Fuzzy Green Chairs

Know what a Stingray is? The one that isn't a Corvette.
A Stingray is a catch-all, as well as a brand name for IMSI catchers. Wasn't that helpful?
It's a device sold to law enforcement that gets put up as a fake cell tower, to catch and monitor your cell phone. You have no idea it's there; the phone operates normally.

One company found a bunch of them in DC. Nobody knows whose they are. The letter agencies are aware of them, but some claim not to know either. Very smart operation, guys.

So it wasn't enough that law enforcement spied on you, now it's all over the place in DC and no one is sure who is doing the spying. Or what's going to be done with, or about it.

Isn't that lovely?

• Panera Bread, Sears, and Best Buy have been hit by breaches. Check your accounts and act accordingly.

Question of the day: Does the color azure make anyone else manic?

The Faceyspaces Saga. On and on and on

• It's interesting to watch the Shitstorm facing Faceyspaces. Zuckerburg had a small point, telling people they ok'd the spying when they signed up. This is true; we know nobody reads the terms - they just hit OK.  Just the other day, I had to ok a license on my phone... rest assured I read the terms.
• And now, Zuckerburg is getting a lot of blowback over the privacy invasion that is the actual business of Faceyspaces. Yes, people, you are the product. Your data is being sold and not only do you lose your privacy, you're not making a cent on this. In case you didn't know, FB owns Instagram, so they have yet another data collector. While we're at it, Google owns YouTube.
• I want to emphasize that the Faceyspaces app on your phone has access to most of your data. It catalogs every phone call you make, as well as every text message. If you have friends that you might not tell your spouse about, FB knows. If you're texting with a 'special friend' that you might not tell your spouse about, FB knows. This is just the start of the info. At very least, uninstall the phone app and use a browser.
• Just because we're on this topic, Zuckerburg also mentioned that their reverse search function, where you enter an email or phone number to find a contact, was scraped, potentially exposing the data of two billion users (their total userbase).
• Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak is leaving Faceyspaces. Good move, Steve, but this isn't exactly new.
• What is new (aside from me warning everyone) is that FB has extensive profiles on people who aren't on FB, including a lawyer for the ACLU. This article is not for the faint of heart.
• Hot off the presses: Faceyspaces just suspended another firm for "non profit academic research", which translates to "we've got all your data too".
• Check to see if your data was shared with Cambridge Analytica.
• Annnnnnnnd once again, I'm not a conspiracy theorist - I'm a futurist. Or just a guy who's very concerned about privacy and safety. I TOLD YOU SO.

Twitter is again showing their colors by shadowbanning Ted Cruz's tweets. I'm not a Cruz fan, or a republican fan, or a democrat fan, but they are doing things and need to be called out on them. It's not that private corporations are required to play fair, but they're being very sneaky about it and people need to know. Nowhere does Twitter let people know that they actively discriminate and outright censor everybody to the right of Rob Reiner. I stick up for conservatives in this case because next time, they could decide to start throwing out libertarians. One account was terminated because the owner objected to a court decision. 

What is shadowbanning? Making an account much less visible. It's a discovered then admitted process.  Followers of the account don't see all the tweets.  What kind of 'trusted' platform does this in the dark?

The CEO of Twitter, the infamous @Jack, openly called for a war against republicans recently, on the national stage.  This is a small first step toward disclosure, but Twitter needs to admit its bias and make it put it in their terms. Let the people make their decisions by themselves.

Meanwhile, conservatives (and even 4 or 5 us libertarians) are moving to gab.ai, which absolutely does not discriminate against anyone. Free speech comes with speech you don't like, and this means I have to put up with a small amount of antisemites and what look like nazis. They're ugly, and the scum of the earth, but  deserve free speech as much as anyone else. Like Twitter, you can block or not follow people you don't like.

Speaking of @Jack, an article, quoting anonymous internal sources, alleges that the initial checkmark removals and alt-right bans came directly from Jack.

