermediate stage. Mexican men all strut around like bantam roosters. Even the short ones. Especially the short ones.

I understand that casinos want you to stay as long as possible, but hiding the exits only pisses me off. I’m not interested in your slot machines or your poker rooms; all I want is the most direct route from the monorail platform to your front door. The show I’m going to see is in the hotel across the street. You want me to stay? Maybe you shouldn’t have Carrot Top as your headliner.

The Wynn, the Paris, and the Venetian are all beautiful hotels. Easily my favorites. Good clubs, good shows, good food.

German women are either very cold, or very gregarious. German men are cocky assholes with really bad taste in clothes.

In general, Vegas is a city filled with those desperate to impress, or desperate to be impressed. It amused me that there were cruisers along the strip on Friday and Saturday nights. It doesn’t matter how shiny the rims are on your Eclipse, you’re not going to get noticed. It just won’t happen.

The Sirens show at Treasure Island is the best of the free shows. Pirate chicks and pyrotechnics – life is good.

Oriental women are generally beautiful, but only as long as they’re quiet. For whatever reason, those dialects are incredibly jarring to me. Oriental men usually look lost, verging on overwhelmed.

It tickled me that the Legends show lineup included Bette Midler, Prince, Tom Jones, and Elton John, since all of those actual people are appearing in Vegas.

I saw the Stomp Out Loud show at the Planet Hollywood hotel. As I looked over the audience, there was a lot less sympathetic jamming than I would have expected. Seeing as it takes at least rudimentary rhythm to procreate, how have white people managed to be the majority so long?

Americans may be derided by the rest of the world for our excessiveness, but I didn’t see any ads for the strip clubs and escort services that featured anything but American girls. We may not recycle as much as France thinks we should, but we own the field when it comes to pole dancing. American men tend to be drunk, loud, and obnoxious at the clubs featuring the American women.

I was stunned by the number of people I saw in the casinos with children. Who the hell brings their 8-year-old daughter to Vegas? Is she going to read the free escort guides while you’re gambling away the house payment? Fucking idiots.

The Frontier had a great big marquee out front reading “Free Paris!” Since they are located about two blocks from the Hilton, I thought it was hysterical.

Everyone should go to Las Vegas once. For about four days. Anything longer is excessive and depressing. See a couple of shows, do some shopping, gamble a little if that’s your thing, then get the hell out. But do your homework. If you don’t have at least a general idea of what you want to do when, the town will mug you. It dazzles you with false choices, distracts you with painted smiles, and slowly suffocates you while you’re convinced you’re having fun.

Stuck On You

Have you ever almost gotten into a wreck because the car in front of you had too many bumper stickers, and you got distracted reading them?

I was following some beat-up Datsun home today, and by the time I almost ran over him, I knew just about every aspect of his personal ideologies. Now, my default opinion is that if you can fit your philosophy on a bumper sticker, you probably haven’t given it enough thought, and you’re certainly not providing enough context. (Ironically, my general attitude towards others – Fuck off – fits exceptionally well on a bumper sticker, but I don’t have one, mainly so I don’t have to try and explain it to my daughter.)

Ever notice that you can just about peg someone’s belief structure from a distance just from the colors of their bumper stickers? Green, Yellow, and Rainbows? That’s a Liberal. Red, White, and Blue? Conservative. It’s also amusing to me when folks from both sides leave on the campaign stickers from the races their candidate lost. It’s as if their car is their own little bubble of reality that they drive around in defiance of actual events.

And I absolutely adore the little self-stick icons wars. You just thought about the Fish vs. Darwin squabble, didn’t you? Watching them evolve makes me appreciate the clever wit involved in their creation.

(Okay – I was going to let that go without comment, but if I can’t self-congratulate on my own blog, where else can I? I worked in the key words to both sides of the argument in one sentence. Go me!)

My personal favorite is the Cthulhu fish, because I’m that much of a geek.



I suggested to a buddy once, half-seriously, that we should open up a store that specialized in that sort of thing. We would call it Counter Culture. (Work it out, I’m not going to explain everything.)

