Itchy Itchy Nasal Passages

Your love is like   mouse fricassee

I'm always behind, to the detriment of my career(s).

I've been a smartass for my entire life, saying the first thing that came to mind. Then I heard Howard Stern.

I've talked back to the tv since before I could actually talk. Then I saw Mystery Science Theater.  Dear Lord, I was home. Except for the fact I couldn't get anybody to pay me to keep a running antisocial narrative. So I've been doing it for free for well over 25 years. Mrs lefty calls it "STFU, I'm watching this."

However, something happened tonight. She discovered a new DIY/HGTV/FLIPit show. I will never bother, preferring to watch my laptop process individual bytes, then count my ear hair. The thing that caught her was the couple saying their budget for a house was no more than $750,000. Ok, at that point, it was ON. 

They got their 'small cottage' and needed a room decorated for Christmas. So they called in 3 ladies. Now when I needed to decorate my $650,000 cottage for Christmas, I put up a tiny Charlie Brown tree and plugged in some lights. When I met Mrs lefty, she came with her own decorating skills (and crew). Huge tree, tinsel for various pets to ingest, expensive ornaments for a cat to throw to the floor, and strings of lights that actually worked. Even the pets had stockings. I couldn't have done better.  Well, according to this show, I could.

One lady was in charge of the mantle over the fireplace. She envisioned making it come alive. She went home and sketched things, trying them out on her mantle. It turned out that she had a favorite evergreen, which she wrapped around herself in orgiastic glee. She talked (and talked) about the smells and situations in which she used certain evergreens. She also had some sort of red buds she kept talking to. We couldn't hear what she was saying, but we knew it was scary. She had a bedroom with 3 dead boyfriends in it, decorated with her work.

The 2nd bouncy lady was a precocious little girl, by which I mean she spent a lot of time at the table, coloring with crayons.  Her mother encouraged her, because she knew that if she didn't, the little bastard would be vacuuming the curtains and performing unnecessary procedures upon the cats. Mom called the crayon scribbles 'designs.' When the little girl hit 20, she called herself a 'designer' and, being quite attractive, married a wealthy man, giving herself the time and space to  work on her career and designs. For this particular project, after some Very Serious Thinking, she decided on stockings. Not your store-bought stocking units, no sir.. these people were getting all handmade decorated stockings. She took us through the whole process of deciding what would be on the stockings. Since the baby didn't have much of a past to draw from, she decided on some decorations. Mrs lefty took one look and said, "Do you see what she DID? She took a small button, glued it to a safety pin, then glued it to the stocking. The baby will get hold of it, choke on the button, then put holes in his windpipe with the safety pin. The baby will die before they finish dialing 911."  Do ya see? Do ya see why I married her? So this was obviously her first project, to be followed in short order by her first lawsuit. Her husband better be well-insured.

The last lady was the baker. She was startlingly normal by comparison. She made a humongous house, iced to death, which almost disintegrated on the trip over. She was also early in her career, as the entire little city was outlined in little candies for the baby to choke on. Business would really take off if they called themselves The Babykillers.

The final scene was everything in place, with the family in the room. The looks of terror on the children's faces were worth the time wasted watching the show. The adults hid it much better. You know what the cake is going to look like, you know more or less what the stockings will look like, but just revealed is the 'Living Sculpture' of previously alive flora, called Hell in Evergreen. I don't want to say it was scary, but if Vincent Price saw it, he'd have run, screaming, through the wall. Sure, you can put a wreath or 2 over the fireplace, make it look spirited... but this looked haunted, alive, and dangerous. It looked, from any angle, like it was going to grow itself over the walls and kill you (and your little dog too). The baby screamed for its life, which the parents played off as having a cold.

When the Dangerous Trio left, dad got the axe and started hacking away at the evergreens. The oldest boy got the fire extinguisher and repeatedly doused the things, in case they tried to rise from the dead. Mom called the emergency bricklayers, to fix the hole in the wall left by Vincent Price.

Can't you just see our silhouettes in the lower right of the screen, doing running commentary? Although I don't think any of the House networks would pay us...

Today I identify as  a Christmas gift of a cologne set

• Occasionally I come up with a fashion tip: if you have long, dark, silky hair, let it hang! Unless it's growing from your back, in which case, wear a shirt, ok? 

The Holiday moves on, with bright eyes, expecting to get the tree decorated.

The homemade cards, finished mid-December, await printing. The people who got the electronic version have already been horrified and/or confused, but politely responded with a thank you.

The gifts remain under the undecorated tree. No idea whether decorating or gift-opening comes first. I'll stand by, strangely quiet (and quietly strange).

Some neighbors gave out pens and little things. My paranoid schizophrenic neighbor and I suspect they're bugged by the NSA.

The pickles that were requested to be left out are still out, untouched and out of dog reach. I don't think they're good after 3 days but I don't eat them. In another day, I'm going to get an angry question: "Why are there pickles on the counter?" Because you asked. "I did not."  This is why everything's my fault. Well, this and I'm the man in the relationship.

Because we're in danger of getting the tree lit and the celebration started within a week of Christmas, we decided to go visiting, like some sort of demented Santa and Mrs. Claus.

• An RV in Nashville announced it was going to explode in 15 minutes and kept its word. A subject is being interviewed.
• Completely blown up was the AT&T building. AT&T subscribers say the service has never been better.

God.... Solved 

As we know, a religion's seriousness is judged by the size and height of its headgear. The taller the high priest's headgear, the more serious the religion.

I'm watching Ancient Aliens when it hits me.... 

Giorgio Tsoukalis is God.

Rather than having Serious Headgear, he has Serious Hair, therefore he is obviously divine. I'll give you a moment to think about this.

There are many variations in God's hair, which is how you tell he's telling the truth or giving you some sort of jive. God has a hell of a sense of humor, unlike the God depicted in all the religious texts. God's hair seems to get up to all sorts of heights and widths, but it's generally symmetrical. When it's not symmetrical, you better run, because somebody pissed Him off and there's gonna be a plague.

