For the past 20 years, I took family and friends to a great family-style pool hall with the best wings and burgers that money could buy. We would go to Fat Daddy's whenever possible to have a few laughs, play a little pool, and have a hearty tuck-in with some great food and drink. But it has been a year since last time I had a chance to visit this favorite establishment of mine.
Yesterday was the first time I've driven by it in a couple months. But it wasn't there --- just some dust, a few bricks and demolition equipment. After little research on the Internet, I learned they closed the doors on this excellent eatery just before Christmas. Apparently, a recently hired manager had not been enforcing rules on decorum. As a result, thug wannabes and those who don't understand the pants-belt concept began to frequent our now-deceased restaurant. The overly loud music, the even louder abusive language, and behavior that threatened the more- frequent patrons cause business to fall sharply. And so another great place bites the dust.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Which is the best diet pill? Please ....
First I wrestled with my weight. Well, I actually wrestled with controlling my weight. It would've looked rather silly to see my fat in wrestling leotards and me trying to pin his squishy form on to the mat. And that's certainly something that nobody needs to see (unless of course it's on YouTube).
But I'm through with that now. I moved on to greater challenges – such as wrestling to open diet pill bottles. It's bad enough you have to fight past the childproof cap. Once you get that removed (usually with the aid of a pair of large vise grips), you discover metallic foil that has been arc welded into place around the bottle opening. After you've weakened and finally broken through that evil covering with scissors, ice picks, and a series of battle axes, you come face-to-face with … the unending cotton ball that has engulfed every single pill in the bottle.
By now, you're probably wondering which diet pill is the best. That's an easy one to answer. It has to be the one that causes you the toughest workout to get it out of the bottle.
But I'm through with that now. I moved on to greater challenges – such as wrestling to open diet pill bottles. It's bad enough you have to fight past the childproof cap. Once you get that removed (usually with the aid of a pair of large vise grips), you discover metallic foil that has been arc welded into place around the bottle opening. After you've weakened and finally broken through that evil covering with scissors, ice picks, and a series of battle axes, you come face-to-face with … the unending cotton ball that has engulfed every single pill in the bottle.
By now, you're probably wondering which diet pill is the best. That's an easy one to answer. It has to be the one that causes you the toughest workout to get it out of the bottle.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
De Tics and De Tox Of a Medical Clock
You probably know that taking drugs leads to nowhere. Yet, it's the scenic route on that trip to nowhere that keeps you traveling until you reach the unfortunate destination of mental and physical anguish. So you abused your mind and body to the point that you're ready to change your ways. Great! Part of the road to recovery is getting the poisons out of your system. Do you go the typical route and spend an hour a day for eight days with treatment? Or do you go through a rapid detox process and spend eight hours in one day cleaning out your mind and body? My recommendation? While laughter may be the best medicine (especially if you don't have medical insurance), I recommend that you don't use my blog for medical advice. Ever!
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Universe still anger?
So there I was, driving home tonight, minding my own business, when suddenly, a suicidal suitcase size of ice and timber leapt into the air from a passing lumbar truck. "Wow! That's amazing!" I thought, followed by "That isn't going to ... HEY!" I swerved just in time for the wayward debris to crash into the passenger side of the windshield, launching fine shards of glass into the passenger ... who, fortunately, wasn't there. I stopped, partly to inspect the damage and mostly to rearrange a newly acquired load in my underwear. The truck kept driving. I'm home now but won't be on the road until the windshield gets replaced. Still, if I or the truck had been a few seconds faster or slower, this wouldn't have happened. The timing of it all just amazes me. Right time. Right place. If only the lottery would work this well for me...
===========================
I know I'm about to get some needling for the following but here goes ... Wouldn't you know it, I spend all day lumbering around at work, pining to get home. Then, when I finally leaf for greener pastures, all elm breaks loose as ...life grabbed me by the old twigs and berries and squeezes. Maybe it's pay back for being knotty. I don't know. When that debris hit, I don't even remember if I screamed, cursed or what the timber in my voice was like.
Oh well, life's a birch, isn't it. Maybe I need to go through this two more times. After all, as they say "tree times is a charm."
I am glad I'm here and able to write this. Of course, you might be thinking differently after this post.