Back to the Datsun, then. I’m pretty sure that the car was being held together by the stickers, much as the ideas on them held together this young man’s self-worth. He had the standard declaration “War is not the Answer,” but evidently had not considered that the question might be: “What song is Edwin Starr best known for?” or “What does the Greek god Ares personify?” or even “What’s the best way to stop a murderous dictator hellbent on slaughtering people?” Here’s a fun thing to do, if you’re so inclined: Next time you get the opportunity to talk to someone who has that sticker on their car, ask them if they’re willing to fight for that belief. You can’t lose.

He also had the requisite “Animals are our Friends” sticker. Like we should all take Bruce’s pledge from Finding Nemo: “Fish are friends, not food.” Right. Let’s all swear off eating animals. That won’t upset the natural order of things at all. I seem to recall a popular theory that says something along the lines of “eat or be eaten.” Can’t quite remember which theory that is, though. Ev…evo…something.

There was a short science-fiction story some many moons ago whose protagonist developed super hearing. As he heard more and more expansively, he started to go insane. What drove him over the edge was the long, mournful groan of an oak tree as an axe bit into it. Great story. Makes me want to whip up a video of carrots screaming as they’re being pulled from the earth and post it on YouTube.

Q: How many environmentalists would starve to death after watching it?
A: Who cares?

A friend of mine has a great line. She says that vegetables are what food eats.

“No Blood for Oil.” One of my favorites. Anyone who possesses this sticker on their car obviously hasn’t done even a cursory search about where we get our oil from. Iraq is number six on the list. Our top two suppliers are Canada and Mexico, respectively. In fact, we get more than eight hundred percent more oil from those two countries than we do from Iraq. If we wanted to kill for our oil, we could do it a lot more easily and a hell of a lot closer to home. Canada would fall in a three-day weekend, and since Mexico has already exported their entire population here, we could just stroll over the border and take theirs.

“The Blood of New Orleans is on Republican Hands!” This was a new one on me. I hadn’t realized that Ray Nagin and Kathleen Blanco had switched parties.

“Earth First.” A classic. Damn right, Earth first. We’ll strip-mine the other planets later.

“Thou Shalt not Kill.” It’s so cute when Liberals try and quote the Bible. If they were really keeping up with theology, they’d’ve heard that the correct translation is “Thou Shalt not Murder.” That is, you shall not take innocent life. This being plastered next to the “Pro-Abortion” sticker was really delicious.

“Another Free Thinker for Peace.” Just like all of the other free thinkers that have that exact same bumper sticker?

“Apathy is Deadly.” So what?

“Celebrate Diversity” and “Stop Hate Radio.” Make up your damn mind.

“Stop Animal Testing.” Jeez. Teach Koko to use sign language, and you get all snippy. It’s not like it was an essay question or anything. Hope you’re not an insulin-dependent diabetic, pal, like the chick that heads up PETA.

He also had something about making proper environmental choices, but it was obscured by the oil residue blowing out of his muffler. That was the one I was trying to make out when he hit the brakes. Luckily, I stopped before I creased his “Forget Bush” sticker to read “For Bush.”

I’m sure it would have killed him.

V for Vindicated

http://www.canada.com/nationalpost/financialpost/story.html?id=aa7796aa-e4a5-4c06-be84-b62dee548fda

“How much money does it take to screw in a compact fluorescent light bulb? About US$4.28 for the bulb and labour -- unless you break the bulb. Then you, like Brandy Bridges of Ellsworth, Maine, could be looking at a cost of about US$2,004.28, which doesn't include the costs of frayed nerves and risks to health.”

Let me be among the first to say: I told you so.

Of particular interest were these VASTLY HYPOCRITICAL quotes from the same article:

“As the activist group Environmental Defense urges us to buy CFLs, it defines mercury on a separate part of its Web site as a ‘highly toxic heavy metal that can cause brain damage and learning disabilities in fetuses and children’ and as ‘one of the most poisonous forms of pollution.’”

and

“Greenpeace also recommends CFLs while simultaneously bemoaning contamination caused by a mercury-thermometer factory in India. But where are mercury-containing CFLs made? Not in the United States, under strict environmental regulation. CFLs are made in India and China, where environmental standards are virtually non-existent.”