God is a seeker and has His apostles with Him, which He calls His Posse. They are well known to anybody who watches Ancient Aliens:

George Noory: a popular nighttime radio host and the only Indian guy I've ever seen with a bad rug

Erich von Daniken: wrote Chariot of the Gods, wears impossibly-shaded blue suit jacket, thinks it officially marks him as a member of the God Squad

David Childress: aka David Hatcher Childress, is given the least important stuff to say, because with his sing-song voice, no one can listen to him for more than 1 sentence

David Wilcock: just makes stuff up. The outrageousness of what he's saying is depicted by the size of his forehead. It can range from 'that's big' to 'oh no, it's going to take over his head!'

Linda Moulton Howe: the lone female, her mouth has gotten progressively wider over the years, threatening to swallow her whole face. When really serious, refers to herself as Linda Howe. As the lone female, enjoys being chased by every male ufo researcher ever.

Ancient Aliens developed a huge following, resulting in many seasons. One of the first things they were told came from the legal department. The show would say "Cher came from Mesopotamia, 700 years ago." Legal told them you cannot say that, so every claim, no matter how outrageous, is preceded by "Ancient astronauts believe..." which cuts way down on the lawsuits.

This, in turn, led to the Ancient Astronauts Drinking Game. You take a shot every time they say "ancient astronauts believe." Legal suggested they downplay this game, because it killed several hundred people during the season opener.

The team was on a historic dig and found this item:

After careful consideration by Erich, in a slightly darker than normal blue jacket, everybody agrees that this is a 17,000 year old account of an alien visitation to the Yeahreally tribe. You can see the spacesuit, just like our spacesuits, in the brown part. Notice the goggles. You can see this in all the tributes to it through the years. You might even have one in your house. They all go back to this piece.

As it turns out, Erich was pretty far off, timewise. In 31,000 BC, the Yeahreally tribe was minding its own business, when these things came falling from the sky. The Yeahreally's chief, Bob, was naturally suspicious. Bob asked his advisor, Frank, "Why, in 31,000 BC, are these things falling from the sky?" Frank asked, "What is BC?" Chief Bob told him to keep his mind on the matter at hand. 

To commemorate the day these things fell from the sky, they created tributes. They never figured out what these were for, but had an inexplicable feeling the things should be with the women of the tribe.

To this day, Giorgio has a small replica of this alien artifact pinned to his jacket.

With all this talk of trips to Mars, there is now arguing over how to set up government on Mars. A long time ago, the rights to the Moon were established. Imagine the hubris of claiming parts of a planet, Apollos planted American flags on the surface, and recently, the aliens moved them, because they like messing with us. Most recently, China farted in the general direction of our flags, refusing to recognize US sovereignty.

So now we're taking our nonsense to Mars. Has anybody asked the Martians about this yet? It's bad form to claim part of a planet without asking the current residents. NASA has not released the photos of the Mars Rover, with "Hey hey, we're the Martians," written on it in the dust. I don't know about you, but I don't think this is going to end well. Be very vigilant: if the Martians immediately high-five Elon Musk, the fix was in.

Dear lefty 

• What did Penny get for Christmas?
• Chewy treats, chewy snacks, chewy stuffed animals (that weren't hers)
• What did Mrs lefty get?
• an adult size Eeyore costume she calls a Won-Z 
• What did you get for Christmas?
• cold. It was very cold 
• No, really.
• lefty's Home Demolition Kit<tm> - intermediate version - just add Thermite! 

A 37 year old man 'allegedly' beat an 82 year old man to death with an oxygen tank. Because this was California, they charged him with a hate crime. The 82 year old was praying, which set off the 37 year old. How do the police know the 82 year old wasn't praying for the peace and relief of death and the 37 year old wasn't delivering?        ----> I think I just finished paying off my ticket to hell

Folks, we're at the halfway point of the point we've been waiting for since a few months ago: that week between Christmas and New Years Day. We already got Christmas off work, then the better part of the week is work until New Years. Unless you're one of those crafty people who took a Monday off to get more days. Or one of those complete bastards who took vacation time on the week in between, leaving your coworkers with all the work, while you sleep late, eat Christmas junk, and hit the sales, buying next year's Christmas decorations. Or sit around and touch yourself. The joke's on you: there's no work to be done this week and your coworkers are sitting at their computers, trying to hack the payroll server.

The more neurotic of you are already depressed and mentally back at work, after the new year, with no more days off for a while. You will not be happy with this situation, or life, until you seek counseling, or a Scrooge-like transformation occurs. Rest assured that when it does, and you give presents to everyone, they will listen for ticking, and place them in one of those bomb squad concrete containers in the garage, never to open them. The joke's on all of you: fruitcake doesn't explode (unless eaten).

The Pain of Kubernetes

Whither Kaspersky

A short time after the government officially banned Kaspersky Antivirus from its computers, you might start seeing a full scale advertising reputation-saving binge from Kaspersky itself. So far they're touting their award as best antivirus in a recent test, their employees doing a lot of volunteer work, and the great smell of vodka.

This is a brilliant shot on the part of any of Kaspersky's enemies, as there is a claim of spying on government data, followed by immediate denial and Kaspersky himself offering to show his program's source code to prove data is not kept by their antivirus (the government did not take up his offer). So even if Mr. Kaspersky is correct, the accusation has produced enough doubt to stop people from using it. As I said, brilliant.

• I like Rolos.

Bathe in my milk?

The sad part is that Social Justice Warriors will get her shut down because the service is men-only.

• if you have a Lenovo laptop and want to install *Ubuntu 17.10, don't do this yet. There's a bug which will corrupt the BIOS. There is a bigger problem than corruption: 17.10 came out two months ago.

Crowdsourcing. Crowdsourcing. I haven't ever said that til now, but I have an excuse.  Say it with me: Crowdsourcing. Crowdsourcing is another buzzword, but this time it's based upon something real and good. There's an app called Gas Buddy. It gives you the price of gas at many different places. It does so because people put in the prices. Crowdsourcing is when the People do the work.