===========================
I know I'm about to get some needling for the following but here goes ... Wouldn't you know it, I spend all day lumbering around at work, pining to get home. Then, when I finally leaf for greener pastures, all elm breaks loose as ...life grabbed me by the old twigs and berries and squeezes. Maybe it's pay back for being knotty. I don't know. When that debris hit, I don't even remember if I screamed, cursed or what the timber in my voice was like.
Oh well, life's a birch, isn't it. Maybe I need to go through this two more times. After all, as they say "tree times is a charm."
I am glad I'm here and able to write this. Of course, you might be thinking differently after this post.
What's on your office walls?
You can tell where you rank on the company feeding chain by what is hanging on your office walls. Down near the bottom of the pay scale, just above peon, is the worker bee who resides in a cubicle. His limited wall space is adorned with a piece of copied paper that shows the promises of upcoming company holidays. Next to that will hang a calendar so that our intrepid cubicle prairie dog can keep track of the days when he had to work during those company holidays as well as his missed vacation. If there is space available, you'll also find various small pictures of this employee's family tacked into the gray cloth walls of his surroundings. While our cubicle dweller runs on his hamster wheel, he will wistfully glance at his family for the necessary motivation to keep on running.
At the top of the food chain, you have an upper management's office which could easily contain 10 cubicles if this manager would allow it. (And you know that's not going to happen without a doubling in pay and a new office.) You won't find pictures of his family on the wall. No, he keeps them in beautiful frames on his desk. That makes it much easier to turn the pictures facedown when he's about to do something unethical that may cause him to feel a little guilt. On his walls, you will find large replicas of famous artworks. This is to remind him as he runs on his hamster wheel that he too can achieve a multi-million-dollar lifestyle --- as soon as he can find a reason to layoff 10 cubicle workers.
And then there are those of us in-between the two extremes. As an engineer, I get to do the work of 5 people. Thus, I have an office is about the size of two cubicles, which is convenient for my often-used sleeping bag. I have pictures of my family in very plain frames sitting on my desk -- so I can remember what they look like. On my walls, I have several technical posters gleaned over the years from free trade publications. But it would be nice to have something a little more classy hanging vertically in my workspace (besides the upside-down water bottle and a noose). Lately, as I dash about on my hamster wheel, the words of the famous Cinderella song runs through my head, "Someday my art prints will come."
At the top of the food chain, you have an upper management's office which could easily contain 10 cubicles if this manager would allow it. (And you know that's not going to happen without a doubling in pay and a new office.) You won't find pictures of his family on the wall. No, he keeps them in beautiful frames on his desk. That makes it much easier to turn the pictures facedown when he's about to do something unethical that may cause him to feel a little guilt. On his walls, you will find large replicas of famous artworks. This is to remind him as he runs on his hamster wheel that he too can achieve a multi-million-dollar lifestyle --- as soon as he can find a reason to layoff 10 cubicle workers.
And then there are those of us in-between the two extremes. As an engineer, I get to do the work of 5 people. Thus, I have an office is about the size of two cubicles, which is convenient for my often-used sleeping bag. I have pictures of my family in very plain frames sitting on my desk -- so I can remember what they look like. On my walls, I have several technical posters gleaned over the years from free trade publications. But it would be nice to have something a little more classy hanging vertically in my workspace (besides the upside-down water bottle and a noose). Lately, as I dash about on my hamster wheel, the words of the famous Cinderella song runs through my head, "Someday my art prints will come."
Sunday, January 09, 2011
What did I do?
Ok, what is going now? Last week, I bought a power inverter to run my laptop while traveling in the car and a memory module to upgrade my computer.
The power inverter died after 30 minutes of operation. So I returned it.
I couldn't install the RAM module because Acer wants more money before they'll tell me how to upgrade MY laptop. So I returned the RAM.
For the past couple of days, my wireless network connects whenever it feels like working. Nothing has changed. No viruses have been found through extension scans.
Today, my wireless connection lasted long enough for me to receive several porn spam e-mails asking me if I wanted to be spanked. Have I done something wrong to the universe?
The power inverter died after 30 minutes of operation. So I returned it.
I couldn't install the RAM module because Acer wants more money before they'll tell me how to upgrade MY laptop. So I returned the RAM.
