Arguing with the Coroner

I have an internal argument raging over whether to post this or not.  If you're seeing it, obviously the pro-posting side won.

Longer-term followers of this blog know that my sister-in-law left us a few months back (when it was cold and humid, as opposed to oppressively hot and humid).  It has taken the coroner's office these months to make up their mind as to their decision.

My wife, regardless of how many episodes of CSI she has seen, developed a theory of what happened to her sister.  A theory I believe to be quite correct: everything fits neatly.

Today my wife spoke with the coroner's office about their final verdict.  The death was ruled a suicide.  Well, at least it was by the aforementioned coroner.  My wife, however, had a different idea.

A part of me almost felt sorry for the coroner, whose job it is to deliver horrible news to grieving people every day.  Politely but firmly, my wife explained to this seemingly seasoned professional that she was mistaken.

What, you ask, is the extent of my wife's education in the post-mortem sciences?  Err.. `not more than she learned being a nurse' would be the answer.

To be fair, the coroner struggled with this decision, which is why it took months.

It's just that my wife knows better.  No offense to the professionals on the case, but my wife knew the decedent.  She took the entire scene into account, pieced together what appeared to be a very accurate timeline, and came to a conclusion.  The coroner only knew what she gleaned from her medical exam.

If I saw what the coroner saw, I'd probably have ruled as she did.  There was no doubt a ton of prescription pharmaceuticals in that body.  Probably more than most normal people could tolerate and continue breathing.  Fortunately or unfortunately, this person wasn't normal.  We frequently observed her taking huge quantities of her own meds with little effect, other than looking stupid.  We also saw her suicidal.

And that is the crux of the biscuit, as agreed upon by her children and my wife; the people who knew her best.   She got up early, picked up her meds and some food, ate too many pills, then fell, hitting her head and bleeding out.  Not a suicide.

But, according to the letter of the law, a suicide.

Memorially Speaking [or Evil Kitty Has Done it Again]

Ron Paul takes second in New Hampshire CNN poll.  I'm pretty shocked, as one only reads about Paul if there's something negative to say.  There are two libertarians running so far - you know what you have to do.

___________

It is at times like these that I am glad my penis doesn't have all the power (all the time).  I have to admit it - Harley Palinson is cute.

Just not at the voting booth.

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So it's 5:30 in the morning and I'm awake.  This is not something that should ever happen, nor is it on purpose.  The dog has decided it's time to go outside.  No earthly idea why 5:30am is the Designated Urinating Hour<tm>, but there is simply no arguing with him. 

As it turns out, it was a good thing he woke me up.  I heard a loud noise like machinery or steam.  I'm running around the house, sans clothes, looking for the source of the noise.  My neighbors are not above running construction equipment at 5:30 but it seemed to be coming from inside.

Yes, the bathroom.   Cold water is running full blast, coming up over the sink and getting all over the carpet.  Yay.

My next thought is who would possibly leave water running full blast.  The dog has absolutely no interest; when he wants to play, he simply sticks his paws in the toilet.  My wife is the likely suspect but she has not been known to leave water on.

Of course - it's the cat.

I shouldn't be surprised.... this is the same cat who, the week we got him, kept jumping on the stove and turning the gas on.  I swear he was trying to blow us all to pieces.  We had to remove the stove knobs for months until he was past his Explosive Phase (and on to disemboweling Christmas trees, but that's another matter entirely).

I've seen cats turn water on with levers.  The only problem here is that the water is controlled by a knob that is not paw-friendly.  Even if he had opposable digits, it would require a lot of strength to turn the knob.

As if to punctuate the feat, it happened again.  I came home from work, my wife wasn't there but the faucet was running.

If the cat could laugh, we would all hear him snickering.

Meanwhile, the little bastard ruined a carpet and two old levels of flooring.

_____________

It is my difficult duty, at this time every year, to wish everyone a happy Memorial Day.  The difficult part is that I firmly believe that the brave men and women who lost their lives did so because of an illusion.  They did what they were socially programmed to do: fight for their country and freedoms.

The sad fact is that our people dying in Iraq and Afghanistan thought they were doing so for their country and freedoms.  Unfortunately America is not one bit safer or more free for our loss.  I grieve with the families who lost someone but I have to call them as I see them and the only ones benefiting here are the military industrial complex and oil companies.

I call for President Giveaway and the impotent Congress to remove our troops immediately from every foreign country.  Call them home at this moment.  Stop all financial aid leaving the country.  Stop feeding McDonnell Douglass.

In fact, we have trillions in debt and a healthcare system that went to hell years ago. 

Imagine what the savings could do for us.... not to mention the tax breaks.

The Best Football Season EVER

President (and Mrs.) Giveaway are in England today, one day after celebrating his roots in Ireland (O'bama?).

When signing the guest book at Westminster Abbey, Obama got the year wrong.  This is apparently all the press has to report.

I have to call it as I see it and the way I see it, we should not heap hate upon the president for this slip up.  If you're going to pick on him, do so because he's a lying sack of excrement, not because he confused his years.

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Robert Zimmerman, aka Dylan, is seventy today.

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The White House has added a position to deal with unfavorable online press.  In other words, the taxpayers are paying the bill for his next campaign.

We also know who will be calling me shortly.

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Nicholas Sarkozy, famous largely due to being in charge in France, has convened the G8 Summit in France.  He thinks it's great that the online world has all of its benefits but he'd prefer that the countries get their say.

In other words, he wants the rest of the globalist bastards to clamp down on the internet.

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A football player called Ray Lewis has inserted his foot into his oral cavity via the statement that crime will rise if football season doesn't go on.

I don't know about you but I think this is going the be the best football season ever.

Certified Ethical Hacking?

The first reaction seems to be `isn't that an oxymoron?'

But no.  Oxymorons are words that don't belong together, like:

• Microsoft Works
• jumbo shrimp
• military intelligence
• congressional ethics

Certified Ethical Hacker is the name of a title that one earns, as well as numerous books and courses.  CEH is where one learns the tricks of the hackers so as to apply them to defense of the network.