• Best Buy and Kmart say they're victims of the same third party breach that affected Delta and Sears.

One day we're sitting on the couch, snacking and doing what people do when sitting on the couch (no, not fighting). All of the sudden I hear STOP IT. Huh?  Stop making that noise. What noise? That noise.... you're not doing it right. Huh? You have to take a bunch out at one time and eat them. You can't reach in and get them one at a time. That noise drives me crazy.  

Oh.

Notice my contribution to the discussion largely consisted of Huh?

So I'm minding my own business, as I do, when the wife goes by, on the way to a different floor. Minutes later, I hear the dog shrieking to come in. Wife let him out. The longer he waits, the higher the pitch and frequency of the shrieking. The neighbors probably think he's being abused. My question to you: is my wife being passive aggressive by making me go get the dog?

Because if it is, I need to eat some snacks.

• I just heard about free range eggs. Do they allow the eggs to roam? What does that look like? Do the neighborhood teens wonder if they got more for their drug money?

Overheard: 

I'm out of bullets.

How did that happen?

I shot them all.

• A sex robot inventor said his creations helped save his marriage. He would turn to the robot when his wife wasn't in the mood. This is almost like my concept of Vice Wife; the woman who would take over when the Wife was not able to perform the duties of her office.
• Ever clever, my wife said perhaps she should get a Vice Husband. I'm a fair guy - go ahead. The only duties of office I fail at are mowing and trash.
• I predict the inventor's next disagreement will involve who cleans the doll when he's done.

I don't have much to say about the Cosby trial, other than noticing he's in great shape at comedy gigs and bumbles and stumbles like an aged Hillary Clinton on the way into the courthouse. He was rushed the other day by a topless woman, protesting his actions. The woman was identified as an actor who appeared on his show a few times, whose character was named Roofie Johnson.

• A West Virginia woman was arrested for beheading her boyfriend before telling cops, “You have to take me back and let me get my heads,” as they drove her away from the bloody scene, authorities said. Her lawyer is complaining about the judge asking for a test of mental competence, stating that it tarred his client's good reputation and her impending run for public office.

A man who ate a Carolina Reaper, the hottest pepper known to man, experienced dry heaving, neck pain, and bad headaches, referred to as thunderclap headaches. Who could have imagined that a man eating the hottest pepper on the planet would experience any negative effects?

The next time someone expects sympathy for their migraine, poo poo the idea and tell them to come back when they have a real headache.

• Baltimore, a hell hole even bigger than Philly, is attempting to drive tourism in new and untested ways. A man was jogging nude through rush hour traffic. Note to Baltimore: you might want to try it with a woman. 

Even YouTube isn't immune to hackers. Someone got into YT and deleted all sorts of videos, including Shakira's Vero YT account.  In the spirit of international brotherhood, I have volunteered to sacrifice my time to comfort her on this tragic loss.

• Pro Tip: before you come in the house and yell "Nipple check on aisle three", make sure no one but the owner of said nipples can hear you.

Why is it always California?

A bill has been introduced in California, which would require state-sanctioned fact checkers to approve online content. It's a shame we can't mandate fact checkers for lawmakers.

• Proving that satire is dead, the mayor of London has enacted knife control.
• The UK spends a lot of time laughing at the US, but now it's our turn. The police can stop anyone they suspect of carrying a knife and search them.
• First the ubiquitous spy public cameras, then the ban on speech that hurts feelings, and now Stop And Search for knives. It sounds more like a police state than the great country it was.

After getting cut off in traffic, Texas' own Ryan McFaul did the only thing a reasonable man could do: pulled out his BB gun and shot at a church's windows. The BBs went through the outer pane of the dual pane glass and no one was hurt. McFaul is out on $5,000 bond, with the condition that he holds the gun backwards the next time he shoots.

• Security Theater: Next time you're getting groped by the TSA at the airport, you better have your snacks ready for inspection. In yet another bid to look relevant, the TSA is going to start screening snacks. By the end of the year, look for intense shoelace scrutiny. Inside sources also point to underwear checks.