Another fine example of Crowdsourcing is junk phone number verification. Forgive me if this is old news - I'm just getting around to typing this. We've all signed up on the No Call List, right? The list tells ethical companies and marketers (an oxymoron if I've ever heard one) not to call you. Ever. If they do, they can be sued for approximately $500. Of course we don't answer the phone if we don't know who's calling, so we take down the number and enter it into our favorite search engine (which is duckduckgo.com). This will produce a bunch of results, telling you, via Crowdsourcing, who the number belongs to and what happens when they call. It's inevitably junk calls. The only links you don't want to click are the ones that lead to commercial phone research companies, who want to charge you to look up the owner of the number. Then you go to your app place and download a call blocker, if your phone doesn't already have one.

Another trick these bastards use is spoofing. They disguise their number. Some of them disguise it with the first three digits of your phone number. If your number is 213-555-1234, their number would come up as 213-555-3852 or similar, to make you think it's a local or related number.

Your homework is to try this out. And for extra credit, use Crowdsourcing in casual conversation this week.

I find it handy to simply never answer the phone, even when I know who's calling.

• in the Might As Well Live In A Cave department: it turns out that even apps that request no permissions can gather information they don't need. Tests were run, that exposed some minor holes in android. Remember dial phones?

Here's something you can do to end the year right: delete your Google information. Also some helpful Q&A from duckduckgo.

• "To deter identity thieves," Faceyspaces has introduced facial recognition. It's so accurate that it can identify you in photos in which you are not tagged. Faceyspaces: the front page of the NSA. Do you realize what a great thing Zuckerberg is doing by taking a load off the NSA? Or he's owned by the NSA - pick one. We are a nation of morons.
• In other facial recognition news, Windows' Hello Face recognition has been fooled by a picture. 
• We have one system that's a giant facial recognition database and one operating system that can't recognize you.

The Holidays

It was a festive time, it felt like a really long time. And this was just half a day.
We have a family tradition I like to follow: Mrs. lefty goes and makes merry, while I stay home to keep the dog company. Unfortunately it rarely works this way.

For his part, Marshall really does have to stay home because he doesn't like dogs. We think it's just denial; if he sees dogs, he has to face the reality that he is one. Everywhere we visit has dogs, so it doesn't work well for him. One house had a full grown St. Bernard. Have you ever seen a full grown St. Bernard? You can pretty much saddle him up and give rides (to the adults). He was very friendly, and wanted nothing more than to play with the boxer, who we call Licky Dog, because she'll jump in your lap and kiss you to death (kinda like our vice president). She loves everybody, and despite her medium size, is all heavy muscle.

As I type, Marshall is on guard, protecting the house from invaders only he can see, barking like a mad dog. As far as I know, the medicines don't produce hallucinations, but the house is a pretty crazy place.

Failing once again to stick to Dog Duties, I wanted to visit the in-laws, who venture three hours to see the family. They live in the Valley That Time Forgot, where the only sign of civilization is the huge new Walmart, only an hour away. Mom-in-Law is absolutely thrilled because she comes to visit and has a choice of three supermarkets and actual restaurants. And nary a pickup truck with a gun rack.

So the idea was to go Christmas eve and spend some time with them. When I say 'idea,' I mean if I fail to go visit, it will be used as a rather large weapon sometime later on down the road. YOU DON'T EVER SEE MY PARENTS. Get the idea? It's not that I don't like them - they're very nice people.. it's more that I'm working diligently on my agoraphobia certificate, where I don't leave the house, except for that damn pesky work. Plus if I went on the eve, I wouldn't have to deal with the barrage of family that would descend on the house on Christmas itself. This was an absolutely brilliant idea.

But, like all absolutely brilliant ideas, it was doomed to failure.

I was awakened, sorta, way too early in the morning, when my wife barged into to tell me one of the family members had an 'episode,' wherein he could not get his wife, who was in bed, to respond to him. We looked at each other, and spontaneously intoned, "Genuine Hissy Fit<tm>," only without the <tm>. As I gratefully went back to sleep, she jumped on her white horse and sped off into the distance (she drives a Ford Distance).

I got up around the crack of noon, as is Tradition, at which time the wife let me know that everyone was fine, and it was just a Genuine Hissy Fit<tm>. I could make a lot of money by going into business, diagnosing people over the phone. Remote Medicine. The technology is fresh and ripe, but like vegetables, no one wants to eat it.

Since she was already there, she would go to see her parents without me.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. This meant I'd have to go on Christmas day. With actual PEOPLE!

In addition to working on my agoraphobia certificate, I already have an Introvert certificate. This is not a diagnosis: this just IS. By way of explanation, an extrovert is the guy at the party who drinks beers, watches sports, and talks LOUDLY with his couchmates and anyone who walks in the door. LOUDLY. No one has actually arrived at the house until the extrovert has said their name, as they come through the door.

An introvert is the person who says hello where he has to, then immediately looks for a place to hide, so no one will (heaven forbid) TALK to him. He doesn't like or talk sports, may not drink alcohol, and likes Coke, but all they have is Diet Pepsi, because only women drink soda and if women drink soda, it has to be diet (to wash down the triple fudge donuts and pound cake). Pound cake is named for the way you consume it: you pound it down. I don't like it, even though the cake also comes in chocolate.

The house is very strangely set up, with lots of rooms, in a triple split level dual range oven configuration, with a lovely sun room downstairs. This is actually a very unfortunate addition, as we haven't SEEN the sun in over three weeks. The state police have put out a BOLO (Be on the Lookout) for it, as the precipitation has caused accidents and is threatening to turn downtown into a swamp. Moreso. The room is screened in only, so you get the benefit of a comfy couch, a grill (because everyone grills indoors, don't they?) and the lovely, gray, twenty degree weather). It's everything everyone wants from a Christmas celebration. And I couldn't even hide there, as it was some sort of staging area for the dogs, who took turns getting their paws muddy in the back yard, which resembled an incredibly dirty pool. Ever see someone try to un-muddy a St. Bernard? He was having none of it.