In my case, my employer (the Twilight Zone<tm>) paid an awful lot of money send me to this course.  I've been there rather a long time and this is my first real course benefit.  Others would see this as the first time they let me out in ten years or so.

The company doing the teaching allows one to take the course in a number of ways, generally at their place.  Their place is generally a good idea, as trying to learn anything at all at work would be a near-impossible task, similar to dancing across a war zone, naked.

Unfortunately their place has two locations; each one more difficult to reach than the other.  Difficult may not be specific... let's just say that either requires over an hour's drive on a good day (for a twenty minute ride).  I allowed over an hour the first day, figuring that this was the most highly-trafficked route in the area.  Philly has done a tremendous job of ruining interstates, with both the turnpike and I-95 completely jammed by close to six hours of rush hour traffic daily.

Thinking I could outsmart the turnpike was, in review, rather stupid and naive.  Leaving over an hour for my trip did nothing but ensure that my drive would be frought with frustration.  In fact, the parking lot started over two miles from the actual exit.  We crept, ever so slowly, to the toll booth, where I inquired whether this was normal.  The nice lady taking the money said that contractors had closed some lanes so this wasn't normal.

Knowing that this Grand Journey taking over ninety minutes was not normal actually did nothing to make me feel any better.  I did almost hurt my neck due to shaking my head vigorously at the futility of it all.  Take the absolute busiest turnpike exit and close a few lanes here and there during rush hour - yeah, that's sheer genius.

I can't say enough about the staff, largely consisting of one stunningly attractive receptionist who got me in, seated, and situated in no time flat.  And off I went - learning.  To be truthful, it had absolutely nothing to do with the Otis Spunkmeier cookies, but they certainly helped.

IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I ROCK AND ROLLED

Since it's just you and me, let me share something: it was roughly the early 1980's when I last parked my bottom in a classroom chair.  I never went to college (I couldn't pass the drinking exam) so I'm completely self-taught.

Years later I discovered I had Attention Deficit Disorder, which explained an awful lot.  It has also kept me from going back into the classroom until recently.  I just can't wait until the test for my certificate...

Boy was I pleasantly surprised.... the teacher was quite engaging, the material very interesting, and I somehow managed to keep my attention on the screen (large headphones covering my ears probably helped too).  The teacher was physically in San Antonio so technically I could have taken the course from anywhere.

Armed with that knowledge, I arranged to take the rest of the course from home.  I don't have any serious distractions and keep the room's door closed.  Thus far only the dog has stopped by to say hello.  This is a good way to learn (Marshall agrees).  I could also see this course being horrible if the teacher was boring.  Today's tornado probably didn't help either, although it missed by a few miles.

THE THINGS I CAN DO...

All of that aside, I am learning all sorts of new skills, none of which are particularly pleasant.  But the skills are very useful for network defense.  You would probably be shocked at the number of things hackers can do to your computer, some without even being near your computer.  I knew Windows wasn't exactly a secure operating system but some of this stuff is off the hook.  Another great reason to use linux (as if we needed one). 

Don't use wireless, while I'm pontificating.   WEP can be cracked in five minutes, WPA in about twenty.

We also learned about social engineering, starting with the phrase `there is no patch for human stupidity'.  This is truly the weakest link.  People are so generally helpful (or stupid) that they are your best shot for hacking, short of wide open systems.

I have refused to participate in electronic medical records, knowing what is in store (look at Sony).  This class made it worse.  Even the inevitable I told you so isn't going to make me feel better.

Caveat computor.

Riding Out the Apocalypse at the Zoo

Yippie - we're all still here!
Or at least I hope we're all still here.

Much to everyone's surprise, the Rapture failed to occur.
In fact, it failed to occur precisely to the moment.  Call me a sage.

In any case, we decided that the zoo was a great place to spend our last hours together.  To make it a proper and fitting goodbye, we invited the parents.  Family time is together time.  Never mind that my siblings had convenient excuses: living across the country and some crap about a wedding.

I am a member of the Philadelphia Zoological Society, through no fault of my own.  It actually started at work one day.  I took off to go to the zoo and it rained.  The next time I took off to go to the zoo, it rained again.  It got so that I tried taking off without saying why I was taking off, but Mother Nature got wind of it and it rained.  One day I even took off, specifically noting that I was not going to the zoo.  It did not rain, so we largely put it down to me going to the zoo.  My old boss noted that I could make a lot of money by visiting drought-ridden areas and going to the zoo.  My wife, although for the idea, was kind of sad, as she really loves the zoo (as do all of the internal folks).  For my birthday, my coworkers got me a membership to the zoo, as well as a pair of raincoats.  The bastards.

There is this show on what's left of broadcast television on Sundays called Animal Exploration.  I get the impression that it's a few years old but the host, Jarod Miller, is a hoot.  He's a small, manic zoologist who visits zoos all over the country and talks about the animals.  It's an amusing show for kids and larger kids (like me).  I prefer mania to poor Steve Irwin (RIP), whose main tactic seemed to be poking at anything in front of him until it tried to attack, in defense.

In any case, Jarod and crew did a few segments at the Norristown Zoo, right outside of Philthydelphia (it's always better to be outside of Philthydelphia).  We had heard that there was a zoo in Norristown but kept driving around it for good reason: you don't want to get out of your car in many parts of Norristown.  It might be the county seat but this particular seat needs a good cleaning in spots.

So naturally it was decided that we'd all visit the Norristown Zoo.  We packed our sunscreen, water, parents, and Kevlar vests, then set out on our journey.

At this point you're probably saying to yourself that you know this is all made up because we packed sunscreen.  After seven straight days of rain, Mother Nature either got tired or had her period, allowing the sun to peek out and providing the area with a rather nice day.

Signage is surprisingly good in Norristown, allowing us to find the zoo without difficulty.  And it's a good thing, too, as the zoo is incredibly well hidden.  It looks like any other nice residential area.  The only delay was caused by taking my father's directions.  Dad used to drive by the place every day on his way to work, or so he said.  I had temporarily forgotten about Dad's sense of direction so we listened to him (at first).  Fortunately no one forgot about Dad's driving, so we took our car.