For the past couple of days, my wireless network connects whenever it feels like working. Nothing has changed. No viruses have been found through extension scans.
Today, my wireless connection lasted long enough for me to receive several porn spam e-mails asking me if I wanted to be spanked. Have I done something wrong to the universe?
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Skip The Acer Laptop across a pond
I've recently learned why my Acer Aspire 7736Z-4088 was so cheap. I'm recording my technical adventures here. You might want to reconsider buying that Acer ...
Saturday, January 01, 2011
My Future Prediction (part 1)
Some people believe that their clothes dryer eats one sock during each load of wet clothing. Others believe that pairs of socks have marital-type disputes with each other, causing one of them to leave and never be seen or heard from again.
I believe in the opposite. Socks do not turn up missing. Rather, they magically increase by one each time you put them together as a wet group into the dryer. I don't know how they do this. That's why the process is called magical.
I believe the same thing happens with baby clothes. While my daughter was pregnant, friends and family gave her boxes and boxes of shirts and pants and onesies for infants. A majority of the apparel had only been worn once or even not at all. By the time her newborn son reached his first birthday, many of those baby items were still in pristine condition. This worked out great because we learned that my girlfriend's daughter became pregnant shortly after. So we sent her the mountains of infant-wear. Between what we sent and what my stepdaughter's friends and family gave her, I understand that she had to buy another house for the storage space.
I can't think of anything more cost-effective than this process of giving hand-me-downs to those who need them. Yet, in spite of the avalanche of baby wear, this did not deter the moms and the sisters and the female friends from buying yet more clothing to bestow upon expecting mothers. I don't know if it is a female trait that causes them to be motivated by the cuteness factor of the frock. Or perhaps it's that maternal instinct that causes lapses in memory about the tonnage of clothes already acquired. But in any case, I think the baby clothing industry may be in for an apocalyptic bubble bursting.
[continued in "My Future Predictions (Part 2)"]
I believe in the opposite. Socks do not turn up missing. Rather, they magically increase by one each time you put them together as a wet group into the dryer. I don't know how they do this. That's why the process is called magical.
I believe the same thing happens with baby clothes. While my daughter was pregnant, friends and family gave her boxes and boxes of shirts and pants and onesies for infants. A majority of the apparel had only been worn once or even not at all. By the time her newborn son reached his first birthday, many of those baby items were still in pristine condition. This worked out great because we learned that my girlfriend's daughter became pregnant shortly after. So we sent her the mountains of infant-wear. Between what we sent and what my stepdaughter's friends and family gave her, I understand that she had to buy another house for the storage space.
I can't think of anything more cost-effective than this process of giving hand-me-downs to those who need them. Yet, in spite of the avalanche of baby wear, this did not deter the moms and the sisters and the female friends from buying yet more clothing to bestow upon expecting mothers. I don't know if it is a female trait that causes them to be motivated by the cuteness factor of the frock. Or perhaps it's that maternal instinct that causes lapses in memory about the tonnage of clothes already acquired. But in any case, I think the baby clothing industry may be in for an apocalyptic bubble bursting.
[continued in "My Future Predictions (Part 2)"]
My Future Prediction (part 2)
[continued from "My Future Predictions (Part 1)"]
Consider all these baby clothes being given to each mother-to-be. From what I've noticed lately, it seems that these clothes are magically increasing their numbers at astounding rate. Pretty much in the same fashion as socks magically multiply in the dryer. Couple this growth with the declining birthrate in the United States. Pretty soon, each baby will have enough outfits to last until he or she graduates from college – provided he or she can still fit into onesies. Obviously, it's going to take several generations before the infant accouterments will show enough wear to warrant replacement.
Not a problem. I'm sure the baby clothing industry is already working on a plan to keep demand for their products at an all-time high. All they have to do is focus on the opposite end of the population spectrum – that's right, senior citizens.
First of all, everyone knows how seniors love pets, especially small ones. Not only are the little animals cute and easier to handle, but you can both eat from the same tin of cat or dog food. And as guaranteed retirement funds become un-guaranteed and more scarce than honest politicians, our aging baby boomers will have to cut back on necessities like heat. What better way to keep a precious pet warm than to dress it up in a baby's 3T Barney the dinosaur T-shirt.