Therefore my hiding place was a rocking chair, smack in the middle of the living room, where everybody was making inebriated chat and greetings. I somehow managed to make the spot into a lefty Zone, whereby it was borderline invisible. Either that or the family was absolutely terrified of me, which is more likely. They don't know how to deal with an introvert who doesn't like sports, and worse, is about ready to shoot the large screen tv, from which is emanating the lovely sounds of Bad Christmas Music. What kind of music is Bad Christmas Music? All of it.  I took advantage of the fact that last year, everyone was playing with their phones and not talking. Unfortunately, this year I was the only one. I went virtual shopping at Guitar Center, which is open 24/7 online, and you don't have to deal with LOUD other guitar players and little kids trying to play ridiculously complex songs that more experienced players cannot play. Like.. ahem... me.

And then it happened: a child arrived. They tell me the child was one, which they have to tell me, as I can't identify child ages because I just don't care. You wanna know how to turn an entire room full of intelligent, competent women into monosyllabic, silly, almost drooling people? Bring in a baby. The entire family appeared as if they had never seen a baby before.  I don't like children any more than I like adults, so I made all efforts to widen the Cone of Silence, so the child would not see me. Unfortunately, children, like cats, sense that you're not fond of them and come to visit, sometimes jumping in your lap. I waved at it and suggested it ride the St. Bernard, who we took to calling Horsey.

By this time, every hallway and crevice was jammed with people. Loud people. I attempted to leap under the rocking chair, but there was no room, as my wife's tolerance for noise has been shrinking to match mine.

As the two hours we were going to stay got closer to seventeen, it was time to go. This was very fortunate from a health point of view, as my head hurt like it was under a huge bell as it was being rung, and the voices were telling me to do things I would surely be arrested for.

My favorite part of the visit was when we were leaving (it's not what you think, although that's pretty amusing), several children and people started shrieking at something simultaneously, causing me to wince in pain. The hostess asked what was wrong with my eye, as I was squinting from the pain. I felt bad about telling her the truth and made some excuse about being allergic to St. Bernard drool (yeah, they drool - and they can sometimes launch it so it slimes the person halfway across room, on the couch, who hasn't seen the dog and is now wondering if they should call Ghostbusters).

After about twenty years of my wife making it clear, no one got me anything. Some people would feel sad and excluded. Like the season, I felt joyous. I wouldn't have to pretend I loved the handmade red and orange-checked sweater from Kohl's or the ADIDAS FOOTBALL sweatshirts somebody got free with the large box of Real Good Brand golf balls.  Aside from having to visit people, I did very well: only my parents got me a gift, as there is no talking to them. The dear old neighbor who Marshall has trained to feed him on command, sent over some dog treats. We feel bad that she spends so much on hot dogs, so we get her grocery store gift certificates. This also benefits her sister, who recently went through training too. People who don't live there know Marshall and ask after his health.

I like Christmas, in that I get a lot of time off work, so that I can sit around like a vegetable. I'd prefer to sit around like a puddle, or at least a fruit - something sweet - but one must go with what one has. Since Marshall's ex-cat used to have the Christmas tradition of disemboweling the tree and breaking all the one of a kind ornaments, we didn't have a tree for many years. We were going to break that tradition as Marshall's cat left us last year, but we didn't.

This is not a normal household (no, really?). The effort required to get anything done on a timely basis is frequently too much, rendering the project worrisome but invisible, hence we did not have a tree last year. When I say we didn't have a tree, we actually have two: in boxes in the shed. Getting at least one of them to the house and assembled is something close to a Christmas miracle. This year, determined to make things festive, we bought an ornament six months ago. Please hold back your excitement. It was an Eeyore ornament, per tradition, and Wife did not remember purchasing it, also per tradition.

So as of Christmas Eve, the ornament was safely tucked away, somewhere, in its box. Kind of like the tree. Most of the neighborhood has amazing light displays and houses all perked up and decked out for the holidays. Our house was still standing, for which I was grateful. The unstated bonus of not putting up a tree is that you don't have to take it down (by February or so).

• Speaking of Christmas, some nice person gave us a box of chocolates. Wanna know when you day is starting badly? She got the coconut cream, then the orange cream.
• Being the more cautious of the pair, I waited twenty four hours. Everybody was still alive, so I thought I'd take a shot. I love candy. My first dilemma was which one should I have? The map on the inside of the top promised maple cream, which sounded exactly like the candy I didn't know I needed. AAAAAAAAAh - that was disgusting. Normally my reactions are not that strong, but the taste was disgusting. If I were a food critic, I'd say something like, "It was vaguely chocolate, with hints of fruit and freshly mowed grass," but it would have more sarcasm to it.
• I figured it had to be user error - maybe I was holding the map upside down. I turned it around but there was no Chocolate Fruitgrass listed. Since it's just rude to put the half-eaten confection back, I lobbed it into the trash. It was a Christmas miracle: it went into the can! I can't hit a small city with an H-bomb.
• Alignment of the map was considered complete when something involving nuts looked like it was a little lumpy. I was going to play it safe this time, with a caramel chocolate. After all, how can you f- that up?
• I have no idea, but they did. Another foul confection from Granny's Grass Candies, Inc. I ran around the house like I was on fire, putting in anything that would fit into my mouth to kill the taste: forks, a pan of congealed bacon grease from this morning, the battery from the lawnmower, and several shot glasses, all to no avail.
• I grabbed the kitchen tongs and gingerly placed the lid back on the assortment, hoping beyond hope that nothing in that box would touch my skin. Or my house. T'was then I saw the front of the box. There was no warning label. There were no flashing lights. Not even a nuclear radiation sign. THEY WERE DIET CHOCOLATES!
• How can someone so sweet give an xmas present that even Satan himself wouldn't eat? These people are serious church people, so I figured it's relatively safe to assume they're down with the Thou Shalt Not Kill thing. If I had the balls, I'd pick up the box and see what they used to sweeten it. I'll put lots of things into my mouth, like GMOs and table legs. My wife eats cheese that smells like sweat socks that have been marinated for an entire year. But I will not eat artificial sweeteners. Aside from the fact they cause cancer, they taste horrible. I can detect one part per million.
• As against governmental regulation as I am, someone needs to put warning labels, flashing lights, and an audible alarm on these things, for the good of the public [cue Monty Python Whizzo Chocolates Assortment; Crunchy Frog].