My parents lived in Arizona for a few years, meaning we used to spend a lot of time visiting.  Within two or three trips, I could navigate the area better than they could.  This would have been funnier if we didn't have to give them directions so frequently.

Meanwhile back at the zoo, the kids wanted to know if Jarod would be there.  I assured them he wouldn't.  There were more cups of Dunkin Donuts coffee there that we didn't bring to make us take notice.

This definitely was not the Philly Zoo, although I suspect they keep the animals there in cages to protect them from some of the Philadelphians.  Right out of the gate we saw a beautiful eagle, just kinda perched there.  And many not-so-beautiful people, pointing at the fish swimming around in the muddy water.  I did have to announce more than once that this was a special No Screaming Baby day at the Norristown Zoo, after which things quieted down a bit.

We immediately came across everyone's favorite lawn ornaments, who get that way from the shrimp they eat.

Walking along, we came across this little fella, who the ladies named Fred.  Fred was a bit camera shy, although we met his cousin later, who walked right out in front of us.  Of course all the good shots are on my wife's camera.  These are from my Droid.

Not being a traditional kind of guy, I don't do traditional types of pictures.  Take this one:

There were some empty stalls and this was taken around the back.  I have no idea why the animals required a bowling ball but why ask why?  Perhaps there was some sort of Norristown law that stated that there must be one bowling ball per twenty seven animals - who am I to question their alleged wisdom?  Maybe the Bowling Lobby got to them before we did...




We saw quite a lot of animals.  This is an especially fortunate thing, this being the zoo and all.  The ones that had the biggest effect were the bison.

Talk about up close and personal.....

These were some majestic beasties, alright.  Also quite personable.  And they'd pretty much have to be, as there wasn't exactly a lot between them and us.  And the neighborhood, for that matter.

I'll post the good pics if my wife ever retrieves them from the camera.




Overall it was a great day.  The Norristown Zoo, while small, is a great place for kids and people who maybe can't stand too much time out.  Or adults who can't walk long distances.  Or people who don't like to wait in an hour of stopped traffic to park at the Philadelphia Zoo.



Last but definitely not least...

This is a purple Swiffer.  My wife loves purple and didn't know they came in that color.

Today's Philosophical Question

Ever listen to Del Amitri?  I happen to like some of their stuff.  What almost knocked me over was listening to a live track and discovering that Justin Currie, their singer, is a Scot.  Trust me, he's quite a bit more intelligible singing (and even moreso sober).  His song Sleep Instead of Teardrops is one of the most haunting songs I have ever heard.

Bono, who the earth revolves around, is Irish, as is Van Morrison.  Randy Bachman is Canadian.  Rod Stewart, Peter Frampton, Elton John, and Joe Cocker are British.  There are tribute bands in Japan who cannot speak a word of English, yet learn their words phonetically.

Furthermore, country legend Mel Tillis has a horrible stutter.  Reba McIntyre has a southern accent so thick you could trip over it.  You wouldn't know any of this from hearing them sing.


Taking all this into account, why is Irish folk music so full of accent?

Current Events: Ice Cream

Since I packed up and moved to Blogger/Blogspot, I haven't done a single piece on a very important part of life: food.

It is indeed true that everybody likes ice cream.  My tastes vary according to availability.  Way back when, I discovered Baskin Robbins' Cookie Dough ice cream with marshmallow topping.  It served me for years beyond count.  But then something terrible happened: Baskin Robbins closed their stores and merged with Dunkin Donuts to the point where they physically coexist.  Unfortunately that meant the end of marshamallow topping.  To this day, I cannot tell you why.

Unfortunately the owner/operators of the Dunkin Robbins are right with me in terms of not knowing why there's no marshmallow topping.  The first time I walked into one, I asked for marshmallow topping and the nice fellow just looked at me as if I had spoken Swahili.  This is not at all a new expression for me, so it didn't register.  It might be said that I had spoken a different language, in the most cliche sense of the phrase, as the fellow didn't have a clue what a marshmallow was.

Visits to other Baskin Donuts confirmed the sad news.  Being a resourceful little turd, I got right on the Baskin website and emailed them as if my life depended on it.  Rest assured that Baskin Robbins took my request very seriously.  I am going to go ahead and assume that they took it so seriously that they bounced it up the chain.  Several times.  So far and so frequently that it was either deemed a trade secret that could not be divulged or they just plain ignored me.  This is not at all a new result for me.

The old standby is Breyers Vanilla, but only the kind with Real Vanilla Bean Specs<tm>.  A short while back we discovered Edy's, which comes in all sorts of interesting flavors.  The most interesting flavor by far turned out to be Ice Cream Sandwich.  Have you ever had an ice cream sandwich?  Of course you have - everybody loves ice cream sandwiches.  Edy's Ice Cream Sandwich tastes like they took a whole box of ice cream sandwiches and ground them down into an ice cream container.  It's frighteningly realistic.

Naturally it has become near impossible to locate Ice Cream Sandwich so we're left to try out whatever's around.  Yesterday my wife came home with two new Edy's flavors: Triple Chocolate Peanut Butter and Smores.  Historically, peanut butter ice cream has always failed me and this was no exception.  The wife said that triple chocolate would fail her and it did.  I had trouble figuring out what about triple chocolate didn't work but then again, I like chocolate a little too much (or so I hear).

Smores, on the other hand, was a huge hit with everyone.  If you like the Girl Scout Cookies of the same name, you'll love this ice cream (even though they're not made with real girl scouts).  If you don't like smores (or coconut), avoid this ice cream.

I advise you to get out and pick up a container or six now, before someone discovers I really like it and pulls it from the shelves forever.

Funny Stats I See from Blogger [or Who Has the Mac?]

Ok, who has the Mac?

Normally it wouldn't matter.  I manage somewhat of a coexistence with Macs for the most part.  But boy, these dandy new stats I am seeing are the bees knees.

Let's take today.   Please.
The blog was viewed by a few Windows users, a few linux users, and what looks like one Mac. How can you, a loyal Mac fan/acolyte/addict, view this blog?  Aren't you afraid you'll get cooties?