Canada is Pissed

I take a decent amount of crap online because of my pro Second Amendment views. Also my pro First Amendment views. This is largely on Twitter, as one would guess. It's just a matter of time until tweeters are not allowed to mention the Second Amendment. The most shocking, shrieking rebuke came from a Canadian. This particular Canuckian is a nice lady and we've been online acquaintances for a while. After the Florida shooting, I attempted to explain the Second Amendment and she yelled, as best one can yell in text, that I have the blood of children on my hands. Canadians generally live up to the stereotype of being nice people. Even the border guards are unfailingly polite.

In an email exchange with another Canuckian who is so level, you almost need to check for a pulse, she mentioned she doesn't like our president or our guns. I asked for some specifics and could feel the volume going up and the seething start. I guess I found the pulse.

I (used to) love hearing American jokes and what other countries thought of us. The main object of their laughter was that Americans only know one language. In a complete verification of the joke, Americans will not see the problem with that. 

Now all I hear is hatred for Trump and gun ownership. I really don't want to be lectured about my country and its Constitution by people not living under it (and roughly 50% of the people who do). They seem to think we're all armed to the teeth and the act of walking down the street puts one's life at risk. Please. They advocate gun control, in the form of not having them at all. They think this will stop the mass shootings. Oops - it seems the criminals are performing the majority of crimes, so gun confiscation will do nothing but harm law-abiding people. Here's another mini fact: all school shootings have occurred in gun-free zones.

I'm not sure outside folks are getting our culture or our Constitution. Ironically, they seem quite ok with the First Amendment.

Agoraphobic Mall Trips

Not frequently, but every now and then, a family member pisses me off. When my brother bought his first house, an older lady, whose thinking functions were fading, sold it to him. The house hadn't been redecorated in a while, resulting in what I referred to as 'The Trip Room'. The room came complete with silver mylar wallpaper, which was enough by itself, but also this unimaginable fuzzy green chair. I asked him to preserve just this one room, as some weird sort of tribute, perhaps to the seventies. He, or someone he happened to be married to, rejected the idea with great speed and efficiency.

Now, I hear the kitchen is being remodeled. The kitchen features some quiet but bizarre wallpaper, with tiny pineapples on it. It became a running joke, then I heard it was coming down. Again I asked one small favor... if you're not going to leave the wallpaper, at least leave a few square inches of it on a hidden space somewhere. Again I received an immediate answer in the negative.

My relatively new motto is "I ask for very little. And that's exactly what I get."  But I asked, because if you don't ask, you don't receive. And I'm feeling some kinda way about this. It's not like I asked for $50,000 or to live with them. Or for one of them to mow my lawn. Just a chair or a tiny piece of wallpaper. But nooooooooo.

If he had asked me to keep one small thing because it amused him, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Unless he asked me to clean... that's not going to happen.

• Life is funny. When I was a little boy, Mom would throw her munchkins in the car and take them to the mall. The other day I piled my parents in the car and took them to a mall and dinner.  It's the least I could do.

I'm still working diligently on my agoraphobic certificate. 

As you may remember, agoraphobes stay in their house and are afraid to leave. I can't get the full official certificate, as I still have to work. There are no exceptions. It also happens that whenever I do make it out of the house, I wish I had stayed home. So right now I shall retain my amateur status. Or maybe part-time agoraphobia.. I'll have to ask a professional.

That aside, as is bound to happen once every month or so, I left the house, not on a work mission. Remember mission, as this is another one of those Literary Devices I throw around now and again. I'm not a writer, but I know two or three terms, so I'm throwing them around.

We decided to take my reasonably near-sane parents out to a mall and dinner. They're always delighted to see us, possibly just because it means leaving the house, but I suspect they actually like us or something.

We went to a mall, so the ladies could look at Stuff. My wife has a favorite department store. My wife has many favorite stores, physical and virtual. This particular store is such a favorite that we frequently don't get out into the mall proper, because she's spent so much time there. We were determined, however.

