In a flashy TV ad, Victoria Secret announced their "bras are now half off" sale. I love a bargain but 50% off? What a deal! One breast exposed without the ritual of dinner-and-a-movie. Am I missing something ... aside from the other covered breast.
Naturally, I went to see Victoria Secret's generous offer. Man, was I embarrassed as the attractive clerk told me that the ad referred only to the price.
That's what I get for going to the Victoria Secret half-cocked. Of course, anything more would have gotten me banned from the store. Or arrested.
-----------------------------
The Pope was once a bouncer? As he exorcise unruly patrons, did he say, "The power of Christ compels you ... out the door. Turn the other cheek and I'll smite thee on that one too."
-----------------------------
Is it possible to find a prosthetic arm in a second-hand shop, or just ironic? What if you get it cheaper with a five-finger discount?
Thursday, December 05, 2013
Tuesday, December 03, 2013
The hills are alive with the sound of snarking
Apparently, most people didn't like NBC's live version of the "The Sound of Music". Perhaps NBC should've had Julie Andrews reprise her role from the original 1965 movie. Or maybe not. Even though a spry 78-year-old Ms. Andrews is still as talented as ever, how would the public react if she sang, "the hills are alive with the sound of mucilin"?
Friday, November 29, 2013
I am thankful for tools
Thanksgiving dinner? Nailed it! Mashed potatoes, mashed cranberry sauce, mashed turkey, mashed dinnerware. It's amazing what a great cooking tool a hammer can be ...
Monday, November 25, 2013
Beating Healthcare.gov at its own game
So George Kalogeropoulos, Ning Liang and Michael Wasser heard the wailing and the gnashing of teeth as good citizens tried to access the Governorment's Health Care site. Within a few days, they put together the web page that we should have had: no accounts to set up, no passwords to memorize, no multiple screens of denied access.
You simply enter your zip code and compare plans to your heart's content (and I hope your heart is a healthy one). As of this moment, their site covers 34 states with more states on the way.
Cost to taxpayers? Zero.
http://www.thehealthsherpa.com/
What are the chances these guys get the presidential Medal of Freedom?
You simply enter your zip code and compare plans to your heart's content (and I hope your heart is a healthy one). As of this moment, their site covers 34 states with more states on the way.
Cost to taxpayers? Zero.
http://www.thehealthsherpa.com/
What are the chances these guys get the presidential Medal of Freedom?
Wednesday, October 02, 2013
my thought for today
I'm not saying my friend's marriage is in trouble, but the only time he pokes his wife now is on Facebook.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
knee-to-the-groin observation # 1306
Have you noticed how Fate pokes a fortunate few in their bank account? Then it laughs and pokes the rest of us in our eye.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
This is incredible!
I know you're not going to believe this, but here is Raquel Welsh in 1 million B.C.:
Obviously, the camera wasn't around in 1 million B.C., which makes this stone carving all the more amazing. Just look at the fine details of shadow and color.
And not only is Raquel's name in English, but the carver even knew the year (sadly, months had not been invented yet).
So let's jump ahead in time to a few weeks ago.
Who says the cavemen diet doesn't work, eh?
Oh wait. Sorry.
My obnoxious fact-checker has informed me that:
1) Ms. Welsh was in "One million B.C." ... the movie, not the year.
2) That movie was made almost a half-century ago in 1966.
2) Raquel is not 1,002,014 years old, but only a scant 73.
Hopefully, you're not too disappointed with this post.
:D
Obviously, the camera wasn't around in 1 million B.C., which makes this stone carving all the more amazing. Just look at the fine details of shadow and color.
And not only is Raquel's name in English, but the carver even knew the year (sadly, months had not been invented yet).
So let's jump ahead in time to a few weeks ago.
Oh wait. Sorry.
My obnoxious fact-checker has informed me that:
1) Ms. Welsh was in "One million B.C." ... the movie, not the year.
2) That movie was made almost a half-century ago in 1966.