In addition, the stats break further down by browsers.  There's IE (boo!), Firefox, Arora, and Safari (aha - MACS!).

I'm not even gonna ask which one of you is in Germany...

Arora?

Yeah, Arora - got a problem wid dat?

Ancient Blogger Secret: if I read my blog and leave comments with Arora (a tiny linux browser), I'll know that the other two or three browsers belong to actual readers. Because no one in their right mind surfs with Arora (except me and a few other linux geeks worldwide). And the likelihood that either of the two other Arora geeks will stumble upon my blog is infinitesimally small, like a full turnout on primary day.

DISCLAIMER

I don't care what OS or browser you use.  I'm thankful you came by.

Friday - the Last Supper?

So I'm minding my business, driving to work one day, when I pass two signs indicating that the world will end on May 21st, 2011.   They must be serious, as they've paid for two whole billboards.

So it becomes pretty apparent that this is a religious stunt (duh).  One of the billboards tells me to prepare to meet my maker.  HA - I've already outmaneuvered them, as I saw my mom last week.

But these folks, whoever they are, are pretty damn serious.  They've purchased billboards all over the place.  A cynic [present!] would try to find out how long the billboards are paid for.  This particular cynic is taking security courses this week so he has to do all of his critical blog-thinking at night.

QUESTIONS

Even non-cynics (are you out there?) are going to have questions about this alleged judgment day:

• will there be a flaming Cadillac?  (Lincolns are also acceptable)
• do you too enjoy the smell of brimstone in the morning?
• will the churches bail out the parishoners on the 22nd?
• will any of the heathen scum care for my pets after I ascend?
• are the Catholics truly the only ones in heaven?
• will you be one of Osama Bin Laden's 72 virgins?
• will the funeral parlors cry foul?

Bulletin from Mrs. leftystrat:  If more people had faith in themselves, as opposed to this stuff, we'd all be better off.

UPDATE:

Bin Laden's Porn Doth Protest Too Much

There are things that are certain in life - generally these are known to be death and taxes.  In my own alleged wisdom, I'd like to add a few more, namely hacks and porn.

Now we all know I'm pretty skeptical about the entire Bin Laden episode (not to mention everything else in life) but for the purposes of this post, I'm going to go with what the press has been told to carry.

Among the goodies found in the compound were flash drives used for a roundabout form of email.  Among the emails was found porn.  The collection was referred to as extensive and modern.

Of course they found porn.  Porn is ubiquitous, like tax increases.  The only thing more sure than porn is porn found on religious icons who are specifically against it.  Where did some of the alleged hijackers spend their last night on Earth?  Getting lap dances.  The more hot air expelled on the topic, the larger (and stranger) the collection of porn.  Think televangelists. Or priests.  Or very pious republicans.

Why would Bin Laden want porn?  Because he's a guy: guys love porn.  Some women love porn.  Men are visually stimulated, women not so much.

Let's take a moment to get serious (I promise - just one moment): porn is part of a very necessary process, a release valve.  When there's no release valve, pressure builds up.  When pressure builds up, bad things can happen (see: priests).

Ok, enough seriousness.  I just wanted to bring you this news.

Simply because it amuses the hell out of me.  Bin Laden had porn - nyah nyah!

News You Need to Know; Comments You Don't Need to Hear

Whilst perusing the rss feeds for inspiration (and knowledge), the following pretty much jumped up and bit me; like Michael Moore to a donut.

FAT TAX?

An Illinois lawmaker, Senator Shane Cultra (R-Pluto), let loose with a comment about taking away tax deductions for parents of fat kids.  Not one to shoot himself in the foot and simply stand there bleeding, he added that he'd also take away the money poorer families get for having more kids.

Although Cultra (probably no relation to MK-ULTRA) backpedaled like a priest caught with an underage parishoner, there is video that indicates otherwise.

Also bandied about was a tax on sugary drinks.  The concept of sin taxes is one that deserves a closer look.  It was bad enough when only cigarettes got taxed (because everybody hates smokers, right?), but now they're talking about taxing my Coke or Code Red?  They'll get soda tax revenue from me when they pry the Mountain Dew from my cold, dead hands.

For the record, I'm against sin taxes on anything (yes, even cigarettes).  There are two important points here:

1. Who decides what is a sin?
2. It it not the job of government to Big Brother us to death, even if it is a matter of our health.  One of the beauties of being an American is the right to grow bigger than a senator's guaranteed pension with impunity, if not dignity (and even pride).

If people truly want Big Brother, all they have to do is sit back and let it happen.  It certainly won't be my America anymore, though...

SMILE, FAT KID

Speaking of Big Brother, there is a two million dollar project slated to start in a San Antonio elementary school shortly.  Cameras installed in the lunchroom will photograph what children put on their trays and later what's left on the trays `to report back to their parents' and for research.

The money comes from a Department of Agriculture grant; in other words, your tax dollars.  Don't worry, though.... parents will have to give permission and "only the trays will be photographed".

Ummmm...... no.

• How did these lunchroom cameras come to be installed already?
• Isn't it the responsibility of parents to instill good eating habits in their little darlings?
• The schools, en loco governmentus, simply have no business here.
• The kids not being photographed is a red herring - all of the information is personally identifiable.
• Will the parents be taxed on how much air their child breathes?

I wonder if there's a contingency in place for when the parents pack lunch for their kids.  Will the cameras follow them around to make sure they don't trade their broccoli for Ring Dings?  Actually, I'm more interested in weeding out the children who would accept this as a trade.   Will the kids be forced to file an flight eating plan for the week, complete with calorie counts (btw, what is the Recommended Daily Allowance of boogers)?

Sheer unadulterated stupidity from Texas.

BOOBIES!

My day (some say my life) would not be complete without at least one ode to boobies.  Today's little ditty shifts gears in a nearly pleasant way from government oppression to oppression by (and for) boobs.

Some genius has developed an application that will take a before picture and allow a woman to see the effect implants (of any size) will have.  Keep in mind this app was developed by a woman.  I suppose it makes more sense when you understand that the woman in question is a plastic surgeon.

In short, you input a picture then move the slider to see the effect of each size implant.  Some wags (generally male ones) would say that this would be tremendous in real life (but I'm not one of them).