In case you missed the news over the holiday season, employees of Microsoft  and Amazon have been caught using prostitutes who are victims of human trafficking.  So just remember, every time you use Windows or order from Amazon, you're supporting human trafficking.

No, wait, that's not it.
We have two separate discussion points that are not separated in the article.  As a libertarian and human, I have nothing against prostitution: we are sovereign over our own bodies and cannot be told what we can or can't do with them. Since the services are advertised as escort or massage (or towing), they are legal.  Unfortunately, prostitution is used as an embarrassing term to gain leverage.

The main item is human trafficking. This is beyond horrible.  Women are brought here from other countries and told they owe money or their family is threatened unless they cooperate.  Fortunately, some of this is coming into the light.

How the Microsoft and Amazon employees are supposed to know their prostitutes are victims of trafficking is beyond me (and them, apparently). I say this as a libertarian and human, even if it requires me to defend Microsoft.

The only funny part comes from the employees, who used their work email addresses to order the services. Let us think about what would happen if we ordered 'massages' on company email?  I would get a visit from my boss, stating that if I had one, I'd need to provide everybody else with one too.

* Kubernetes is an open-source system for automating deployment, scaling and management of containerized applications

Merry Xmas from lefty Claus

Kill the Turkey

Turkey reheated.
Turkey sandwiches.
Turkey soup.
Stuffing sandwiches.
Throw out the bloody cranberry lump that Aunt Joan made to look like it just came out of a can, complete with lines....

• So the Remaining Royal got engaged. Fortunately there's absolutely nothing else going on in the known universe, so television, news, the internet, and people on the street can be completely absorbed in this great bloody nonsense. 
• As a Murkin, I'll obviously never understand the Royals and Britain's Royal Fascination. Not to mention the finances and ancient nefarious connections.
• Out here in the Real World<tm>, it turns out that people get engaged, marry, get knocked up, and divorce all the time.  Not one of us rates a notice, news story, or full Social Media Blitz.
• Sometimes, before or after engagement, sperm hits its target and a pregnancy results. Again, not so much as two lines on Faceyspaces, with four likes. The morning 'news' program has spent two full days on this. When we got married, we sent out email announcements. Not a single response, because everyone thought we were kidding. Imagine - me, kidding!

WARNING: if you need to wear a shirt with GORGEOUS or sweatpants with BOOTYLICIOUS on them, you're not.

• But it's ok - for the rest of us, who are sick of Royal News, there is still time to catch the ponderous, endless stream of Dog the Bounty Hunter marathon on A&E.
• Mrs. Dog, sadly, has cancer. This is not a problem for the show, which smelled ratings!
• If possible, they are going to livestream her chemo. Yes, the guy whose dog just went through chemo is now making human chemo jokes.

Those of you who survived Turkey Day lived to see Black Friday. This is a manufactured event, in which people are supposed to buy Stuff that's supposed to be on sale. Some of these deep-researching geniuses have come up with the perfect item that must be purchased and wait in line to purchase it, sometimes in tents. Things get interesting when they somehow manage to get inside the store. Things get even more interesting when there are tv cameras there, which document the carnage for the area and the rest of the world, via YouTube, to see. People pushing, people shoving, people taking sharp and blunt objects to each other - and that's in the parking lot. This is a sociology experiment gone really wrong twenty years ago, hence its repetition every year.

So you've pretty much digested your turkey and the alarm went off at 3am, and here you are at [insert generic electronics store that is not at all Best Buy], with the doors just opening and General Unrest rearing his ugly head. The great mass of (in)humanity surges toward the door. Unfortunately, physics dictates that the width of the great mass of humanity go through the choke point of two doors, so humanity goes ahead and chokes. Each other, if necessary. People have died by falling and being Trampled Underfoot (2nd song reference - did you get the first?). After hopefully making it through the doors, you vault ahead, as if shot from a slingshot, to the... I dunno.. where did we want to go?

The Prepared Shopper, whose tent is insulated and has flowing booze, sprints right to their preferred, highly-researched item. Oh, so sorry... the large screen tv that takes up an entire wall and connects to your neural pathways, is not in stock. You discover that there was only one for sale anyway, and that went to Ralph, the manager's girlfriend's special son, the previous evening. Oh well, at least you got to stay in a freezing parking lot overnight.

The Real Hip Genuine 2000s Smart Consumer, who really has her shit together, has also been doing her research, but only for what's coming on Cyber Monday. This is a veritable online orgy of alleged deals from innumerable retail outlets, only these don't require a tent or getting up at 4am, hence it doesn't really count as Family Time. These poor slobs have also been deluded into the false belief that there are some actual deals to be had. While there are no apparent limits on large screen tvs for sale, you will run into them in terms of finding out they're no longer in stock, approximately two days before Christmas. 

This shit is mandatory, in case you didn't get the email.

The email, by the way, promised deals in every department, backed up by incredibly annoying tv commercials, featuring singing flipping boxes, belting out the worst vomitous soft classic rock tunes from your misspent youth. 

This email is markedly different from the email from a random Nigerian prince, promising you untold wealth, if you'd only send him your banking information. It turns out you can't even pirouette in Nigeria without hitting a prince.