After only two or three bags, weighing thirty pounds each, were purchased, I was unanimously elected to take them to the car or drag them through the mall. This is like choosing between chin-ups and running in the cold for (NOOOO) exercise. The car was pretty far away, so I dragged.

Why was the car far away? Every time we go to this mall, we park right up front. That day everyone and their extended family was at this store, perhaps because it was sunny outside. Yes, they couldn't wait to leave their houses because it was nice outside, so they could go to the enclosed mall. Logic is not our strong suit.

Just as it was last time, the area was heavy with Brow Options. There was a store called Brow Bar. I'm not entirely sure what went on there, but no one was being serviced. It didn't appear they were selling brows and I didn't notice a Brow License anywhere, so we were stymied.

Mom and Wife went into Victoria's Secret. Most people don't bother to find out, but I know Victoria's Secret: it's how they get women to spend so much on so little. Even little girls have little (fully covering) clothes. Now teenagers feel the need to look pretty under their clothes. We're a weird planet.

The menfolk discovered seats in the mall area and took full advantage of them. Twenty minutes later, Dad starts to get a little itchy, as the womenfolk hadn't returned.  I didn't understand the commotion; they would find us when (if) they were done shopping. This could eventually be to my detriment because the more I'm not with her, the more time she has to shop, and by shop, I mean spend. Dad got more and more itchy and probably failed to understand my calm. He called both of them on their phones, neither of which could hear them ringing. This is unlike my wife's phone at home, in which buried people, dead for a hundred years, can hear clearly. So Dad paced while I checked for the one piece of email I get every day or so.

We eventually found them. They had snuck behind us, across the mall to a different store. A store that has the same clothes, shoes, and jewelry in ten sections, displayed by color. Women understand this. Men, as usual, don't have a clue or a chance. It's not like my wife is there a lot, but they greet her by name.

The mall used to be a small affair; two anchor stores with some other stores sandwiched between. At some point they decided to add more stores. Unlike other malls that run east to west or north to south, this one added a cluster of stores outside this exit and six restaurants out back, not connected to the mall. It looked like some sort of tree branch, after the nuclear holocaust. As a manly man and a damn-near considerate person, I offered to retrieve the car so no one (else) had to do more walking. I showed everyone the exit I'd meet them at and asked them to stand there.

Because of the hodgepodge layout, one simply does not drive around the mall, like some sort of Indianapolis speedway at two hundred miles per hour; one drives around a ninety degree side, then out and around a bank that mysteriously popped up out of the ground, obscuring mall traffic. Then past the first mall entrance (or the last mall entrance, depending on where you entered) and around what looked like some sort of truck receiving area, but what in fact was a place for some unnamed Italian outfit to store bodies before they go out for processing.  Attached to the crematorium was a huge parking garage. This is a mall, mind you. The parking garage obscured it. At this point the phone rang. The phone does not ring at home, nor while I'm out doing something; it only rings when I don't want to hear it or I'm doing something that precludes me from answering it. At this point I was in the middle of a U-turn, fortunately with no one else coming. I went to get the phone from its holder and, as always, was completely blocked by the seatbelt. I hate seatbelts. Their only use is to hold your dead body in the seat after the accident. They get in the way of the phone, the radio, the wallet, and any of my wife's parts I wish to touch while we're both in the car.

Wife informs me they're waiting by Jeans House, John's Snotty Upscale Market, Half Foods, and Chicosan's Boutique. These are all stores I never heard of nor visited in the mall, so this wasn't helping me. This was also not where I told them to meet me. I asked a simple question: why didn't you meet me where I asked? We couldn't. You couldn't exit at the mall exit? No, we couldn't get out the doors. I decided to let that pass because if I took any time at all to think about it, it would produce massive headaches and possibly homicidal behavior. She said it was a bit down and brown outside. Oh, the brown section! Down by the thing. Yes, those were directions alright... just not directions for anyone who wasn't standing next to her at that moment. I promised I'd look and guaranteed I'd see her by dinner tomorrow.