Now before we get too excited, the program only runs on iDevices.  What Dr. Implants has against the Android operating system is anyone's guess.  When Steve Jobs hears about this app, it will be ported to Android immediately.  Mr. Jobs (currently on leave due to iCancer) doesn't like boobies for some reason.

The real head turner here is that the program allows users to post the augmented pictures to Facebook, so friends and family can weigh in on the new look.

Oh God.  No.

• -- >  Hey, y'all - check out my new boobies!   < --
• Vote for your favorite size! 
• Do this rack look realz?    ( . ) ( . )  lolz!
• I wuz gonna go for F's but my family talked me into D's.
• They're going to install them through my nostrils soze I won't get scars.

The Pets Are Running the Asylum

Over the past three or four days, I have spent a month in hell.  This has largely been caused by two hyper-intelligent pets, Marshall the cocker and Ren the cat.

It all started when my wife made an ill-timed decision to visit her mother for Mother's Day.  This made me a bachelor for the weekend, also courtesy of Eva Langoria not phoning or telling Adriana Lima I was temporarily available.

Don't get your panties in a knot... ever hear of a vice president?  He takes over should the president be unable to fulfill his duties.  I am investigating the possibilities of a vice wife, who would take over should the wife be unable to fulfill her wifely duties.  Although my wife understands all of this in principle, she has not signed on for the full program as yet.

I have not, however, investigated the legal ramifications of the aforementioned arrangement, so please avoid construing the above as advice.

So there we were, just the guys, all alone for the weekend.  The pets apparently took this as an opportunity to do a bit of sanity-testing on dear old dad.  Don't get me wrong - they're both incredibly sweet animals but there's an evil streak a mile wide hiding just beneath the surface.  So began my testing....

Marshall started, as usual.  He's definitely the less subtle of the two.  For the first time since we adopted him, Marshall decided he needed to go outside after we went to bed.  First at two in the morning, then again at five.  Totally unprecedented.  The third time he gave up the ruse and just went trash-picking.

Marshall prefers paper towels and tissues, for some reason nobody knows.  In fact, he prefers used ones, we shall assume for the sake of taste (yuck).  So when there's no cat food to steal, Marshall goes right for the trash can.  Being a modern household, we recycle, so there's a tall can full of cat food cans from which to pick.  He's fond of selecting one then taking it for a walk under the dining room table, after which he will microscopically hoover each and every speck of cat food that remains (which isn't much, as we rinse them out).  He will proceed to make so much noise that he always gets caught.

In case of lack of cat food cans, it's right for the main trash.  My wife outsmarted him (or so she thought) by placing a cookie sheet on top of the can.  This worked fairly well, except for when she forgot the cookie sheet.  It is said, on those jail shows, that prisoners are dangerous because they have all day every day to sit around and plot against you.  This is also the case with Marshall.  The moment we forget the cookie sheet, BOOM - he's in the trash.

Since Mommy was away, things needed to be done differently.   I tried my level best to outsmart the dog (and cat).  Much to my chagrin, I walked into the kitchen just in time to see that Marshall had figured out how to move the cookie sheet over enough to allow him access to the tasty trash.  At Marshall's last vet visit, they asked if he had a weird diet because they found paper towels in him (don't ask how).

The wife describes watching the cat leap onto the table and push treats off for the dog.  Ain't sibling love grand?

Of course we had the generic Pet Food Ballet, which is the foundation upon which both of the lovely little bastards build their entire horror show.  I fed Ren in the kitchen and boy was he excited.  I closed the doors and went to feed Marshall.  As soon as he heard the dog food hitting the bowl, Ren opened the kitchen doors and went sprinting for his brother's kibble.  Ever the co-conspirator, Marshall ran for the kitchen and the Cat Food of Life.  There is absolutely nothing Marshall likes more than cat food.

I did the first thing I always do: yell at both of the little buggers.  This had a predictable effect, in that it had absolutely no effect at all.  When I put the cat food bowl away and walked out of the kitchen, Marshall went right for the trash, once again pushing aside the cookie sheet.  If I installed a combination lock on the trash can, Ren would figure out the combination and show Marshall, who would never fail to use it.

So there we were, with just one bowl of dog food and one cat trying to eat it.  You can yell at the cat but that has roughly the same effect as yelling at your car.  You can throw things at the cat but that does precious little also.  No, the cat knows you're not serious unless you actually get up and leap at him, so he will not detach from the dog food bowl until he sees you in motion.  When he eventually does move, he's back in under a minute, as if you meant don't eat the dog food at that precise minute.  So I put the bowl on the coffee table, where neither of them could get it.  Well, neither of them except for the cat, who kept leaping at it without regard for the fact that I was five feet away.

After I got done yelling at Ren, I turned around to find Marshall in the trash.  Again.  MARSHALL - GET OUT OF THERE.  Just for fun I tried it in a more growly register, which seemed to have the desired effect.

And this was Saturday.

We hit the mattress at our usual hour, whatever that was.  Marshall was specifically instructed not to do a repeat performance of his dual wakeup alert technology so naturally he got me up at one thirty and six.  I was not amused.  And Marshall usually doesn't play semantics.

On Sunday we largely performed Saturday's activities over again, including dog food, cat food, used paper towels and plenty of frenzied yelling and threats to find new homes for the lot of them.

Marshall got to do his other favorite thing, which is ride in the car.   Another resident of the hood had the bad timing to walk his Husky by the car as we were getting in.  Marshall went batshit and started bouncing off the windows.  This gorgeous little hissy fit lasted five to ten minutes, long after we were out of site of the Husky.  My dog whines like a little girl.   Even after suggesting he get his vagina examined he continued to whine.

When Mommy came home it was time to pretend everything was normal.  Mommy plays right into this farce with aplomb during her many trips to the front steps to smoke.  Going out the front door is apparently some sort of Secret Canine and Feline Signal to begin misbehaving.  I just had to physically retrieve Marshall from the trash.

Yes, I understand that this is partially the fault of the owners.  I blame my wife: if she hadn't gone away, the pets would have performed their minimum daily requirement of chaos.  Instead they somehow felt they had to ramp things up and grow red horns.