Not only can seniors dress their favorite dog or cat as an infant, but we all know how the older you get, the short you become. What may have fit your grandson, may now hug your shrinking octogenarian body. What was once the cute attire of a bald, drooling, diaper-wearing child will be the functional attire for a bald, drooling, diaper-wearing adult.
Only the low next few years will tell for sure what will happen with this ever advancing sea of infant clothing. I think I'm going to start picking out my outfits now and be a trendsetter.
Consider all these baby clothes being given to each mother-to-be. From what I've noticed lately, it seems that these clothes are magically increasing their numbers at astounding rate. Pretty much in the same fashion as socks magically multiply in the dryer. Couple this growth with the declining birthrate in the United States. Pretty soon, each baby will have enough outfits to last until he or she graduates from college – provided he or she can still fit into onesies. Obviously, it's going to take several generations before the infant accouterments will show enough wear to warrant replacement.
Not a problem. I'm sure the baby clothing industry is already working on a plan to keep demand for their products at an all-time high. All they have to do is focus on the opposite end of the population spectrum – that's right, senior citizens.
First of all, everyone knows how seniors love pets, especially small ones. Not only are the little animals cute and easier to handle, but you can both eat from the same tin of cat or dog food. And as guaranteed retirement funds become un-guaranteed and more scarce than honest politicians, our aging baby boomers will have to cut back on necessities like heat. What better way to keep a precious pet warm than to dress it up in a baby's 3T Barney the dinosaur T-shirt.
Not only can seniors dress their favorite dog or cat as an infant, but we all know how the older you get, the short you become. What may have fit your grandson, may now hug your shrinking octogenarian body. What was once the cute attire of a bald, drooling, diaper-wearing child will be the functional attire for a bald, drooling, diaper-wearing adult.
Only the low next few years will tell for sure what will happen with this ever advancing sea of infant clothing. I think I'm going to start picking out my outfits now and be a trendsetter.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Dress Size Matters
Many moons ago (and suns and stars and other celestial objects that are, I'm happy to report, much older than I am), I moved from deep inside the Yankee territory of New Hampshire to the deep redneck recesses of North Carolina. Unfortunately, no one told me that I would need a Southern-to-English dictionary to make my transition a smooth one.
A few months after my life-changing relocation, I confused my lust and loneliness with love and married first girl who gave me the time of day. I'm not sure exactly when I finally came to my senses but back then I would do anything for my blossoming 100 pound beauty who quickly bloomed to about 200 pounds.
At that time, she had a thing for French designer clothing. And not the almost perfect items that you could find for pennies at Salvation Army. No, she had to have it right off the rack with that fresh wound of a new hundred dollar price tag still attached.
One day, when I was still slightly groggy after trading my plasma for cash to support the fashion sensibilities of my new wife, I stopped by one of the local fancy women clothing store. Through my woozy haze, I heard the sales girl say in a thick southern accent to one of her customers that she had "the most darlin' one-of-a-kind Pa Tate dress that everyone wanted." A genuine French-sounding labeled garment was just what I was looking for. I immediately swaggered over (well, more of a stagger) and asked to buy that dress. The sales girl nervously obliged me.
Thinking back on that moment, I should've inspected the dress a little closer. But that's all right. My extra-sized blushing bride did that job for me as she held up that exceptional item of petite clothing (definitely not, "Pa Tate") next to her wide form and demanded, "How am I supposed to wear this?!" "Over your head as an ascot." I said ... to myself. "As a belt?" I suggested hopefully. That's what I learned the importance of keeping ALL those sort of comments inside ... deep inside.
A few months after my life-changing relocation, I confused my lust and loneliness with love and married first girl who gave me the time of day. I'm not sure exactly when I finally came to my senses but back then I would do anything for my blossoming 100 pound beauty who quickly bloomed to about 200 pounds.
At that time, she had a thing for French designer clothing. And not the almost perfect items that you could find for pennies at Salvation Army. No, she had to have it right off the rack with that fresh wound of a new hundred dollar price tag still attached.
One day, when I was still slightly groggy after trading my plasma for cash to support the fashion sensibilities of my new wife, I stopped by one of the local fancy women clothing store. Through my woozy haze, I heard the sales girl say in a thick southern accent to one of her customers that she had "the most darlin' one-of-a-kind Pa Tate dress that everyone wanted." A genuine French-sounding labeled garment was just what I was looking for. I immediately swaggered over (well, more of a stagger) and asked to buy that dress. The sales girl nervously obliged me.