Eventually I found the Brown Section, with yet another clump of stores not attached to the mall, requiring circling the outside of the drive and yet another U-turn, fortunately sans ringing phone. Some fellow got out of his car right before I drove up the lane and proceeded to walk, verrrrrry slowly, in the general direction of the store clumpage. I do not drive an electric car, so it makes six cylinders of noise. Noise this fellow apparently did not recognize as a car, so he continued moseying on down the lane, as I prepared to turn onto the main road. He outsmarted me by also turning, ever so slightly as to slow down my turn too. Talk about homicidal urges... this behavior should be punishable by a fine not to exceed five thousand dollars, plus wearing a sign outside the store for a year that says "I'm a slow walking car blocker".

It was all I had left not to zoom past the lot of them and take myself home, where Marshall was impatiently waiting, but in some countries it is considered rude to leave your elderly parents standing outside a mall for a few days (not your wife, though). No matter, I thought, at least we were off to our favorite barbecue place for our favorite barbecue. They even have a vanilla ice cream machine with tiny little cones for dessert and you get to pull the lever yourself. It's the little things....

We drove there, parked the car, got out, walked two steps, and discovered our favorite barbecue place had closed permanently. Not a sound from four people. We stared, mute. BUT OUR FAVORITE BARBECUE PLACE!!! It's not there. It's closed. We cannot purchase barbecue here anymore. No loaded potatoes, fried oprah, pulled this and that.. and no ice cream.  If we were but a few years younger, we would have stood there, crying, and proceeding to have an absolute FIT in the parking lot. No one was around, but I wouldn't let that stop me if I were going to throw a Serious Tantrum. I threw a Medium Tantrum when my wife dropped a candle and smashed five pounds of glass in her store. That day she was having a very serious problem with gravity. Sometimes it works much more heavily on her than the rest of us. So many things dropped and lept out of the cart that I took to calling her My Little Disaster Area. Romantic, no?

So there we stood, on the verge of Serious Tantrum, when my wife came up with  what she thought was the perfect solution: going next door and shopping at the strangely upscale second hand store, where one can purchase pocketbooks no man has heard of at obscenely low prices. What is truly obscene is what the pieces of imitation ugly leather cost when they were new. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars for an exceedingly ugly thing to carry around their shoulders. And I'm not talking fuzzy green ugly, I'm talking brown and brown with strange symbols ugly. It's like some huge joke on the part of the pocketbook industry: hey, let's design some absolutely hideous THING, charge $800 for it, then give a few away to a Kardashian. No matter how ugly or expensive, they will fly off the shelves. And sure enough, the internal plumbing crowd of the world stepped right up and snapped them up wherever they could find them. Some of these bags have individual serial numbers. I have guitars that don't have individual serial numbers. They were less expensive than these pocketbooks too.

Needless to say, at least two of us, probably the ones with external plumbing, were less than thrilled. As there was no Manly Section of the store, we assumed Manly Position, which is standing, arms crossed, heavily frowning, eyes front and staring out into a universe that included sitting and eating barbecue. Finally the ladies released us from torment and we struggled out to the car. It's amazing what not getting out much followed by carrying sixty pounds of purchased goodies around a mall will do to you. The back part of my feet hurt. I've never had a pain there in all my life. There is obviously some serious blame to be laid on this topic.

In a rather ironic moment, I drove down the street to our second favorite barbecue place, Mission BBQ (see, I got mission in there, like an almost professional writer). Mission is a chain that has just entered the area, founded upon respect for all armed forces and police. Vets eat free or reduced price. The food is good and the people are so nice, they had to import them from the South, or wherever else people are nice. Certainly not my area. The sad part of all this, aside from our favorite place closing, is that my friends from Texas laugh hysterically when I tell them we had bbq from a chain restaurant. Apparently every corner down there has a different bbq place, each better than the other one. Note to self: bad form to salivate on keyboard. Well, it's all we've got up north, so we have to call it good. Piss off, you hat-wearin', hornswagglin', sweet tea drinkin', hurricane tornado havin' rodeo state. And gitcher dang old horses offa the main streets before they leap on a twelve cylinder convertible Caddilac with steer horns on the front and a horn that plays Dixie.