Tonight's dinner included fish.  We all know what fish smells like, right?  Cat food.  In fact, Marshall's Indian name is Smells Like Cat Food.  As the wife went out to smoke, closing the door, the pets went into action.  The dog took a leap for the kitchen as the cat took a leap toward the fish.  It was perfectly choreographed.

As I type this, my wife is out front again.  The dog, for some reason, is not happy with this arrangement and started squeaking at the door.  The cat is still eating the dog food and the dog is walking toward the trash can, as if I didn't just physically pull him from it.

It could be worse: things could be sane.

Bin Laden Death Fallout

During my last entry about Bin Laden, I mentioned that in order to see what value this had (and to whom), we needed to see what was going to happen and follow the money.

CHOO CHOO

One thing that allegedly came out of the data allegedly found around Bin Laden was threats of attacks on railroads.  We didn't have to wait long.  New York's own train wreck, Senator Chuck Schumer, has called for a Do-Not-Ride list for Amtrak.

Won't be long before we'll be told to stand in line and expect to be groped before riding the train.  Before long the TSA will employ millions of low-wage pat-down experts, stationed at the entrance to any type of transport.   And we will semi-grudgingly lay down our rights for this, right?

In fact, after the discovery of Bin Laden's documents, travel all over the place has become hazardous.  Not because of actual danger; because of perceived Bin Laden danger.  Even from the grave he's a useful idiot for those pulling the strings.

If you want a good look at some of the recent travel snafus, visit the Drudge Report.  I mention this because the guy's site could use some traffic.  The Poop Bombs link is a must-see.

So Bin Laden's dead (some say he has more lives than a cat).  This wily mastermind lived in a very large compound, of which his host country claimed to be unaware.  The CIA was confused because there were no lines headed into the house.  But I'm confused too because one can't have a television and computers without electricity and other interesting wires heading into the compound.  Why would this mastermind keep plans on local hard drives, where they could be found and mined for information?  That doesn't sound very mastermind-y at all.

PAKISTAN

Now we can address the issue of Pakistan.  The US has given them billions of dollars to tell us they have no idea where Bin Laden was hiding.  They were unaware of the raid.  Pakistan seems largely unaware of much of anything except the fact that they'll be mighty upset if we stop the billions from flowing freely as before.

QUIZ TIME:  Have you ever been threatened by Pakistan?  Were you afraid?

While my ICBM knowledge is sorely lacking, I figure a medium sized one would flatten the general area pretty nicely.  After that, there would be nobody left to argue about whose land was which.  Or to blame the US for everything, even though we weren't born for thousands of years after the trouble started.  Last but not least, we wouldn't have to hear from the Muslim Brotherhood again, which would be a boon in anybody's book.

SO?

What have we now?  Vague railroad threats and a general tightening of security, along with nervousness among the citizenry.  Perfect climate to purchase more `security' gear and poach a few more civil rights.


Stay tuned...

It's Just Right Gadget Time

Every now and then I come across a really great idea or design that makes life just that much easier for me.  I'd like to share the latest: the Cables to Go Audio Crossplay.

SEMI-MANDATORY DISCLAIMER: I am not an employee or relative of Amazon or Cables to Go.  I get absolutely nothing from mentioning the product other than the satisfaction of passing along a helpful gadget.  I could sign up for an Amazon plan that gives me money for this but I'm not in that business.

That said, I run a rather bizarre and sophisticated system at work involving quite a few computers and more monitors than one person should have at his desk, unless his desk was in the control tower at the airport (and he was napping).  This system is not optimal for audio enjoyment, therefore I keep all audio on one pc and the speakers connected there also.  This causes a bit of a problem when I need to hear something from a different pc, which is unfortunately too frequent.

So I figured to myself that an audio switch would be perfect for this application.  Now the only mystery to solve would be is there any such thing as an audio switch?

Go ahead, try searching your favorite online retailer for audio switch... I'll wait.......

Told you so.  All you saw was a bunch of KVM switches (keyboard/video/mouse) with audio capability.   Since I had one already, I gave it a shot.  Nope - it will not work as an audio-only device; it wants to `see' a monitor before functioning.

After scrolling through the Amazon listings (I usually go with Newegg but they had nothing), I came across the aforementioned Crossplay.  Be careful when searching - you could wind up with all sorts of devices that would not work or were completely unsuitable for the purpose.  Beware of digital switches too - they won't work for this.

I felt good about the Crossplay after reading the brief blurb so I ordered one.  It arrived quickly and with a pair of 1/8" stereo patch cables (a bonus!).  It cost all of $27.02.

The device is actually quite small and his this lovely garish blue lit-up logo (I suppose you could cover it with black tape if it annoyed you).  You power it via a small wall wart or USB/mini USB cable.  It has two inputs and two outputs, which is the genius of the box (not to mention the crux of the biscuit).  Both operate simultaneously, if necessary.

What all of this means is that I can switch in an additional sound source (pc sound card, phone, tablet, etc.) to my main speakers or send the main feed to headphones or a different set of speakers.  The two buttons are labeled Output1 and Output2 and they switch one of two inputs to the outputs.

No, this device will not affect world peace, nor will it stop small skirmishes or even release hostages.  It's just a wonderfully handy piece of equipment (or kit, if you're from the UK) that should have been thought of a long time ago.  It's that obvious once you start using it.

How would I improve it?  Probably add more inputs and outputs.  I come from an audio background so I'm used to large mixers with plenty of connections.


Enjoy.

Welcome to ThermionicEmissions [or Please ask the dog to stop humping the cat]

I didn't start out intending to be a blogger.  I wanted to be a lumberjack.
No, actually I just had a stupid webpage and someone suggested this as a better outlet for my frustrations (and observations).

While I'm new to Blogger.com, I have several years of blogging under my belt.  I hope to bring these to bear in an amusing, thought-provoking, and sometimes alarming way.