2) Raquel is not 1,002,014 years old, but only a scant 73.
Hopefully, you're not too disappointed with this post.
:D
Thursday, September 05, 2013
Miley: Past, Present, and Future
Last decade, we were inundated with the diabetes-inducing sweetest of Miley Cyrus:
This decade, diabetes moved into stomach-churning:
What does our future hold? Hopefully, blindness ...
.... my apologies to Jim Carey ....
This decade, diabetes moved into stomach-churning:
What does our future hold? Hopefully, blindness ...
.... my apologies to Jim Carey ....
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Chinese Car Crash tests? Not so good...
How did a car made in China rate in a crash test? How about ZERO!
Here's the video (since blogger is inept at linking video):
http://youtu.be/aTxbbvCf3zY
Ahhh, Chinese-made cars. They come in 2 stick versions: manual and chop. Crash one and an hour later, you're hunger for another.
Here's the video (since blogger is inept at linking video):
http://youtu.be/aTxbbvCf3zY
Ahhh, Chinese-made cars. They come in 2 stick versions: manual and chop. Crash one and an hour later, you're hunger for another.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Luck of the bounce
Last July, a tornado touched down a mile to the west of me, bounced over my house, and landed again one mile to the east. This incident answered my question, "When is my lottery number going to be picked?" Maybe Fate has a better idea of when and what I should win.
Not that I would turn down today's $400 million payout.
Still, now that I've blogged about it, perhaps Fate owes me. Just a little.
Not that I would turn down today's $400 million payout.
Still, now that I've blogged about it, perhaps Fate owes me. Just a little.
When receiving becomes giving ... and not the good kind
In my younger days, my friends and I played all over the neighborhood. Carefree frolicking, giddy with childish laughter, we ran through people's yards, usually ending in that most neighborly of greetings by the grumpy old guy, "Hey you kids! Get off of my lawn!"
You would think we would be more respectful as 30-year-olds. But we were so young and silly then.
I've changed since those wonderful, happy-go-lucky days. A couple of decades have swiftly passed, taking their toll on my age. And on my patience.
Now, I'm that grumpy old guy, living in a technological different world. I find myself yelling almost the same words at flippant youth, "Hey you kids, get off of my LAN!"
You would think we would be more respectful as 30-year-olds. But we were so young and silly then.
I've changed since those wonderful, happy-go-lucky days. A couple of decades have swiftly passed, taking their toll on my age. And on my patience.
Now, I'm that grumpy old guy, living in a technological different world. I find myself yelling almost the same words at flippant youth, "Hey you kids, get off of my LAN!"
How to deal with regret .. sort of
Nothing good comes from when I think back about the times I've wasted. Only depressing regret.
On the plus side, I try not to regret the time spent thinking about those regretful times. Otherwise, that would be more time wasted. Regretfully.
On the plus side, I try not to regret the time spent thinking about those regretful times. Otherwise, that would be more time wasted. Regretfully.
Musical entrapment
My first musical instrument captured my heart, my mind, my spirit. Little did I know this would be a lifetime of wonderful musical enslavement.
Call me an idiot. I should have known I was going to be trapped. What else would you expect from learning to play something called a snare drum.
Call me an idiot. I should have known I was going to be trapped. What else would you expect from learning to play something called a snare drum.
Friday, August 02, 2013
I Know What You Will Do
Terrafugia demo'd their flying car at the Experimental Aircraft Association’s AirVenture in Oshkosh, WI. After this great air show, Wisconsin should add an "N" at the end of their state abbreviation for the WIN.
So welcome to the 21st century. Finally. Soon you can drive to the store to pick up presents, and then fly to your family in the next state - for a mere $280,000.
Of course, how you use your flying car will match how you use your cellphone.
If you call, you'll fly from NY to CA. If you text, you'll drive.
So welcome to the 21st century. Finally. Soon you can drive to the store to pick up presents, and then fly to your family in the next state - for a mere $280,000.