You can't pay for vitriolic area-specific insults like that, but I put them before you, out of the goodness of my heart, because I like attention and because we're up to ten readers now. If we all work together, I know we can hit fifteen by Christmas (2020).

My Eyebrows Are Giving Me Hell

I was in a mall yesterday and noticed an Eyebrow Design Studio kiosk in the middle of the aisle.

Eyebrow design. I had hoped that 2017 was Year of the Eyebrow and we'd never hear or see anything about it again. My wife, who spends as much time in malls as me, seemed to know all about it. I guess eyebrows are the natural progression from breast implants to push-up bras to blue hair to Brazilian waxes and anal bleaching. It's a weird world, but generally fun to live in.

I know, deep down, that there had to be some sort of Eyebrow Control Station somewhere, so why not the mall?  They were closely located to the perfume wagon with the obnoxious foreign fellow, spraying everyone walking by, then asking if they want to try the perfume (Eau de Skunk toilet water). On the other side was the soda machine. Like antiques and vintage guitars, if you have to ask how much it is, you can't afford it. There were no prices on the soda bottles, but they did have a slot for your debit card. And if you need a debit card to buy a bottle of soda....

Although I suspect the eyebrow place catered strictly to women, I allowed as how my eyebrow control is relegated to genetics. This doesn't stop my coworker from making rude comments about them. As she's female, they're even funnier, regardless of my having to go to the bathroom and cry for a half hour or so, or take some time off. This is a known entity to H/R and you are allowed time to get over this, provided you come back with a psychologist's note.

I spent some time observing this operation, by which I mean staring with my mouth open as I walked by. The Main Eyebrow Design Expert was standing on the customer's lap, studiously doing something in her expert way, involving what looked like an impossibly long string of dental floss.  I don't know about you, but I don't want to make the connection between eyebrows and dental floss any more than eyebrows and what looked like a combination pneumatic jackhammer  and weed whacker. Small wonder the mall businesses change so rapidly between our visits.

We were pretty excited to discover a Cinnabon in the mall. You know Cinnabon, right? Impossibly good cinnamon buns with some white, sugary substance akin to icing all over the top. It's an orgasm for your mouth. Then there's the Mochalotta Chill, which is a chocolate coffee drink; perfect to wash down your bon. New was a variation on the Mochalotta - an icy drink. My head was ready to explode. I decided against a bun because I'm trying to cut down, but my wife took my job and did the Bad Influence Thing, ordering a bun. I had no choice, Your Honor. We ate it at home, with glazed eyes and satiated sighs.

Because it was New Years Day, I checked the mall's website to determine their hours. It said normal hours. Because she's a wife, my wife demanded we call too, as the site was obviously wrong. Do you think women are born with this, or does it come with the wedding band? In any case, the phone agreed with the website's hours, and off we went. The secret here is that we left about 4pm, after a brief 'getting ready period' that went about an hour. I live in terror that if, heaven forbid, there's a fire, she simply won't make it out of the building. Speaking of buildings, the mall closed at 9pm.

Much to the wife's surprise, the humongous mall consisted largely of cell phone and shoe stores. In case you're still trying to guess, it's the shoe stores that caused the most glee, in spite of her cell phone, which has a whole gaggle of gremlins in it, that have messed up her contacts so badly that wrong names and photos come up for the contact, plus it refers to Jim Smith as Jim Jones. Back to the shoe stores, it was a great day for looking at shoes. Up one aisle and down the next. Up the next aisle and down another next aisle. These stores are larger than football stadiums, as if I've ever been in a football stadium.

I think I identified one of my wife's issues as we walked down the aisles:
Got that.
Got that.
Got something similar to that.
Got one almost like that, but in a different color.
Wouldn't wear that if they paid me.
DAMMIT- I knew they wouldn't have that in my size.