The article also asks the rather interesting question about what will happen when millions of these bulbs are being disposed of in landfills.

I've thought for a long time that environmentalists were batshit crazy. They have no real-world skills, so they try to pester the rest of us into tearing down the society we've managed to create, all to save a few snails or some such crap. Honestly, who's going to miss some snails, other than a few birds and the French?

See - the Left in general replaces debate with hysteria. They exaggerate the urgency in any situation because they think that the rest of humanity should be saved from themselves by the State. They want to replace ingenuity and competition with baseline metrics skewed to the lowest common denominator. As I've pointed out before, they champion Evolution in all parts of life except when it comes to people trying to make a living. Then the only solution they can come up with is Socialism. Below is a complete list of every country that ever thrived by implementing Socialism:







Of course, this crop of do-gooders thinks that the only reason it hasn't worked yet is that they weren't in charge. So not only are they assholes, they're hubristic assholes. When you need to buy something, which would you rather have: a plethora of choices offered by competing merchants who only stay in business if they offer the best merchandise, price, or service? Or having to go to one store that will stay in business even if their products fall apart on being exposed to air, cost seven times more than they should, and offer the same attention to customer satisfaction as the average DMV worker?

With the Left being so quick to jump on any hint of hypocrisy from the Right, and demand wildly disproportionate consequences, their smug superciliousness when it comes to their own actions makes me want to take one weekend and go club a few seals and shoot some eagles, then roast the carcasses over a few hundred acres of rainforest that I'd start burning with a napalm strike. Afterwards, because it's important to dispose of your campsite litter properly, I'd strip mine the whole area, and open a fucking Wal-Mart on the scarred, scorched Earth. I'd make sure they stocked both the CFLs and the regular, non-toxic incandescent bulbs, and step back to let the Invisible Hand do its thing. If people want to poison themselves, hey, that's their choice. And if they feel guilty about it, I'm sure that Al Gore sells mercury credits.

Rise and Whine

Apparently, Jessica – the lovely hostess of Daughter of Opinion – has decided that we sharp-tongued observers of life should post pictures of ourselves when we first get up in the morning. I can only assume that it’s so those that we annoy can make themselves feel better by making fun of those little imperfections that we hide through some sort of personal hygiene practices. (My second assumption is that Jessica has a team of early-rising hair and makeup artists that gently swoop in on her about twenty minutes before she awakens.)

I really did not want to do this.

Here’s the thing: I am so much cooler on the Internet. I am unconstrained by societal niceties or having to deal with people face to face. It’s so easy to present only that which you want others to see; to control access to your personality (Ha! Almost used the plural, there.). Those few people that know me personally and read my blog probably just shake their heads and chuckle at my exaggerations, half-truths, and outright lies.

This, of course, was Jessica’s point. We should be more open towards the world. Rather than hide behind these carefully constructed personas, we should not be afraid to show our dedicated readers who we really are.

I really did not want to do this.

I am paid to evoke feelings, perceptions, and behaviors in people through my words. No, I’m not a phone-sex operator. It’s worse – I’m in Marketing. Having a long-term love affair with the use of Language, I also belong to a few writing sites, craft limericks, and pun obsessively. I can be pedantic over grammar to the point of obnoxiousness. This is the same reason I blog. I love playing with styles, syntax, dialects, and structure. If I want you to feel a certain way towards me, I’ll craft something that points you in that direction. I don’t want you jumping ahead of me or going off on your own way based on any conclusions you’ve drawn by seeing my picture.

Did I mention that I really did not want to do this?

Thing is, I know that I’m going to. I’ve made the decision already; I just have to agonize over it for a bit. And whine. And pout. Not attractive traits, I know, but there you are. I’m self-absorbed enough to keep a written record of my every wisp of a thought, but I’m enough of an exhibitionist to put it online.

Enough stalling. Time to take my place in the lineup. You’ll notice right away that I am not a morning person. I greet the world with a face that says “I’d hurt you very badly, but that means my coffee would be late.” You’ve been warned.

Oh, and before I forget: Thanks, Jessica. Groovy idea.