Of course, how you use your flying car will match how you use your cellphone.
If you call, you'll fly from NY to CA. If you text, you'll drive.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
How To Succeed in the Dentist Chair
I went to the dentist this morning and faced my biggest fear ... nose hair. Mine.
That's right. In a recent survey, 9 out of 10 people said dental pain is nothing when compared to pain of social embarrassment. The tenth person simply twitted, "OMG! I just wet myself at the dentist and I feel fine." (This survey must be true; I read it on the Internet. After I wrote it.)
So why should I fear nasal follicles, especially mine? It started a couple of years ago when my body crossed that half-century mark. Seemingly overnight, random nose hairs - once slow-growing and stealthy-black - began mutating into a rapid-sprouting shade of white known as "mistakable thin slivers of snot".
I groomed them several times a week. But even with an industrial-strength weed-whacker, my trim job didn't cut it. If I were bald, a week without trimming would give me a handle-bar comb-over guaranteed to gross out the best of you.
I wasn't worried about reclining in the dentist's chair. My embarrassing worry was of a wayward hair or five waving frantically at the dental technician while I tried to breath and she tried to clean my teeth. All I could imagine was her thinking, "Why can't this unsophisticated idiot clean his nose?"
So I decided on a brilliant tactic of diversion. Just before the appointment, I ate two boxes of Oreo cookies.
With the creamy white filling scrapped off.
My plan worked very well. By the time I clogged the suction tube for the 3rd time, they had the vacuum pressure turned high enough to pull my belly button inward.
More importantly, the dental hygienist didn't say a thing about my nose hairs. Not only did she not look towards my nose, she hardly looked at me at all.
Although it was a bit awkward when she tried to floss my chin.
That's right. In a recent survey, 9 out of 10 people said dental pain is nothing when compared to pain of social embarrassment. The tenth person simply twitted, "OMG! I just wet myself at the dentist and I feel fine." (This survey must be true; I read it on the Internet. After I wrote it.)
So why should I fear nasal follicles, especially mine? It started a couple of years ago when my body crossed that half-century mark. Seemingly overnight, random nose hairs - once slow-growing and stealthy-black - began mutating into a rapid-sprouting shade of white known as "mistakable thin slivers of snot".
I groomed them several times a week. But even with an industrial-strength weed-whacker, my trim job didn't cut it. If I were bald, a week without trimming would give me a handle-bar comb-over guaranteed to gross out the best of you.
I wasn't worried about reclining in the dentist's chair. My embarrassing worry was of a wayward hair or five waving frantically at the dental technician while I tried to breath and she tried to clean my teeth. All I could imagine was her thinking, "Why can't this unsophisticated idiot clean his nose?"
So I decided on a brilliant tactic of diversion. Just before the appointment, I ate two boxes of Oreo cookies.
With the creamy white filling scrapped off.
My plan worked very well. By the time I clogged the suction tube for the 3rd time, they had the vacuum pressure turned high enough to pull my belly button inward.
More importantly, the dental hygienist didn't say a thing about my nose hairs. Not only did she not look towards my nose, she hardly looked at me at all.
Although it was a bit awkward when she tried to floss my chin.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Let me predict the royal birth
Judging from the news, billions of people are obsessing on one life-changing event, an event that doesn't even involve them: When is the birth of a certain baby?
It's not like we are talking about the start of the second coming, or the arrival of an expected savior (or destroyer) of our species. No, an awful lot of people (at least in the news and entertainment media) are rather excited about the continuing lineage famous for living rent free these past centuries.
The world wasn't this excited about your birth. Or about mine. (Although "royal" was often used to describe me, always with the word "pain".)
But let me try to help. Being the skilled mathematician that I am, I would like to offer my prediction. I base my almost-always accurate forecast on real data, this time provided by United Nations and the World Health Organization.
Over the next 12 months, our human race will grow by 143,328,412.6 babies. This means the Middleton/Williams offspring will be born … whenever it's ready along with millions of other squalling infants.