If you happen to be a musician and mysteriously got on the emailing list for Guitar Center, you're in for a real treat. I counted eleven emails over the weekend, all with promotions for Black Friday and Cyber Monday, plus a 25% discount coupon, good on anything in the store, except for two paragraphs of exceptions at the bottom of the email. If you take the time to do the math, you can save 25% on your choice of (new only) guitar picks or those tiny little rubber things that go on the bottom of boxes so they don't slip. This is the package of six tiny little things, not the thirteen piece pack. I expect their manager to be personally knocking on my door tomorrow, asking why I haven't used my coupon yet. He already sent me three emails. When he comes by, I'll ask him about left-handed guitars. The coupon, of course, applies to new lefty guitars, but they happen to be out of them. And when I say out of them, I mean they don't stock them, or happen to be caught naked with two cheapies hanging on the wall, one of which is used, which is not covered by the coupon. For some reason, it would cause grievous bodily harm to order a few lefty guitars for southpaw customers. Perhaps even Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I'd feel terrible if I inadvertently caused this with my selfish demands for a guitar I could actually play.

After you have completed this conspiracy by retail to further separate you from your money, there is a Brand New imaginary invented day: Giving Tuesday. This is the day you're allegedly supposed to give to charity.  The very clever joke here is that this day was also invented by the retail sector. It makes them look great and also disguises the fact that by the time you're done with Black Friday and Cyber Monday, you have absolutely nothing left to Giving Tuesday. It's brilliant in concept and execution. You don't even have room on your credit cards, which were so maxed out, you had to get a few more. If you're in the UK, you can get them in 39% or 59% interest, and payday loans up to the minimally impacting rate of 1239%. Yes, that's right - you read that right (third song reference), 1239 percent.  In fact, as soon as you get the money conveniently deposited in your checking account the next day, Uncle Luigi comes by to collect the vig. If you don't happen to have it the next day, Luigi says that's fine, the amount you owe has been 'adjusted upward' to 2977%. This is grand progress from the days when Luigi would break a few of your limbs. Payday Loans have realized they can hurt you far worse than physically by interest and credit reporting alone.

So if I, for some strange reason, happen to have a few shekels left to divest myself of, I conveniently have an entire inbox of Helpful Suggestions. Even the libertarian party has an appeal. To be absolutely honest, and I am scrupulously honest, as you read several times per week, there's an organization called Oldies But Goodies, which finds homes for older cockers. I'm pretty sure it's tax-deductible. A few hard-earned dollars went there, before our own issues with an even older cocker. Screw the humans - there's no hope for them. Give to dogs (and even cats) whose situation is caused by humans, and can be remedied with a few of your dollars.  Give money, in-person help, pet food, and blankets to your local SPCA. Overbreeding, lack of spay/neuter, and pure human stupidity have landed these poor guys there.

SHIT - I have actually promoted the thing I just got done skewering.

• My house is weird. You probably just shot your coffee out your nose, all over the screen, and said, "No!"
• It lags the outside temperature by strange amounts, so that when it's warm outside, it's freezing inside. I don't actually know this until I go outside, and I don't go outside because Bad Things Happen when I go outside.
• In fact, whenever I open the front door, the neighbors yell at me not to let all my cold air outside and make it cooler for the rest of them.
• Pretty soon I'll be the only house on the block with windows open after Thanksgiving.

Abandoned Army and NSA Intelligence Sharing System data was left exposed to the public on an unsecured server. These are the people 'protecting' us and 'keeping us safe'. Mostly just spying on us.

• The UK, long known for systems, spying, and intel, has decreed that porn sites must age-verify, so children under eighteen do not access videos of people performing relatively normal human activities. Just imagine the fun that will ensue once this data gets stolen due to a not-protected server somewhere. Plus, you raise wonderfully-adjusted children when you brand sex 'dirty'.

An important court case is being brought by the ACLU (for people who think they do nothing good, here's an example of why they do). The government, which, as mentioned early, 'protects' us by spying on us, maintains that you have no expectation of privacy when you voluntarily give out information. Information, in this context, is your cell phone's location data, only you haven't freely given it out. The case attempts to overturn a guilty ruling for a person convicted of a crime via location data, obtained without a warrant. The spy agencies maintain that they don't need a warrant to spy on you. You'll note that this is a popular, recurring thing. They will spy anyway, so this is just window dressing to make it look like they're not violating Fourth Amendment protections. Law is ill-prepared to deal with electronic communications and advancements. Use your imagination as to why the government would prefer not to rely on your constitutional rights and protections.

• Bulletproof Coffee has informed customers that although their coffee is bulletproof, their network isn't. 

Marshall's treatments approach the finish line. The last chemo appointment was last week, stopped one treatment early because he's doing so well. This week, his bloodwork came up just fine. Next week is a visual inspection to see if there are any lesions left. Meanwhile, the New and Improved Marshall is ramping up the annoying of his parents, whining pitifully for everything his little heart desires. This usually takes place when they are doing something important.

No matter how intelligent he is, and he's frightening, he still drinks from the toilet.

• Here's a great headline: "French president Macron says gender-based insults will become a crime, punishable by law."
• Countries are criminalizing speech. Spoiled as we are by our First Amendment, this is shocking. Freedom of speech includes speech that you do not agree with - potentially ugly speech, that you'd prefer not to hear. Political correctness (social justice warriors) demands censoring speech with which they do not agree). The fact that this is infecting entire countries is worrisome. It's like a bad nightmare from old science fiction come true.
• The point of this exercise is "educating the public and schoolchildren about sexism and violence against women."  What this means is that men are not allowed to say bad words about women, but it will be perfectly ok for women to say what they like to and about men. Isn't that wonderful?

Chocolate Peanut Butter Cheerios? No.