Morning Cat:

Stupidity on Parade

Everybody knows/That the world is full of stupid people. Remember Banditos by The Refreshments? Truer words were never sung to a catchy pop tune. Sometimes I wish that we could set up special times of the day for these people to be let out, so the rest of us could get our shit done without having to suffer along with these unfortunates.

Part of it, I know, is that some people just haven’t experienced life. They’re young, or they’ve been sheltered. For instance, there’s a guy at the office who came to us fresh out of school. Poor guy. He gets thrown in with the rest of us hardened, cynical professional types, and has to endure our looks when he asks us to explain ROI. I want to pat him on the head sometimes. Other times, I want to bark at him to settle down. Some of us are tired, dammit.

Or the young kid driving the Jeep that I got behind coming home from work late last night. Just my luck, I get behind the one Jeep owner in the world that doesn’t see merging as a personal challenge. So I’m stuck at a crawl while Studley the Testosterone boy is thumping his block-rocking bass, with his friends doing their impression of Night at the Roxbury. Dude. Owning a vehicle with plastic windows does not automatically impart to you some sort of fierce individualism that the rest of us feel compelled to cower in front of. I can break into your car with a lit cigarette, okay? You’re only one step removed from duct-taping garbage bags to the door frame. Yes, I see the huge mud-shoveling tires and the chrome extras package, and I’m truly sorry about your penis, but for the love of Chrysler would you use the fucking accelerator?

Then there are the people that don’t realize that the rules apply to them, too. These are the assholes parked in the fire lanes or going through the parking lot against the arrows. Or you get behind them in the express line at the grocery store, where they are claiming that 127 cans of cat food and a bag of Doritos count as only two items, and then try to pay for it with a third-party check from North Yemen. Hey numbnuts, take your shekels over to the regular line, and let me ring up my potato wedges and get back to work, hmmm?

Something else that frosts my ass (apart from a three-foot snowcone) is when parents encourage their children to remain stupid. I know a woman that completely indulges her son in his incapacity to do anything for himself. I’ve overheard several panicked calls. “Mooooom. There’s nothing to eeeeeeat.” It makes me want to bitch-slap him. Here he is, 20-odd years old, in college, and he can’t turn on the fucking stove? He works in a restaurant, for God’s sake! If they won’t teach him how to cook, he could at least get some food there, you think? Leave early. Get food. Eat food. Clock in. Work. How hard is that to figure out? What makes me want to beat this woman about the head and shoulders is the fact that she indulges this codependency. “Okay, sweetie. I’ll leave here in time to drive the 40 minutes home and cook you something before you have to go to work.” Makes me want to cut her gas line just so “sweetie” has to develop some fucking domestic skills.

When you think about it, stupidity is the biggest roadblock to progress you can name. So much time is wasted because we have to dumb-down the game for the conceptually-challenged. These are the folks that don’t realize the full potential of what’s in front of them. As an example, I had occasion to visit a new doctor recently. It was fortunate that I got there early, because the registration paperwork was approximately the size of the Yellow Pages, and asked for a family history going back to the “begat” lists in Chapter 5 of Genesis. Did it not occur to anyone in the office that it might save some time if they put their forms online? That way, I could fill them out at home, where I can call grandparents and third cousins, look up old obituary clippings, and go online to try and determine what caused that weird growth on Aunt Josephine’s neck. The thing that really pissed me off was going up to the desk to deliver the stupid document, and seeing their gaggle of Clerk II typists entering the information into the database. How much effort is being duplicated, here? All of it. Add to that the fact that my handwriting looks like it was penned by a ferret on crack, and I know that my rather benign occasional sleep apnea is probably in their records now as acute ebola.

MySpace. ‘Nuff said.

I know that life is hard when you’re stupid, but only to a point. Some people are too dumb even to realize that, and they’re the ones that drag the rest of us down to their level, then beat us with experience.

This is why I own a gun, because as the song goes on to say: Well I got the pistol so I'll keep the pesos/Yeah and that seems fair.