Why are billions of folks obsessing over the birth of one unrelated child? Couldn't they just act like the soon-to-be royal baby and get a life?
It's not like we are talking about the start of the second coming, or the arrival of an expected savior (or destroyer) of our species. No, an awful lot of people (at least in the news and entertainment media) are rather excited about the continuing lineage famous for living rent free these past centuries.
The world wasn't this excited about your birth. Or about mine. (Although "royal" was often used to describe me, always with the word "pain".)
But let me try to help. Being the skilled mathematician that I am, I would like to offer my prediction. I base my almost-always accurate forecast on real data, this time provided by United Nations and the World Health Organization.
Over the next 12 months, our human race will grow by 143,328,412.6 babies. This means the Middleton/Williams offspring will be born … whenever it's ready along with millions of other squalling infants.
Why are billions of folks obsessing over the birth of one unrelated child? Couldn't they just act like the soon-to-be royal baby and get a life?
Monday, July 15, 2013
Run for the border? Nah, you go ahead.
According to the latest news, one country now has the honor of being "fatter than the United States". Congratulations, Mexico.
We in the United States shouldn't be surprised. Sure, I could shed a pound or 50. But who has the time and motivation. If someone asked me to travel 100 mile in the hot sun with little or no food for three or four days, I would have to say, "You go ahead. I'll catch up with you later. In fact, why don't I stay here and mind the food that you're leaving behind."
Traversing the US–Mexican border is not for the faint of heart. While you don't have to be a triathlete, you do have to give up a several servings of donuts and put in a several days of cardio.
So we're dealing with simple math. As the more motivated, athletically inclined Mexicans moved north and their fluffier counterparts stayed behind, Mexico became a weightier nation. Hurray for our side.
Will our hefty Hispanic neighbors ever migrate this way? Not if Wal-Mart is any indication. Have you seen our large North-American associates get around the aisles in those electric shopping carts? "Run for the border" would be more of a motorized crawl. Not much of a chase for the Border patrol (as long as they're in shape).
Don't worry. Mexico's achievement is temporary. The ambitious will continue their momentum and travel north into Canadian lands. The really ambitious will overshoot Canada, skidded pass the north pole, and stop their rushin' in Russia. The number of skinny folks in the US will drop and we will regain our title as "Fattest Country of the Solar System".
USA! USA! USA!
We in the United States shouldn't be surprised. Sure, I could shed a pound or 50. But who has the time and motivation. If someone asked me to travel 100 mile in the hot sun with little or no food for three or four days, I would have to say, "You go ahead. I'll catch up with you later. In fact, why don't I stay here and mind the food that you're leaving behind."
Traversing the US–Mexican border is not for the faint of heart. While you don't have to be a triathlete, you do have to give up a several servings of donuts and put in a several days of cardio.
So we're dealing with simple math. As the more motivated, athletically inclined Mexicans moved north and their fluffier counterparts stayed behind, Mexico became a weightier nation. Hurray for our side.
Will our hefty Hispanic neighbors ever migrate this way? Not if Wal-Mart is any indication. Have you seen our large North-American associates get around the aisles in those electric shopping carts? "Run for the border" would be more of a motorized crawl. Not much of a chase for the Border patrol (as long as they're in shape).
Don't worry. Mexico's achievement is temporary. The ambitious will continue their momentum and travel north into Canadian lands. The really ambitious will overshoot Canada, skidded pass the north pole, and stop their rushin' in Russia. The number of skinny folks in the US will drop and we will regain our title as "Fattest Country of the Solar System".
USA! USA! USA!
Sunday, July 14, 2013
What are you heffer?
In the realm of udderly sad news, a cow falls through a roof of a Brazilian man, Joao Maria de Souza, and lands in his bed ... on top of Mr. de Souza. As romantic as it might sound to certain people, Joao later died from the injuries.