• While we're all happy happy joy joy, I'll leave you with this small rant: we recently had our car's windshield replaced. When this happens, the service will give you the piece of the original glass, containing your stickers. All went incredibly well. This was followed in rapid succession by a number of police stops, demanding to know where the stickers were. Fortunately, they were all fielded by Mrs. lefty, who was none too pleased at the opportunity. Once the relevant documents were produced, the police smiled and she went on her way, semi-unmolested.
• Today's visit with the local constabulary produced nastiness and attitude on the part of the policeman. When the documents were produced, he angrily went on about how this wasn't supposed to be like this. Well, what would you like done and what are the legal specifics on it, Officer?  The kind gentleman then gave her a legal warning. Thank you, Officer Dickhead. There's always one.
• I suggested keeping the piece of windshield on the dash to avoid aggravation. Wife said this was a good idea, except when stopping quickly, when the glass would turn into a projectile. Well, yeah... there is that.

I gave up trying to find stuff years ago and now just ask

Just Return the Crap and Be Done with it

Wee Wee Water

At the risk of sounding like a very popular neurotic Jewish comic, what's this nonsense about running water and peeing?  I vaguely remember hearing that if a woman wanted to pee in the bathroom or for a medical test, she should run some water. Then I remember hearing about old men having to run water to pee in general.

After I hit a certain age, I noticed this effect in reverse, sorta. I'd do my Manly Duty, washing dishes, and a short way into it, I had to pee. It sometimes takes me a while to catch on (to most things) and in a while, I noticed it.  It was a sad day for me, like maybe I should celebrate by signing up for AARP or Medicare.  Whenever I washed dishes. Whenever I got water from a faucet. And yesterday, was the final insult (I hope): while pouring Marshall's personally refrigerated Special Spaniel Water into his dish, the Pee Alarm went off again. What's happening to me?

BUT WAIT!!! If you keep reading, we'll spell out an even more absurd point, and we'll send it to you for nothing! Not even an additional handling or reading charge!  One day when filling up Marshall's water container for his refrigerated Special Spaniel Water, I felt the Urge. I thought I had outsmarted my body by going to the bathroom before I filled the container. But POOF - there it was. Only I didn't really have anything to give... yes, it was Phantom Pee Urge. This brand new diagnosis will be rushed through committee and will appear in an interim diagnosis supplement for all physicians.

• After weeks of sex with a transexual, a man kills her for "that sick thing between her legs." I'm thinking the guy must have had a small vision issue. Did he possibly miss the superfluous genitalia? For a few weeks? Is it THAT dark where he does it?

I hope your holidays were nice. 

I got a rock.

Speaking of the holidays, I thought it might be a good time to stand around the menorah, light some candles, and sing Jewish folk songs. Then I remembered I'm not Jewish.  Ok, I'm an ex-Jew... I gave it up for lent.

• The best quote of xmas had to come from my nephew, who asked the wife a question: "Do you get gift cards?" Yes. "Well, if you get any from Toys R Us, would you give them to me?"

There were a few neato mob brawls at malls over the holidays, including one in Ohio that resulted in a mall closing down. Hmmm... organized mobs.. at about a dozen malls... who's doing the organizing?

• Men are from Mars, women are from Betelguese. We had some communication issues in our marriage that we straightened out, to great relief. However, my coworker and I are going to require 145 intensive sessions of Communication Marriage Therapy to be able to work just poorly with each other. The more we talk, the more my eyeballs try to look at each other and end up rolling like a slot machine. [this takes place over text messages]:
• ME: put the red one on the green peg
• HER: all I have is green
• ME: yes, the green one. put it on the red peg
• HER: ok. what about the fact that the peg is wood?
• ME: they're all wood
• HER: I'm so stupid
• ME: why are you stupid?
• HER: because I couldn't do yesterday's work
• ME: the machine was down yesterday
• HER: nobody told ME
• ME: then you're not stupid, are you
• HER: that's ok, I'm stupid about other things
• ME: don't worry about it
• HER: I have to - it's my nature
• ME: ok, try to keep yourself up all night, worrying about it
• HER: I will, thanks. now I'll shut up.
• and people wonder why I wander up and down the aisles, laughing maniacally, cursing randomly, and banging my phone on the desk, like some sort of new-age morse code.

I wanted to get some stuff done today but I'm having some difficulty. I have a bit of a medical condition that comes and goes, generally in the morning. I asked the doctor what to do and he said to drink some caffeine-containing beverages. The medical condition, by the way, is called Tired, or as we know it, Tired. My coworkers cannot drink Mt Dew because it makes them fly around the room, frequently bumping into ceiling fans. It's a ($&#ing mess to clean, especially when it gets on your clothes. I can drink Mt Dew and feel absolutely nothing, either from sugar or caffeine. So I drink a cup of coffee every morning. It helps me wake up to the horror that will become my day. The only problem is that I run the risk of falling back to sleep for a few hours, which tends to be frowned upon, even for my friends in government. Yes, the doctor is flummoxed as to how caffeine can take up to four hours to be effective. I'll get up from my desk, pick up a pen, and start shaking wildly. This starts my own bouncing off the walls. Fortunately, due to fear of heights, I do not bounce all the way to the ceiling fans, much to my wife's dismay.

Nobody seems to have even a halfway decent answer to this question (why I don't make it to the ceiling).  They also can't figure out why coffee takes so long to take effect. As you'd expect, I have a theory. I always have a theory; usually waaaay out there in left field, so far out of the box that no one can find it, even with satellite assistance.  You see, I am asleep most of the time. Only when the caffeine hits am I awake. While I think I'm falling asleep, I'm actually already asleep. Another one solved, Holmes.

--------------------------------------------------------------

My wife just went for a nap. This causes some sort of quantum time warp where she sleeps but in our subjective reality, it can last anywhere from five minutes to sixteen hours (you think I'm kidding?). This is precisely why we cannot understand quantum physics, or Nap Physics, as we Nap Physicists prefer to call it.

After the subjective nap time has elapsed, she will emerge from her cave, looking 3/4 asleep, not having seen her shadow or me. If I say Good Morning, she may acknowledge me in a voice that would make a frog sound like Pavarotti. She'll tell me she came out for something to drink. When I ask if she's ready to get up, she tells me she's not done sleeping yet. This is either the most brilliant statement about sleep ever, or .....

