He's not dead - He's respirationally challenged

Siri “unintentionally” recorded private convos; Apple agrees to pay $95M

Unintentionally. Just like Alexa. "Oh, we only record commands. Ok, we record everything."

Speaking of Evil Apple:  Apple auto-opts everyone into having their photos analyzed by AI for landmarks

For certain, no readers of this blog read Pornhub. If they did, this is how they'd get around the block, put there by legislators who fsck sheep in the bible belt.

Federal Court Blocks Louisiana Law Mandating Posting Of Ten Commandments In School Classrooms  [the next part of the republican agenda. Freedom of religion dictates that no religion should be pushed by the state. This law would also not do anything to help the children learn.]

Just in case you forgot what you read here, Elon Musk Uses Cybertruck Explosion to Show Tesla Can Remotely Unlock and Monitor Vehicles

Every now and then I look around and find myself back in the 1950s. The doctors tell me it's not anything they can treat. I was never in the 50s to begin with, so it's even more strange.

Why do I mention this?  A pharmacy that knows me by name. A vet where everybody comes out to say hi to the dog when we're there. A mailman who takes heavy packages inside (against regulations). A little coffee place that's pet-friendly. But mostly it's the neighbors. There's the one couple that's extremely nosy. Another family we exchange (legal) favors with. After Mrs. lefty lost her war with the railing, the neighbor snuck over and fixed it. I am assured this kind of thing went on all the time in decades past.

It's a shame that my temporal trips don't allow me to pick up a few guitars.... 50's guitars start in the 5 figure range now. Sometimes they get to the 6 figure range.

My neighbor is extremely handy - he does this for a living. I am extremely sleepy, but not for a living. I feel bad that I have little to trade...it's not like they need their guitars tuned or amps fixed. I know some stuff about being handy but it fails a bit in the execution. I know you need to drill holes in the ground and use a lot of super glue to put up a fence. I know to pick up the soldering iron by the cool side. I know not to solder in shorts, but none of this is too helpful to the neighbors. They should be happy, though - the neighbors stopped going missing last year or so....

Much like the government letting some UFP/UAP info slip through, cats are starting to show themselves. A guy's cat runs off. He chases and grabs. The cat claws his legs to shreds, after which the owner died from blood loss.  Just in case you had any doubts about cats.

My dog got out of the yard once. We found her, sitting by the front door, waiting to be let in. 

 Speaking of UFOs, 4 experts testified that the government is operating secret UFO/UAP programs.

Even a few moments' thought would make this obvious. They've been running secret UFO programs ever since there have been UFOs, maybe longer. Visits by men in suits or Men in Black have been documented. This didn't start last year.... and it's all documented somewhere....

We discovered a plumbing leak the other night. My dad used to rush over and fix plumbing issues, probably to get away from my mom. We miss them.

 Speaking of the dog, she dumped a lemon pastry on the floor the other day. She doesn't like lemon. We have no idea where she got it. I'd probably dump a lemon pastry too, but I know I don't like lemon either (and I'd just wind up having to clean it up. Again.).

Will You Show These 20 Good People the Dog Kennels?

The above references a Monty Python sketch about a just-married couple buying a mattress. This is because today's story is about a mattress.

A fictional couple is purchasing a sleep number bed and a no number fridge from their fictional parents.

Fictional Mom: I need a new bed, so we want to give you the new Sleep Number bed.

Fictional Wife: That's incredibly generous of you but we must pay you for it.

Fictional Husband: G-bus, we've had cars that cost less than that bed.

Mom: And the fridge.

Wife: The fridge?

Mom: Yes.




Wife: I'll call some movers.

Husband: Call one of those 2 guys and a truck people. We don't need commercial movers for a bed and fridge.

Wife: I called them, only it's two guys - we have to rent the truck.

Husband: This isn't going to go well, is it?

Wife: Not on your life, bud.




Wife: It's all set! We have a truck, two guys at an outrageously high hourly rate, and all will go well.

Husband: You're just tempting the universe.

Wife: All we need to do it make sure there's a path for them to move everything.

Husband. A path, you say?