Thinking back on that moment, I should've inspected the dress a little closer. But that's all right. My extra-sized blushing bride did that job for me as she held up that exceptional item of petite clothing (definitely not, "Pa Tate") next to her wide form and demanded, "How am I supposed to wear this?!" "Over your head as an ascot." I said ... to myself. "As a belt?" I suggested hopefully. That's what I learned the importance of keeping ALL those sort of comments inside ... deep inside.
another toy bits the dust .. instead of the baby
Here's a new Christmas toy idea from our friends in China -- a baby teething ring that plays music and warmly vibrates while being chewed. You don't have to worry about this little treasure clogging up the landfill with tons of batteries. Rather, it's powered by plugging it into an electrical wall socket. That's right, one end into your house's 120 VAC and the other end into your baby. Fortunately regulatory heads have banned this unique toy from being imported into the United States. This justifiable interdict is kind of sad. Isn't this the time of year where you're supposed to "make your children's eyes light up"?
Friday, December 10, 2010
One of these days
Sometimes I thinks my family is the most ungrateful lot that a body could be married to. I should've known something was up when her family showed up to our shotgun wedding with a shotgun, an M-16 and a Sherman tank.
Now, I've tried to do right by my country wife and all of our young'uns. A few years ago I got us into a house with indoor plumbing and you would think they would be happy about that. But nooooooo! Building a house over a running stream wasn't good enough.
Last year, the kids were going on and on about us gettin' in a home entertainment system. So I worked a bunch of overtime and got 'em a pellet gun and a bird feeder. Judgin' by all the complaints, real birds and squirrels ain't as good as the ones on tele-o-vision set.
And for the past month, my wife been a-naggin' about how we should get one of them fancy Kichler outdoor lighting setups like the neighbors. For some reason, a baggie full of fireflies next to the bug zapper just doesn't make her happy anymore.
Well, I am sorry! I'm doing my bestest to feed all these whinin' mouths. I'm just lookin' forward to the day when I can come through the door and say, "Pack your bags, folks! I've won the lottery! I don't care where y'all go but you ain't coming with me!" Well, I cans dream, can't I?
Now, I've tried to do right by my country wife and all of our young'uns. A few years ago I got us into a house with indoor plumbing and you would think they would be happy about that. But nooooooo! Building a house over a running stream wasn't good enough.
Last year, the kids were going on and on about us gettin' in a home entertainment system. So I worked a bunch of overtime and got 'em a pellet gun and a bird feeder. Judgin' by all the complaints, real birds and squirrels ain't as good as the ones on tele-o-vision set.
And for the past month, my wife been a-naggin' about how we should get one of them fancy Kichler outdoor lighting setups like the neighbors. For some reason, a baggie full of fireflies next to the bug zapper just doesn't make her happy anymore.
Well, I am sorry! I'm doing my bestest to feed all these whinin' mouths. I'm just lookin' forward to the day when I can come through the door and say, "Pack your bags, folks! I've won the lottery! I don't care where y'all go but you ain't coming with me!" Well, I cans dream, can't I?
Ho Ho Ho :: sob ::
It's that time of year to begin fatten up our favorite holiday object – the credit card. Time to buy gobs of gifts for the young ones so that they can spend hours and hours playing with the boxes that once held their over-hyped holiday presents. And as long as you squander your money online through sites that adhere to the Payment Card Industry Data Security Standard (in other words, they're using pci hosting), you shouldn't have to worry about unintended parasites grabbing your hard-earned wealth for themselves (Congress and your local politicians withstanding).
Remember, if you let your credit card feast heartier than a tick in a puppy factory, I guarantee that you will be well rewarded in January. So take time this month to stock up on antacids and lots of job applications. When you get that over-sized bill next month, remember how pleasant you made the holiday times for others. After all, it's the thought that counts. And all I can say is "what were we thinking?"
Remember, if you let your credit card feast heartier than a tick in a puppy factory, I guarantee that you will be well rewarded in January. So take time this month to stock up on antacids and lots of job applications. When you get that over-sized bill next month, remember how pleasant you made the holiday times for others. After all, it's the thought that counts. And all I can say is "what were we thinking?"