To be clear, the cow did not leap into the roof from the shock of getting a Brazilian. It had conveniently "wandered" from its job as a lawn moo-er and on to Mr. de Souza's thin roof, which collapsed under the cow's slim one-and-a-half-tons.
Coincidentally, unofficial news report say Mrs. de Souza and the cow left the scene to escape grilling by the police - a mis-steak by some accounts.
A few rumors have the couple in a romantic tryst in the India. But that would be udder nonsense.
While it is reported that Mrs. de Souza enjoyed the company of 25 varieties of black Angus and of 25 varieties of white Charolais, this story is not about the 50 shades of graze.
To be clear, the cow did not leap into the roof from the shock of getting a Brazilian. It had conveniently "wandered" from its job as a lawn moo-er and on to Mr. de Souza's thin roof, which collapsed under the cow's slim one-and-a-half-tons.
Coincidentally, unofficial news report say Mrs. de Souza and the cow left the scene to escape grilling by the police - a mis-steak by some accounts.
A few rumors have the couple in a romantic tryst in the India. But that would be udder nonsense.
While it is reported that Mrs. de Souza enjoyed the company of 25 varieties of black Angus and of 25 varieties of white Charolais, this story is not about the 50 shades of graze.
Monday, July 08, 2013
How do you get to space? One Grasshopper at a time.
"Grasshopper, when you can land accurately on a single pebble, it is time for you to leave."
Get the Kung-Fu reference? Anyone? Anyone?
Sorry, I'm in awe on this amazing video of SpaceX's Grasshopper pin-point landing:
I'd really like to have that Hexacopter used to take this video ... hint, hint
Get the Kung-Fu reference? Anyone? Anyone?
Sorry, I'm in awe on this amazing video of SpaceX's Grasshopper pin-point landing:
I'd really like to have that Hexacopter used to take this video ... hint, hint
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Required field must not be blank ... For fun and profit
Sometimes it feels like those hard-working folks at Google add infuriating features just to remind us who's in charge. Maybe it's their way of taunting us with their rewarding careers of free lunches, of free day care, of high pay, and of a working environment filled with play.
You may have found the latest "enhancement" when you tried to edit your blogger.com blog. As you created a post, you immediately got an error message:
Google can't tell you which required field should be blank - that would defeat the purpose of taunting you. In fact, you can't even save any of your work in a draft form until you solve this mystery.
And clicking on the "ignore warning" link only brings the warning back in a few seconds. Nah-NAH nuh Nah-NAH!
So let me help. Just put some text in the title field. Ta-Da!
Of course, whatever you use for in the title-block becomes part of your post's web address. Forever and ever.
This can be a bit of a problem if you use something like "I'd love Hitler", then work on your draft on and off for several days, finally realizing your piece really needs to be published with "I'd love to kick Hitler in the groin" in its address. Too bad. (Although, your initial title may spike your web traffic as numerous, soon-to-be-disappointed skinheads flock to your site from a miss-interpreted search. Yes, I agree. Serves them reich, er, right.)
I know there are rare writers out there who have a headline in mind before they begin to compose their masterpieces. Unfortunately, I'm not that proficient. I have to write my ideas down first, and then develop the working title afterwards.
But if Google is changing the rules of the game, so be it. I'm going to try the old SEO approach to naming my preliminary drafts.
"SEO" is the web version of those catchy headlines you see at the checkout counters on the magazine covers - those glossy, over-priced tabloids that promise life-changing advice if you read their articles. Usually, these stories are the same sort of advice you rejected from your parents.
Remember the defiant attitude of a younger you when your mother freely told you to "eat your vegetables"? Yet now, as an adult, you'll pay good money to magazines that promise "how to live forever with the revolutionary pea and broccoli diet".
A lot of successful bloggers use the same newsstand trick to get people to their sites. Often, the posts don't quite deliver on their banners.
So I apologize ahead of time if you are mistakenly enticed to read my entries and learn it's not what you expect. (Not that that should be any different from before.)
So here are a few titles that may show up in the addresses of my posts:
"Five ways to remove road tar from your mosquito's wings."