Wife: Yes, so they can walk the bed and fridge through.

Husband: What - the 2' path that's already there isn't enough?


Wife: It's Monday - we have the whole week to work on it.
Tuesday.
Wednesday.
Thursday.
Friday.
Wife: I CAN'T BELIEVE WE HAVE ALL THIS SHIT TO DO.  Bag up the 100 dog toys he put all over the steps. Clean the entire kitchen. Hide the spare televisions and the rhinocerous cages in the bathroom. Throw the explosives in the bedroom. Put the bird out back. WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE DON'T HAVE A BIRD?

Husband: You do realize I'm working from home today.

Wife: YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO LEAVE EARLY.

Husband: How do you leave early when you're already home?

Wife: STFU and get vacuuming.

Husband: Shouldn't I wait til they have everything in place and they're done dragging in more dirt?

Wife: No. We're recovering slobs and I don't want anyone to know. Now clean the fridge.

Husband: The fridge? The one we're throwing out?

Wife: Yes.

Husband: Why am I cleaning literal trash?

Wife: I don't want anybody to know what our fridge looks like.

Husband: Keep the (*#@ing doors closed.

Wife: You need to take the doors off.

Husband: No I don't.

Wife: Yes you do - it's the law, so kids don't get stuck in there.

Husband: If they get stuck in there, they'll learn a valuable lesson and never do it again.



One day earlier:

Wife: I texted Dad 4 hours ago that everything was set and nothing has changed. He just left a voicemail, panicking because he doesn't know the game plan.

Husband: I just got 2 calls from Fictional Parents within 5 minutes, out of their minds because they don't know what's up and because you didn't answer your phone. When did I become your answering service?

Wife: They're crazy. They will wait til I have time to call them.

Husband: Can't we just cancel the bed? They're giving stuff to their neighbors - let them give the bed to them too. It's a small apartment, so they'll have to hang it from the ceiling, then the parents will complain that the ceiling makes too much noise.


Back to Friday: T minus four hours til delivery.

Dad: I'll help by driving the truck. But Wife, you have to come over and spend time with Mom the moment you're done. She misses you and you haven't come over all week.

Husband: WTF IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE? IT'S THEIR BLEEDING FRIDGE and they have no concept of us having to set it up, as well as firing up the front-end loader to make room in the bedroom (behind the explosives).

Wife: Ok, I'm leaving now. All you need to do is take out the trash, clean the fridge, sweep everything you can find into a random trash bag, make a nice picnic for when we're done, and put together these 12 space-saver shoe racks, because 12 is all they had - the rest are back ordered.

Husband: These are for the basement, right? I can't get to the basement because of all the shoe rack boxes blocking the stairs. Why is there a half full can of soda that's unopened in the fridge? Hey, have you seen the dog?


Husband continues chores.
Notices that if he touches one thing, 13 other things mysteriously appear in the way, then fall over.
Brings out vacuum. The cord won't reach. Vacuum turns itself on and off.
Vacuum has to be stopped constantly because there's change on the floor. Nobody knows why, but change is always on the floor at vacuuming time. Unfortunately, high denomination dollar bills never litter the floor- just change. Vacuums don't like change. Neither do most people.

The chair that needs to be moved weighs 100lbs without the 100lb go-kart that's on it. The poor dog is cowering on the couch, unable to see the floor.  Husband goes to the (now clean) fridge to get something to drink. There's nothing there except plenty of warm spring water. Under the chair is that cat he thought ran away last summer. Perfectly preserved too. Perhaps he could earn a few bucks through taxidermy.

Wife calls to ask how wide the doorway is. Husband measures 71. Wife says the answer she's looking for is in inches - try turning the tape around. Husband regresses to age 5, when Mom asked how many gallons of gas the car took.
Tip: do NOT smoke near gas pumps.

Husband sees a trash bag to take out in the kitchen, only he can't pick it up because there's a chainsaw on top of it. The fridge had to be moved away from the wall. Why? Because the underneath might be dirty and has to be swept before the movers get there with the new fridge. Husband's head hurts really badly. The voices are saying very nasty things that would lead to a lengthy jail sentence. At 3:30, husband figures he might want to have breakfast but can't, because most of the food has been hidden in the garage. He didn't know he had a garage, but you learn something new every day. Also, Dunkin Donuts frozen hot chocolate makes an excellent breakfast, any time of day.