Fa La La... Fa Lah Lah La.. Fackit.

As if exploding phones, terrorists, and screaming children weren't enough, this article comes along, talking about how In Flight Entertainment systems could be accessed in airplanes. These systems are not the plane control systems, which are kept apart from the entertainment systems. Hopefully. They can, however, be used to cause all sorts of mischief on the entertainment side, including capturing any information you enter into the system (using their wifi). In a nutshell, you and your information are perfectly safe when flying, provided you don't use the plane's wifi and provided the system is properly walled off from the flight system. And there are no screaming babies.  Feel better now?

In an immediate rebuttal from the manufacturer, they state that this is Not True. They do not offer anything in the way of concrete proof and the author of the article went on to explain, very slowly and comprehensively, for the manufacturer, his point again: that if you don't separate the entertainment system from the flight control system, some nefarious hacker might leap from one system to the other.  While this is a very true and logical statement, I can't imagine a hacker getting control of an airplane and making it do anything harmful to the hacker.

• You're either giving or a giftee will be receiving an Internet of Things-enabled device. Either fail to give them one or strongly encourage them to secure the item. If they don't know how, ask a person significantly younger to help them with it. Also avoid those devices that listen to you, like the Echo or the dolls. No good can come of a device that hears and reports everything said in a household, or worse, everything a child says.

I don't know exactly what this new, Internet of Things washer downloads, but let's be positive for once: maybe it's porn! Washing just became FUN!

• This whole iDevice earpod thing is way out of hand. In a few years, plastic surgeons will get rich(er) due to Sagging Earlobe Syndrome.

I'm still working on the logistics of this idea, but a South Carolina legislator (I'll give you one guess from which party, and Democrat ain't it) wants to mandate porn-blocking on all new computers sold in the state. If you don't want porn blocked, there will be a twenty dollar fee, please. Of all the idiot-brained schemes, this may win the computer (and Freedom from Religion Foundation and ACLU and Electronic Freedom Foundation) award for Most Stupid and Impossible Scheme. The many unconstitutional bits of this, of which none can be implemented, are beyond belief. A final thought on this: it would make the NSA and FBI's jobs so much easier. Instead of spying from down the line somewhere, we have just invited them inside our own computers. What could possibly go wrong?

• In the You Knew It Was Coming department, the University of Wisconsin, Madison, will be offering this bit of enlightened education: The Problem of Whiteness. Debate should be encouraged on campus, as in other places, but this looks a little skewed before the debate starts, if debate is even allowed in this class.  While it is often stated that groups that come up with This Sort of Thing will eventually eat themselves from within, it can't come fast enough.

RIP Zsa Zsa Gabor (99). Cause of death: lack of ratings.

• If you're a Groupon user, there has been some sort of account fraud. Groupon claims there has been no breach; that the account information may have been purchased from external sites. Don't use your login and password for more than one site, ok?

Security site NakedSecurity has 12 Safety Tips of Christmas. Well done! Spoiler: there is nothing naked on the site.

• Vice has killed its online comments section, like several other major sites. Apparently their viewers are not a polite bunch. The article is quite an eye-opener.. it's not just the Vice viewers, though.. the online space is now the Wild West, with everything from polite, thoughtful comments to death threats, with the polite stuff being difficult to find, due to the death threats and General Abuse. What a lovely group we are. Put a windshield or a keyboard between us and others and we become Total Assholes.

A Virgin flight was delayed when someone changed their phone's wifi name to 'Samsung Galaxy Note 7'. After threatening to ground the plane, the trickster came forward. No charges were filed but at least we got a snicker out of it. No word on whether the jokester in question got the stuffing knocked out of him by the rest of the plane's passengers.

• In what had better be a joke, a three year old is getting a sex change.

Christmas with the ex-Jews

Some of you may remember our thirteen year struggle with a cat and a Christmas tree.  Ren, from about six weeks old, made it his life's work to disembowel (internal) Christmas trees. We have a kinda scrawny fake tree, which we decorated with great fanfare, to become a less-scrawny, well appointed sight. Ren got right up there and destroyed the display, one section at a time.  After he removed tinsel, he concentrated on a yearly Gravity Experiment, which consisted largely of making each and every ornament go straight to the ground. The really expensive and emotionally-valuable ones were particularly interesting to him, as if they somehow went to ground at a different pace.

One particularly bad year saw him disassembling the tree by knocking off the branches, one by one. Where does a cat learn to take apart a fake tree? Since we had him from six weeks, I can only conclude this information is genetic. As a final tribute to the Christmas Spirit, I took the top foot of the tree and hung it from the ceiling, so even he could not get it, unless he somehow schemed to get the dog to move the ladder over and open it for him. When I returned home from work, he had somehow managed to remove even the last nub from the ceiling. It's amazing he didn't get the hook too. I'm not even sure I want to know how he did it but the dog's not talking either.

Much to everyone's sadness, Ren passed this year. Marshall still hasn't gotten over losing his cat and is on medication (I'm not kidding). Even though our relationship was weird, to be polite, I'd rather have Ren than the tree.

So Certain Persons in the house decided we needed to have holiday decorations on the house. Considering the season, the mania surrounding multiple health issues, Normal Stuff, and our vast organizational skills, we have whittled decorations down to a two foot tree and a Seasons Greeting-type sign on the door. This is a large improvement over last year, when we were limited to a few cards over the door from previous years. My wife does this and to this day, I still don't understand why. The sign is delightfully understated (small and blends into the door) but it swings in the wind. So anyone in the house is treated to the sound of the sign BANGING against the door with the force of police knocking with five-cell flashlights.

Thanks for reading and sticking with ThermionicEmissions. Welcome to our new readers from antisocial media. Happy Whatever to you and yours.

May you be touched by the Noodly Goodness of the Flying Spaghetti Monster