Park a Truck, Save a Child

Law curbs big rig idling; 5 minutes is maximum
http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/metro/20070419-0846-bn19idlingu.html

By Tanya Sierra
UNION-TRIBUNE STAFF WRITER
8:46 a.m. April 19, 2007

NATIONAL CITY – In an effort to reduce pollution in National City, officials passed a law this week that prohibits diesel trucks weighing more than 10,000 pounds from idling more than five minutes.

The crackdown is aimed at stopping truck driving schools from practicing maneuvers and idling within 100 feet of a school, but also intends to reduce all truck idling in the city.

A man died in February after his family said exhaust from a Momax Truck Driving School big rig induced an asthma attack. Community members and Kimball Elementary School teachers rallied the City Council to prevent this from happening again.

Environmental Health Coalition activists want the new law named after Javier Jimenez, the man who died.

It goes into effect in 30 days.


And you thought it was just about smoking, didn’t you?

Au contraire, mon frere, this is just the beginning. Anything that you do that could possibly have an ill-effect on others will be regulated, then outlawed.

Notice how it’s dressed up as “preventing pollution” in the first sentence, and even works in the trite “for the children” argument in the second paragraph, but then it reveals the true agenda of “making the world safe for everyone.” Newsflash: the world is dangerous. It’s big, has sharp edges, and is apathetic on a universal scale.

I love how the claims of the family of the man that died are accepted without any question. Sorry that the guy bit it, but how can you be so sure it was the truck exhaust? Unless that rig was in your kitchen, he was outside when it happened. Lots of asthma triggers outside:

• infections, usually those caused by a virus (e.g. colds or flu)
• allergens, most commonly from house dust mites, pets or pollen
• play and exercise, especially in cold weather
• emotions, such as excitement, fear or anger
• smoking
• changes in the weather (e.g. a cold spell)
• food allergens
• certain medications

Hmmm. Two triggers linked to colder weather. This was in February, you say?

“Community members and Kimball Elementary School teachers rallied the City Council to prevent this from happening again.”

I can see the presentation now: a really nice bulletin board with stenciled lettering at the top, a picture drawn by each protester connected by yarn, and those slightly corrugated pastel framing strips surrounding it all. They want to outlaw accidental death. Good luck with that.

Isn’t this the same ideology that insists that evolution is the engine of Life? Why, then, do they get so upset when Darwinism eliminates the weak? Just because he had an asthma attack “from a truck” and wasn’t killed by a badger doesn’t make it any less of a natural selection.

“Environmental Health Coalition activists”

Taken separately, none of those words bother me. Put them together, though, and they make me tic. I didn’t know if these were two or three loudmouthed “doctors” that give out opinions like prescriptions (changing them to fit the situation, if the simile wasn’t clear), or if this was a collection of neo-Luddite grassholes still pining for the Free Love days.

So I looked them up. http://www.environmentalhealth.org/

Environmental Health Coalition is one of the oldest and most effective grassroots organizations in the United States, using social change strategies to achieve environmental justice.

Asking the State to create new laws targeting those whose behavior you don’t agree with is not a social strategy; it’s a Socialist strategy. And what the hell is “environmental justice?” You’re lobbying to make sure the grass is equally green on both sides?

Mission Statement: EHC is dedicated to achieving environmental and social justice. We believe that justice is accomplished by empowered communities acting together to make social change. We organize and advocate to protect public health and the environment threatened by toxic pollution. EHC supports broad efforts that create a just society which foster a healthy and sustainable quality of life.

There you go with the justice thing again. If you’re using it the way I think you’re using it, you want everybody to be treated equally. Except for the truck drivers, of course. You want to “foster a healthy and sustainable quality of life”? What are the economic impacts of your little law, there? Are the drivers going to be able to keep up their quality of life? And “toxic pollution” is redundant, by the way.

EHC is a multi-issue organization, with each campaign united by the following beliefs and values:

• All people have the right to live, play and work in a safe and healthy environment.
No argument, here.

• All people have the right and responsibility to act to correct environmental damage and prevent future degradation.
I’m impressed that you remembered the part about personal responsibility.

• EHC represents the public interest and takes direction from the communities we represent.
No. You represent one particular set of interests. The public is a collection of individuals, all with their own agendas and goals. Some of those are diametrically opposed.