Praying for the sweet release of death, I thought we could get out of the store at that point. Proving that thinking positive is a waste of time, she discovered the Closeout section. Did you know that women's shoes go to size 15-16? Why that's ... uhhh... size 27 in men's. Must be like wearing an alligator on both feet. And in about 15 minutes, I'm going to get a nastygram from one of my readers who wears a size 16 due to a congenital deformity and I will have to stop blogging out of shame.

When she decided to try 'just a few on,' I asked if she wanted me to adopt a lisp and play Male Shoe Store Employee. She laughed and said no, as she handed me six boxes to shoes to carry over to the bench to try on. I got to hand her the shoes one by one, then she asked me how they looked. What is the correct answer here - I don't know but I can say with absolute certainty that "the shoes make you look fat" is NOT the correct answer. I discovered that agreeing with her assessment was the safest option. I should have known that because it's generally the correct answer (for dealing with me also). We escaped with only minor damage, yet great savings.

Then we went to the next shoe store. And the next shoe store. She kept feeling guilty because we had to get to the far end of the mall to visit the guitar store, which was my only stop. The far end of the mall was approximately six nautical miles in the other direction, whether taking a ship, taxi, kids' ride, or heaven forbid, walking. She wanted to get moving out of guilt. Ok, guilt and fairness, as I never get to go places I'd like to visit for one reason or the other. We noticed there were stores that never bothered to open. That's weird.  What is even weirder is that some stores started closing around 6pm. Yet according to the website and phone call, as you remember, the hours were 10-9.

We got the car and drove the six nautical miles, through the frozen tundra and piles of snow that the 30% of precipitation brought us the previous day. As we saw the entrance, Wife said they look like... and I said NO. They are OPEN. They will be OPEN even if I have to use this car to make the store a drive through.

And quick as that, the store was closed. Who knows if it ever opened... certainly not mall management.

Bring the band on down behind me, boys....
For those of you playing along at home, pre-Christmas, we attempted to visit quite a number of guitar stores quite a number of times. We failed each and every time, for reasons no one can understand or articulate.

Due to the most interesting timing, or for the sake of entertainment of some larger agency of which we're completely unaware (some call it God, some call it The Universe, and some call it That Thing That Fucks With Me), anyway... I don't get presents. I don't get them at xmas and I don't get them for my birthday, as something always pops up at the last moment to divert funds from me. Even when I've been assigned a few dollars, something will require it before I get a chance to use it. Last year it was the dog's oncology bills. I try to take it with a grain of salt, even though I greatly prefer sugar. I'd rather have a well dog anyway, even if that doesn't explain why my presents came up missing most times before Marshall got sick. Can you say Obamacare and health expenses in general? I knew you could.

I mention this not for sympathy, but for background information.
As we saw no lights on at the guitar store, I yelled NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
It's not just one event.. it's a whole compendium of them lately. After a whole mess of crap, it's hard to not take it personally. As if I were important enough in the scheme of things to be someone's entertainment.

I'm feeling kinda like Charlie Brown ("I got a rock").
I asked my dear partner who she was. Without hesitation it was Lucy. Because she's loud and in charge.

Apparently she gets good deals on shoes too.

• If you found yourself spending money at a Forever 21 store last year, you should know they got hacked, via a data stealer on their Point of Sale devices (formerly known as Cash Registers). Reacting with frightening speed, they announced the breach after being infected for 7 months, which they didn't know. How did they uncover the malware? A third party told them.
• Yes, of course their important data is encrypted to prevent theft. Only the encryption "was not always on."    Bzzzt: Crap Alert.
• Customers were notified in November, after 7 months.
• The statements from Forever 21 were all ludicrous and full of imaginary visions and soothing terms. Yes, the malware ran from April to November, but in some locations, it was only running for a few days or several weeks.
• In most cases, the malware was "only" able to collect credit card numbers, expiration dates and internal verification codes, but cardholder names were also compromised in some instances.  Bzzt: this press release was put out by the PR department, not the IT department.
• Oddly enough, in 2008, nearly 99,000 Forever 21 cards may have been compromised in a series of hacks.
• Before you giggle at Forever 21 customers, Brooks Brothers, Buckle, and Eddie Bauer had cyber intrusions in 2016 and 2017.
• Your best and safest option is to disguise yourself as someone else and pay cash for everything you purchase. And purchase everything in second hand stores, just in case; which are less likely to have facial recognition systems.