"Bikini wax: A soldier's best friend for that shiny bikini."
"How to tell if your goldfish is not into you."
"If at first you don't succeed (the joys of celibacy)"
"10 things you should know about 3 secrets involving your friend's 100 highlighted hairs."
"Thyme and Tide wait for no man: A Bachelor's guide to cooking and laundry."
"How to live the life of luxury as a Google employee while giving your customers more aggravating lives." (Just kidding, Google guys. Wait. Don't .....)
!UPDATE! !UPDATE! !UPDATE! !UPDATE! !UPDATE! !UPDATE!
After further investigation, I have to you tell that I was wwwwrrrrr, I was wwwrrrrooonnn, I was ... wrong. There! Feel better?
You CAN save your draft under one title and then publish your post with another. I found this important fact at the blog "The Real Blogger Status".
I apologize to the Google for implying any elitist attitude by their developers. I hope this means we can still do lunch. At your campus, of course.
You may have found the latest "enhancement" when you tried to edit your blogger.com blog. As you created a post, you immediately got an error message:
"Required field must not be blank. Ignore warning"
Google can't tell you which required field should be blank - that would defeat the purpose of taunting you. In fact, you can't even save any of your work in a draft form until you solve this mystery.
And clicking on the "ignore warning" link only brings the warning back in a few seconds. Nah-NAH nuh Nah-NAH!
So let me help. Just put some text in the title field. Ta-Da!
Of course, whatever you use for in the title-block becomes part of your post's web address. Forever and ever.
This can be a bit of a problem if you use something like "I'd love Hitler", then work on your draft on and off for several days, finally realizing your piece really needs to be published with "I'd love to kick Hitler in the groin" in its address. Too bad. (Although, your initial title may spike your web traffic as numerous, soon-to-be-disappointed skinheads flock to your site from a miss-interpreted search. Yes, I agree. Serves them reich, er, right.)
I know there are rare writers out there who have a headline in mind before they begin to compose their masterpieces. Unfortunately, I'm not that proficient. I have to write my ideas down first, and then develop the working title afterwards.
But if Google is changing the rules of the game, so be it. I'm going to try the old SEO approach to naming my preliminary drafts.
"SEO" is the web version of those catchy headlines you see at the checkout counters on the magazine covers - those glossy, over-priced tabloids that promise life-changing advice if you read their articles. Usually, these stories are the same sort of advice you rejected from your parents.
Remember the defiant attitude of a younger you when your mother freely told you to "eat your vegetables"? Yet now, as an adult, you'll pay good money to magazines that promise "how to live forever with the revolutionary pea and broccoli diet".
A lot of successful bloggers use the same newsstand trick to get people to their sites. Often, the posts don't quite deliver on their banners.
So I apologize ahead of time if you are mistakenly enticed to read my entries and learn it's not what you expect. (Not that that should be any different from before.)
So here are a few titles that may show up in the addresses of my posts:
"Five ways to remove road tar from your mosquito's wings."
"Bikini wax: A soldier's best friend for that shiny bikini."
"How to tell if your goldfish is not into you."
"If at first you don't succeed (the joys of celibacy)"
"10 things you should know about 3 secrets involving your friend's 100 highlighted hairs."
"Thyme and Tide wait for no man: A Bachelor's guide to cooking and laundry."
"How to live the life of luxury as a Google employee while giving your customers more aggravating lives." (Just kidding, Google guys. Wait. Don't .....)
!UPDATE! !UPDATE! !UPDATE! !UPDATE! !UPDATE! !UPDATE!
After further investigation, I have to you tell that I was wwwwrrrrr, I was wwwrrrrooonnn, I was ... wrong. There! Feel better?
You CAN save your draft under one title and then publish your post with another. I found this important fact at the blog "The Real Blogger Status".
I apologize to the Google for implying any elitist attitude by their developers. I hope this means we can still do lunch. At your campus, of course.
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