• Communities of color and poor communities are disproportionately affected by toxic materials used in the workplace and discharged into the air, land and water.
Oh yeah – ‘cause the smog in LA only clusters over the poor areas. I notice that you separated the otherwise implied correlation between communities of color, and those that are poor. Can we assume, then, that rich colored folks have the same environmental problems as poor white trash?

• Pollution prevention is the most effective approach to addressing the toxics crisis.
Who’s going to deliver the pollution prevention technology if all the trucks are parked?

• EHC supports the integrity of ecosystems and recognizes human dependence on them.
It’s not as delicate a balance as you want us to believe. Nature is infinitely adaptable. The presence of a rare beetle on some land is only of concern to entomologists, who don’t employ nearly as many people as the assembly plant that will be built there.

That reminds me of a funny story: I was in a shop that sold minerals as gifts, and one of their featured items was certain geodes that had water trapped in the bowl. The clerk was trying to impress us with the fact that the water inside the crystal was “millions of years old.” My buddy held up an ice cube from his drink. “So’s this.”

• EHC promotes community and worker right-to-know about toxic chemicals.
Can I get a couple of Material Safety Data Sheets from you?

• It is the government's duty to enact and enforce laws to safeguard the environment, worker and public health.
Broadly, yes. It does not mean that you have the right to ban anything that may upset your histamine levels.

Groups like this use the word “rights” a lot, but that word has been stretched like so much taffy to encompass a lot of different things. Usually what is meant is: “I want that. I deserve that. And you can’t deny me.” It’s more about greed and selfishness than anything else. These people want the nanny-state to enact laws that reduce our society to the lowest common denominator, so they can feel better about themselves.

Right.

Just Wondering

Which Liberal group is going to get the most press out of this incident at Virginia Tech? The hand-wringing pseudo-psychologists that will blame it all on video games, or the Socialistic Utopians that will try to use it as an excuse to erase the Second Amendment? It’s real simple, people: If video games influenced behavior, I’d be gobbling up glowing dots and running away from ghosts. Similarly, laws do not change behavior, they only regulate it. Making it illegal to own a gun will not stop someone who has already determined that they’re going to break the law. Ever notice how these massacres occur when a person with a gun goes into a gun-free zone such as a school? Why aren’t there ever firefights at a police station or a gun store? If you want to proscribe something to make it harder for this sort of thing to happen again, take a cue from the kid’s notes and outlaw rich kids and their debauchery. That seems to be what made him snap.

If I run over a man wearing camouflage, can I claim I didn’t see him?

I know the cure for an earworm is to listen to the song. Anyone know a good way of getting rid of soundbite-sized memes? I’ve got that stupid “More cowbell!” phrase banging around in my head.

I totally support Don Imus’s right to say whatever the hell he wants to. I also support the market forces that levy the consequences of his exercising that right. His first mistake was insulting the team for no reason; that was just mean-spirited. His second mistake was groveling to Al “Dig my shiny suits” Sharpton. It takes a race-baiter to know one, I guess. Has Big Al come out against gangsta rap lyrics yet? Anyone? Listening to Mr. Tawana Bradley and The Very Reverend Jesse “Shakedown” Jackson talk about racism is like a black fly in your Chardonnay. (Can I say “black”, Al and Jesse?) Keep in mind, Rainbow Coalition anagrams to: RACIAL BOON - I OWN IT.

Scientists have developed a Flu vaccine by genetically-engineering caterpillars rather than infecting millions of hen eggs each year. It’s a safer, slightly-faster process, and is just really freaking cool. I’m curious, though – will PETA shut up now that the hens are being left alone, or are we to feel sorry for the yellow-striped fall army worms, too?

I saw where two teens with balls of steel broke into Ted Nugent’s house. Will Shemane title her next book To Serve Man?

If you have a Mustang, please do not drive fifteen miles under the speed limit. I could easily make a case for justifiable homicide.

Ever just wake up in a mood where you spend all day at the office fantasizing about stapling your coworkers’s lips to the wall? I did today. I’d watch them try to pry themselves loose with one of those steel-fanged staple removers, and when they finally pulled free, I’d laugh and buy them a snack cake.