The cute little fella in my avatar is my dog, Marshall.   He was named after those huge black amps you see behind all the rock stars.  Marshall is that most dangerous of dogs: a smart cocker.  He will sit there and watch to make sure we're not looking, then blast off to steal something; usually a treat or cat food.  There is nothing in life Marshall enjoys more than cat food.

PET FOOD BALLET

Every morning the wife and I get to participate in or observe Pet Food Ballet. This is a highly skilled maneuver involving Marshall and his sibling Ren (aka Satan) the cat, along with a bowl of dog food and a bowl of cat food.  Ren eats in the kitchen, behind closed louvered doors.  As soon as he's done, Ren opens the doors and heads right for the dog food.  This allows Marshall to get into the kitchen and get at the cat food.  Voila - Pet Food Ballet.

This is somewhat complicated by the fact that Marshall is pushing forty pounds, which is rather large for a cocker, and Ren is pushing twenty (we were told he's part lynx).  Last year we spent well into four figures treating Ren's diabetes and got him completely stabilized.  We were told to keep him out of the dog food because of this.  So Marshall doesn't need the calories and Ren doesn't need the carbohydrates

DON'T ASK ME HOW THEY FIGURE IT OUT

Both of the `children' have figured out how to open the bi-fold doors to the bathroom.  For the life of me, I cannot figure out how they figure this out.  We have had a total of three rescue cockers and two cats, all of whom have figured out how to open the doors to the bathroom.  This wouldn't be worth discussing if we didn't mind being on the loo and having one of two pets bursting through the doors to say hello.

But the bathroom holds other amusements too.  Marshall loves shredding tissues but prefers used ones.  What better place to find used tissues than the bathroom trash can?  If necessary he'll get a fresh one from the dispenser.  Occasionally Marshall enjoys a brief dip in the toilet too, which is usually followed by wet paw prints all over the place.


The one thing we can't figure out is why Marshall humps Ren.  They're both about seven year old fixed males.  I guess it's purely dominance but there is no conversation stopper so grand as Please ask the dog to stop humping the cat.

But don't let me have you believing that Marshall's loves stop at cat food, no sir.  Another favorite of his is coffee.  My wife knows everyone at Dunkin Donuts by name, such is the result of her manic coffee-drinking.  Marshall, being the smart cocker, somehow figured out how to remove the plastic lid from the styrofoam cup.

No, I did not believe this either, until I watched one day.  He gingerly took one nail and went around the lid, prying it up, around and around until the lid popped off.  At that point it was face-first into the cup and drink whatever he could get before Mom decided she wanted some.  From my wife's point of view, she was driving down the street and reached for her coffee.  The lid was in her pocketbook, there was precious little coffee left, and Marshall was licking his lips to get the remaining coffee residue from them.  Sometimes he gets the lid up by licking at it until it comes up.  He tried that tonight. The road noise was perfect camouflage for his coffee-stealing activities.

Today when I came home, Marshall had procured two extra large Dunkin Donuts coffees from up on tables, pried the lids off, and consumed the contents.  And it doesn't affect him at all.

TODAY'S QUESTION

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is all the rage these days.  Monk is a national hero.  Everybody has a `thing' they do or are uncomfortable with that can drive others nuts.

My wife, for example, must watch tv with the volume on an even number.  Since I cannot let anything alone, I will frequently set the volume up or down one so it's an odd number.  This drives my wife through the roof and we spend the next few minutes chasing each other around the couch in the endless quest for the remote control.

I don't have weird stuff like that.   Ok, maybe one thing... I prefer not to drive with things leaning on me.  If my wife's pocketbook lands on me while I'm driving, I get agitated.   Aside from that, I'm perfectly normal.  Heh heh heh.

So what is your weird little thing?  (please don't send pictures)

Wife Sues Husband for Depriving Her of Conjugal Rights

A Dubai woman is suing her ex-husband for $12 million for depriving her of conjugal rights.

This stuff almost writes itself.

And here we are, making jokes about suing our wives for lack of consortium.

So anyway, the woman is claiming mental anguish over being denied boom-boom.  Imagine what would happen if this were to infect the American legal system...

She married the guy, who failed to sleep with her for four months.  It turns out that the fellow had erectile dysfunction (and failed to make use of the internet's largest spam generator).  The guy had something going for him, reportedly being married twelve times.  I'm thinking money (and lots of it).

The case is of great interest in Dubai, due to it being the first of its kind, in a very conservative country.

IN OTHER NEWS...

The Early Darwin Awards will no doubt feature North Charleston, South Carolina's Dexter White (41).  Old Dexter felt he had been shortchanged during his most recent crack purchase, so he called 911.

Fortunately Dexter remembered to smoke the crack he purchased before calling police, who, for no apparent reason, locked him up.

WIN A PRIZE! 

Here's our first Reader Contest ever:  The first reader who can tell me the outcome of the legal case mentioned above will win first prize: naked pictures of Nancy Pelosi, dancing the Watusi over Osama Bin Laden's body (before it got tossed into the sea). 

If you can tell me the outcome of both legal cases mentioned above, you will win the grand prize: naked pictures of Nancy Pelosi, dancing the Watusi over Osama Bin Laden's body (after it got tossed into the sea).

Bin Laden and Kennedy, Together Again

Pardon my skepticism upon hearing that Osama bin Laden, CIA asset, has been not only killed, but buried at sea.

As a patriotic American, I felt a twinge of interest at the news, but then my rational thinking kicked in, eliciting my normal brand of skepticism and sarcasm.  My poor wife, who gave me the news of OBL's death, kept reiterating that she was just passing on the news, as I snickered repeatedly.

Remember that John F. Kennedy was buried at sea.   Funny that; the chance of autopsy or any testing at all becomes naught once a body is `buried' at sea.  Now we have a pretty good idea that the Kennedy affair did not go entirely as stated, he said, with typical British understatement (even though he was not British).  I am forced to suspect that OBL's funeral was more of the same.

The stated reason for burial was that the muslim religion wants to bury the body within twenty four hours.  Wasn't it incredibly considerate of the government to observe muslim tradition?  I wonder why they just didn't put the body in the ground, like most other muslim funerals.