Parts of the northeast coastal states were confused by weather the other day. Forecasters predicted a snowstorm with 5-8" total accumulation. Because snow was forecast, no one expected it to happen. Everyone was caught with their shovels down.

Fun Stuff happens with a black dog in white snow. When he comes in, he looks like the Abominable Snow Span.

• I didn't notice for a while, but we're having a serious Gravity Day in the house. Everything my wife picked up, threw itself at the floor, taking a few other things with it. When she left the kitchen, a loaf of bread did a water slide to the floor. Then some dressing left a shelf, taking a bag of cereal with it. 
• I didn't notice this happening until she made a few loud remarks on the subject. Then my vitamins fell off their perch. Then a few other things took a header off a table.
• There is no cure for gravity (that sounds deep, doesn't it?). You just have to wait til it falls off.

Speaking of snow, the forecast calls for a high of 42 degrees late this week. With that kind of weather, I need to make sure my body is bikini-ready. Meanwhile, it will be really weird, slipping on ice in June.

So.. speaking of snow, we're on our way out of the house to do a few errands and get some barbecue. OOPS, it's 4am and the wife starts talking to me as if I'm awake and waiting for her missive: "Well, so much for barbecue - we're getting rain, sleet, and more snow." I have suggested that we hold a telethon to purchase a climate. This time it's even weirder... the South is getting it too.

Speaking of snow and sleet, the PANIC has started. Schools are letting out early today and some are already closed tomorrow. This alone should indicate we'll get no precipitation at all. The stores are no doubt jammed so badly that you can't get down an aisle. This is to be expected, as it's Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) here. Bloody idiots.

Now we face a different problem... we haven't shopped in a while and are actually out of SODA. The plan was to go today. Now if we go today, we'll run into the Bloody Idiots and we won't find bread or milk in the city. If they'd stop being idiots, our life would be much easier, but that simply ain't gonna happen. If we stand too close to the idiots, people might think we ARE idiots. It's almost, but not quite, worth it to stay home, without soda.

• Speaking of staying home, I've probably mentioned that I'm working on my agoraphobia certificate. That's the disorder where you don't leave the house. I don't get out much at all, except the odd trip for barbecue or to visit a guitar store (that will invariably be closed or not have a thing for me). Psychologically I've come up with Coincident Agoraphobia, where it just looks like agoraphobia, but I can leave whenever I like, and Stupophobia, where I don't leave the house because of the idiots on the other side of the door.
• Thanks for tuning into another fascinating episode of Dr lefty, Amateur Psychologist (and part-time Gynecologist).

So this Intel chip Spectre and Meltdown vulnerabilities have been found to brick some PCs with AMD chips, sometimes completely screwing up the pc because there's no back-out point set. And if your antivirus company hasn't set a particular bit (or you have an illegal copy), you won't get any future Microsoft updates. This is going to get worse, both due to future discoveries, and the solutions that introduce different problems. Fortunately you have my bright, sunny outlook on the subject.

• Did you know that the border of the US extends 100 miles from the coast? Customs and Border Patrol can stop you, in spite of the 4th Amendment, which is obviously dead in this case. The government has legalized a brief search for immigration status, but not an invasive search (which happens anyway). If you're a victim, contact the ACLU. This is the kind of thing it is necessary to know and strongly protest. Why is it there? 9-11 was a tremendous excuse for expansion of infrastructure.
• If you're in New York City or Philadelphia, you're on the border, so watch out.