Saturday, December 04, 2010
keep your enemies close and your friends ... off of facebook
To keep on top of technological trends and to give the impression that I'm an awesome dude on all things electronics (after all, techno-geeks are now the new James Dean), I've been signing on to the latest social media sites. Linked-In, Facebook, and Twitter are my top time-wasters, I mean, family-following, friend-stalking news gatherers.
Unfortunately, I've noticed that some of my contacts post such embarrassing things ... things that are beyond the red-faced level of OMG ( "OMG" ha! Told you, I'm hip). You know, those hideous little moments that they normally wouldn't even admit to themselves that they did. But, shine the light of a monitor in their eyes and touch their itchy fingers to the buttons with letters on them and it's confession time.
As for me, I'm keeping my life on the down-low :). ("down-low" AND a smiley face! I amaze myself sometimes.) First of all, I don't need someone else reading a tell-all accounting of my life until I'm ready to publish it for a 6 figure contract (preferably in dollars). Second of all, I don't need to give my present bosses or potential future employers any reason to promote me to the ranks of the unemployed. This leads to a slight paradox - in order to get on the social media hype-wagon, I've had to be anti-social on these sites. ("hype-wagon" is my contribution to the hip vernacular. You're welcome!) Strange times that we live in, indeed.
SO "friend" me if you like and say hi. I may reply back with that lengthy of greetings "hello" and probably little else. I'm not avoiding you. I'm not playing coy. I'm just being as social as safely possible ... until I win that lottery ticket. Then you can try friending me through the news media ....
Unfortunately, I've noticed that some of my contacts post such embarrassing things ... things that are beyond the red-faced level of OMG ( "OMG" ha! Told you, I'm hip). You know, those hideous little moments that they normally wouldn't even admit to themselves that they did. But, shine the light of a monitor in their eyes and touch their itchy fingers to the buttons with letters on them and it's confession time.
As for me, I'm keeping my life on the down-low :). ("down-low" AND a smiley face! I amaze myself sometimes.) First of all, I don't need someone else reading a tell-all accounting of my life until I'm ready to publish it for a 6 figure contract (preferably in dollars). Second of all, I don't need to give my present bosses or potential future employers any reason to promote me to the ranks of the unemployed. This leads to a slight paradox - in order to get on the social media hype-wagon, I've had to be anti-social on these sites. ("hype-wagon" is my contribution to the hip vernacular. You're welcome!) Strange times that we live in, indeed.
SO "friend" me if you like and say hi. I may reply back with that lengthy of greetings "hello" and probably little else. I'm not avoiding you. I'm not playing coy. I'm just being as social as safely possible ... until I win that lottery ticket. Then you can try friending me through the news media ....
Venimus, vidimus, vicimus
After working a long 70+ hour week, I spent Friday night doing what every loving father would do --- 11 PM found me standing in long line with my daughter so she could buy a copy of "Twilight: New Moon". In comparison between enduring prickly heat and standing for an hour to buy a movie that we could instantly buy the next day for a couple dollars more, standing is slightly better. Slightly.
Now the difficult part wasn't that you found fatherly me there, listening to the idle gossip from mothers waiting with their excited daughters. There was a couple of other bleary-eyed fathers whose expressions of "how did I get talked into this?" matched mine. The stressful part was being a couple of families ahead of a man who really needed a video on personal hygiene. Because of his 500 pound bulk, he had to get around using a motorized chair provided by the store. The large basket on his chair was almost overflowing with a cornucopia of chips, pork rinds, candy and other things that doctors warn us to stay clear of. His loose fitting tank top made you hope that he would make a stop in the lingerie department for bra. From the complexion of his ravaged face, you would think he'd spend his money on a "how to treat acne" DVD instead of buying one about clear faced vampires battling shirtless shaggy werewolves who can become hairlessly muscular in the blink of an eye (or quicker since my daughter didn't blink once during those parts of the movie).
In the end, it didn't matter. Venimus, vidimus, vicimus -- we came, we saw, we conquered the line and got the movie. I survived the night. And my daughter has a keepsake of our adventurous time together. I understand that the next episode of this long series comes out in a year. I can hardly wait. By then she be in college and I will be asleep ...