Just for your amusement, I present a report from Fox News from 2001, stating that bin Laden had died.  And another stating that he is in very poor health.  Not to mention many reports about failed audio analyses and strange `current' pictures with different size noses over the years.

Many friends have asked me the big Why Now question.  Well, I can't say exactly, but watch and learn.  See what happens as a result.  Already the terror threat level has been ratcheted through the ceiling.  This is either a distraction or to someone's benefit.  Remember: follow the money.

And speaking of distractions, how about that wedding?

Q. What is the definition of wedding?

A.  Funeral where you can smell your own flowers.

Hamfests and Other Porcine Efforts

Today was a hallmark day of the year: the first hamfest of the season.  For those unfamiliar, hamfests do not actually involve pigs or other pork products at all.  It is an electronic flea market, focusing largely on amateur radio gear.  Since I like amateur radio, scanners, and old shortwave tube radios that weigh more than my car (boatanchors), it's always a fun time.  The internet has largely killed in-person shopping fun so we have to seek it out where we can find it.

Today's shopping extravaganza happened in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, at a place called the Grange.  This was far start enough from the house as to start entering the hinterlands, hence the Grange.  We have no granges in my town.  In fact, if I didn't know of this one, I'd say we had no granges in the state.  The date of this particular `fest is always in contention, largely as it always rains on this `fest.  They tried moving it a week in either direction and it rained then too.

What they failed to grok is that this is Pennsylvania, where the state bird is the cloud and the state color is gray.  My house not only has a cloud based largely over it but so does the state.

But enough observationhal humor about Pennsylvania - anyone who has visited it has enough ammunition for days of this stuff.

The only serious problem the radio amateurs (hams) present is that the hamfests tend to start at seven or eight in the morning.  As a musician and dyed-in-the-wool computer geek, I try never to even think about seven in the morning, no less see it.  So after the initial shock of an alarm going off at six in the morning, I somehow managed to find myself out of bed and pointed in the vicinity of the car.  Fortunately the wife was driving, so being asleep was an acceptable option for me.  Not for my wife, though, which is a matter I will not be addressing in an upcoming blog entry.

The weather, albeit cold, was pretty good, as was the turnout.  Both vendors and shoppers were out in full force, even as we were parking.  Hamfests are not only fun, but very interesting places to watch people.  You see all kinds, by which I mean 95% male, 90% over 50, and 99% less than attractive.  In fact, the only way attractive people can get into a hamfest is on a minority scholarship.

Computer goodies can also be found.  And there was good news for computer people: Windows 98 is no longer considered state of the art.

I did see a few boatanchor shortwave radios, including one I really want to get my hands on: a radio called an R390.  Unfortunately it's something like seventy-five pounds and the vendor wanted $600 for it.  I had to leave it there because I left my $600 bill at home.

Just so you think the ladies are underrepresented, there are many items my wife looked at.  She spent a lot of her time pointing out things I missed, like tubes.  It's a great place to find weird tubes.  In fact, guitar players are starting to get hip to hamfests.  I saw a guy who makes guitar amplifiers locally checking things out.

But the people, the people....  today's absolute winner had to be the person I saw across the way.  It was probably the large pink shorts that caught my eye.  I naturally assumed this woman was to be observed (even after I realized this was a guy).  The wide shorts transitioned to a sweat jacket, with a tightly-tied hood and another jacket outside it.  The cherry on the top was definitely the latex gloves.

After meeting a friend and chatting about our various and sundry ailments, I realized that this would be like Disneyland for the right psychologist.  And after throwing in the wife's diagnoses, it could become a lifetime project.

Before we knew it we were hungry for lunch.  And why not - it was almost nine.  Fortunately for us, the Grange kitchen staff had been hard at work for a while, preparing stuff for our enjoyment.  As we moved toward the counter, my wife heard the Magic Words<tm>: hot dogs.  Hot dogs are timeless, so we had to have them.

The nice old lady at the counter had other ideas.  Before I could get a word out, she asked if I wanted the last of the egg casserole.  Or something like that - I couldn't understand her and my wife just stood there looking helpless.  I smiled and my wife indicated her desire for a hot dog.  I seconded.  Unfortunately it became immediately apparent that my request was not processed and that this was to be a memorable order.

We watched as the lady picked up a hot dog.  She asked about sauerkraut, which my wife approved.   `Sally' picked up what I can only describe as a little paper hot dog cozy, put the dog on it, then piled on the kraut.  At this point I can guarantee there were many internal conversations happening and I'm only talking about the wife and myself.  Finally a less flummoxed coworker asked Sally if she had forgotten something... perhaps a roll.  Sally's last remaining brain cell leapt into gear and she offered that something did indeed seem amiss.

Some laughed.  My wife laughed.  I couldn't bring myself to laugh at Sally, as her faculties were obviously on strike.  I simply asked the less flummoxed coworker for a hot dog with sauerkraut and a bun, which elicited joy from all concerned.  Sally went back on Egg Casserole Duty, presumably where she wouldn't hurt anything (except sales).  I discovered the secret to their donuts when I watched them crumbling up Dunkin Donuts boxes.  No matter, we were there before seven in the morning anyway.  My wife will not leave the house without first stopping at the local Dunkin Donuts (HER Dunkin Donuts) for an intravenous refill of coffee.

With all of that hilarity behind us, as well as the hot dogs and both buns, it was time to bid the hamfest a fond farewell.  There will be another at the Grange later this year, round about the time it's getting too cold to continue.  We will return, cash in hand, and ready to get hot dogs.

But seriously, folks, one can procure much more than hot dogs.  There were also sodas.  But I digress (still): we saw radio-controlled airplanes, toys, test gear, power tools, and all sorts of other manly day-out treats for our weary eyes.  It's a nasty hobby but somebody has to do it.

It was a great, strangely sunny day.  We even got to sit on the front steps and grumble about having trouble parking due to the damn church down the block.

But certainly you're asking yourself what other porcine events I attend.  Funny you should ask.  We're but a month or so away from a huge block party/pig roast at which my band is performing.   Yes, you know you've `made it' when you are headlining a pig roast for the third year in a row.  It will be hot.  It will be humid.  There will be pig.  And it will be loud.