Now the difficult part wasn't that you found fatherly me there, listening to the idle gossip from mothers waiting with their excited daughters. There was a couple of other bleary-eyed fathers whose expressions of "how did I get talked into this?" matched mine. The stressful part was being a couple of families ahead of a man who really needed a video on personal hygiene. Because of his 500 pound bulk, he had to get around using a motorized chair provided by the store. The large basket on his chair was almost overflowing with a cornucopia of chips, pork rinds, candy and other things that doctors warn us to stay clear of. His loose fitting tank top made you hope that he would make a stop in the lingerie department for bra. From the complexion of his ravaged face, you would think he'd spend his money on a "how to treat acne" DVD instead of buying one about clear faced vampires battling shirtless shaggy werewolves who can become hairlessly muscular in the blink of an eye (or quicker since my daughter didn't blink once during those parts of the movie).
In the end, it didn't matter. Venimus, vidimus, vicimus -- we came, we saw, we conquered the line and got the movie. I survived the night. And my daughter has a keepsake of our adventurous time together. I understand that the next episode of this long series comes out in a year. I can hardly wait. By then she be in college and I will be asleep ...
Thursday, December 02, 2010
It's Wesley verses Charlie in the battle of social justice
For the past few years, Wesley Snipes has been protesting the federal system by not filing tax returns. Oh, he And his accountants made sure that he paid his taxes. But as part of a national protest group, he just didn't fill in the sacred forms. As a result, a federal judge decided last week to make an example and sentenced Mr. Snipes to couple years in prison. Was justice served? (Maybe Mr. Snipes' real crime is he is an actor. Had he been Mr. Obama's treasury secretary (and head of the IRS) who didn't even pay his taxes, we wouldn't be having this post.)
As I write this, Congress is debating whether they should censor New York representative Charles Bernard Rangel for a few "indiscretions". Now, Charlie (as his pork barrel benefactors fondly call him) wanted Congress to just reprimand him. When a legislative reprimand happens, someone makes an entry in the Congressional log that basically says "Bad, Congressman Rangel! Bad! Bad! Very naughty!" and then life goes on. However, Congress didn't think that was severe enough. So now they're voting on a sanction of censure. OOOoooo, censure! Very scary!
If they all agree to that action, they will make Mr. Rangel stand in front of Congress and say to him, "Bad, Congressman Rangel! It was very naughty that you didn't pay your taxes. It was very bad that you filed false tax returns. And you should not have used your position for personal gain." In other words, a public shaming. What a terrible fate! Then after a few minutes of a stern scolding from Nancy Pelosi, Charlie will have to ... well, do nothing. He's no longer head of the committee in charge of the taxpayers' cookie jar. But aside from that, very little will have changed for the Congressman.
"Oh sure," you might say to me. "What about his loss of public respect?" I might then have to ask you if you knew that he is a member of Congress. Also, considering his major accomplishments after 40 years of service has been mainly to get porkbarrel projects to his supports, then you know he hasn't had any true public respect since Nixon was president.
So I have to ask you, between Mr. Snipes and Mr. Rangel, who has has done a better job at benefiting society? Between Wesley and Charlie, who got the raw end of the justice stick?
As I write this, Congress is debating whether they should censor New York representative Charles Bernard Rangel for a few "indiscretions". Now, Charlie (as his pork barrel benefactors fondly call him) wanted Congress to just reprimand him. When a legislative reprimand happens, someone makes an entry in the Congressional log that basically says "Bad, Congressman Rangel! Bad! Bad! Very naughty!" and then life goes on. However, Congress didn't think that was severe enough. So now they're voting on a sanction of censure. OOOoooo, censure! Very scary!
If they all agree to that action, they will make Mr. Rangel stand in front of Congress and say to him, "Bad, Congressman Rangel! It was very naughty that you didn't pay your taxes. It was very bad that you filed false tax returns. And you should not have used your position for personal gain." In other words, a public shaming. What a terrible fate! Then after a few minutes of a stern scolding from Nancy Pelosi, Charlie will have to ... well, do nothing. He's no longer head of the committee in charge of the taxpayers' cookie jar. But aside from that, very little will have changed for the Congressman.
"Oh sure," you might say to me. "What about his loss of public respect?" I might then have to ask you if you knew that he is a member of Congress. Also, considering his major accomplishments after 40 years of service has been mainly to get porkbarrel projects to his supports, then you know he hasn't had any true public respect since Nixon was president.
So I have to ask you, between Mr. Snipes and Mr. Rangel, who has has done a better job at benefiting society? Between Wesley and Charlie, who got the raw end of the justice stick?
4G or not 4G
There's a lot of buzz in the news lately about various phone companies get ready to release their "4G" networks in the next few weeks. The only problem with these promises of high tech, high speed wizardry is that their "4G" isn't real "4G", at least not this initial go-around. To be considered 4G, a network technology has to meet a set of specifications known as IMT-Advanced.
For example, 4G standard means digital speeds at 1Gb/sec. Yet, when Verizon and its friendly competitors release their version, you get to enjoy paying higher prices for almost at a 1/10 of that speed. So right now, "4G" is just marketing hype.
Of course, some people don't mind paying for things that are cleverly marketed. They are the kind of people who will rush to a beach resort to buy "limited edition" sea water. Or they will hike into the hills to find that special stone quarry shop selling "new and improved" rocky mountain boulders (something you can't take for granite after a few eons). Or you will find them sweating away to get an exclusive exercise facility so they can purchase gourmet phentermine diet pills (bet you can't eat just one). You know the types ...
Anwyay, if Hamlet had a cell phone, he'd asked the same perplexing question that you should be asking yourself for the next several months, "4G or not 4G, that is the question!" He'd want to know "whether 'tis noble in the pocketbook to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous hype or to take arms and fingers against a sea of misleading claims and by opposing, end the madness. To wait -- to dream of better service that matches the overpriced monthly charges. By a dream to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand unnatural shocks that our cell phone bills render." I'm paraphrasing but I'm pretty sure that's what Hamlet would say.
For example, 4G standard means digital speeds at 1Gb/sec. Yet, when Verizon and its friendly competitors release their version, you get to enjoy paying higher prices for almost at a 1/10 of that speed. So right now, "4G" is just marketing hype.
Of course, some people don't mind paying for things that are cleverly marketed. They are the kind of people who will rush to a beach resort to buy "limited edition" sea water. Or they will hike into the hills to find that special stone quarry shop selling "new and improved" rocky mountain boulders (something you can't take for granite after a few eons). Or you will find them sweating away to get an exclusive exercise facility so they can purchase gourmet phentermine diet pills (bet you can't eat just one). You know the types ...
Anwyay, if Hamlet had a cell phone, he'd asked the same perplexing question that you should be asking yourself for the next several months, "4G or not 4G, that is the question!" He'd want to know "whether 'tis noble in the pocketbook to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous hype or to take arms and fingers against a sea of misleading claims and by opposing, end the madness. To wait -- to dream of better service that matches the overpriced monthly charges. By a dream to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand unnatural shocks that our cell phone bills render." I'm paraphrasing but I'm pretty sure that's what Hamlet would say.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
another win
Last month, I submitted a few ideas to the latest Cartoon Caption Contest and learned today that I scored in the top three places as well as had a couple in the "honorable mention" category. Sadly, I thought one of my other entries would have made it: "With best friends like that, who needs anemones?"
Still, each time I entered the last few contests, I managed to place in the top three. This is encouraging. Either that or not enough truly funny people are entering ...
Still, each time I entered the last few contests, I managed to place in the top three. This is encouraging. Either that or not enough truly funny people are entering ...
Maybe Spammers Will Catch a Cold from Blogger In Draft
You may have noticed a few changes that I've recently made to this blog. I've started using the beta version of the "Blogger In Draft" editor. Google's Blogger team have released several experimental features with layout and design and monetizing. One handy feature that has been the handling of legitimate comments while quarantining spammy ones as it is submitted. Lately, spam has been reigning king, so separating the wheat from the chafe has become a quick and easy process. My only other option would be to erase all the posts in this blog. But that would be like cutting off my head as one of the more drastic scalp eczema treatments – effective but deadly all the same. So for now, I'm settling for the quarantine method until Google releases its next feature – targeting the IP addresses of spammers and nuking their computers.
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