Husband collapses and finally goes back to work. He wonders if he talks wife into sex, would that be considered having sex at work. He ponders other large questions while the the neighbor manages to run three mowers at the same time. He tells wife that it's been nice and sunny for two days, so they better get ready for the May snowstorm the following day.


Fictional Mover: Where do you want the bed?

Husband: upstairs.

Mover: Do you want the fridge up there too?

Husband: This is a pretty weird house, but I'd prefer it in the kitchen.



Husband: Wouldn't it be easier to take the old one out first?

Mover: What old one?

Husband: The old fridge.

Mover: We weren't told anything about that. You should really clean that thing - you don't want the neighbors seeing it this way.



Mover: Ok, we need a wider doorway for the new fridge.

Husband: Oh.

Dad: Nah, they just have to move it in sideways. GUYS - just move it that way. The magnets come off the front- take the little fridge magnets off and you'll get it through. Turn it this way. No, it won't work. Nah, it won't get through. You should move it back and try it again. Nah, it won't work.

Mover1 to Mover2: Turn it a little. That's it, we're good.

Dad: See, I told you so. Sometimes I have good ideas.

Husband: stunned silence.

Mover: [seething] Do youse need anything else? Here are some parts of the door that fell off.

Wife: No thanks, I just have to clean the old fridge you guys put on the curb. I don't want the neighbors to see it like this.

Hours and Hours but You Can't Find Out Which

We went out yesterday, which is usually the start of a good/bad story.
We tried to be prepared.. it was a Sunday, so our destination had different hours. We took to the web to find out what those hours were. This was definitely a mistake. I almost miss phone books.

The first place had a link for hours and told me all about their Christmas and other holiday hours.  So at that point, we know when we couldn't go, but not when we could. We eventually found the hours by going to a different site.

I'll tell you something the professionals won't: depression is 75% brain chemistry and 25% trying to find stuff on the web or type things on your phone. I am dismayed that people are moving to cell phones to browse, over laptops and desktops. With that in mind, you'd think the web pages for phones would take the hint and get better. As Ben Stern said, "I told you not to be stupid, you moron." An entire page in a font ants strain to read is not helpful.

The second place had hours and even shared them with customers. But mostly they had a BIG SALE.

The third place only took 47 minutes to release its secrets.

I'm a huge technology guy and if I can't find this stuff, what hope do my parents have? Perhaps I have it wrong and the sites are set up for The Great Unwashed, and anyone with more than a few brain cells can't figure out it. This may be giving myself too much credit.

So on a Sunday, 3 connected stores were open at 9, 10, and 11:00. While this crisis doesn't reach the level of nuclear winter, the coordination and planning behind it is fun; like the class of ADHD students writing down the date of the next test. Look - a FENCE!


We took The Parents. You have not lived until you've seen Mom and Mrs lefty spend ten minutes going over the vagaries and precise details of work gloves. I didn't want to be unreasonable by demanding they return to the planet, as I'm only really horrible online. Of course I was thrilled because they had tool chests in blue. It takes all kinds.

When I told Mrs lefty to speed it up a bit (please), she said she was doing her best. Doing her best? How? Doing her best to discuss gloves, chatting about relatives, stopping to look in a window, more Glove Talk, more windows to check out. I'd hate to see her not doing her best.

Then there's Cigarette PTSD.
If you know a smoker, you'll understand. They're always the last out of the car because they're getting their cigarette ready. They're terrified they'll never have another cigarette. Logically, this is plain stupid, as they just got done paying $27.89 a pack for tobacco with urea and huge banners that say SMOKING WILL KILL YOU.

Once they're out of the car, they're the last in the store or destination because they have to smoke the little things. And if there's a walk involved, they can smoke another one, delaying the entire busload of cancer patients another ten minutes.

I was at a mall with Mrs lefty and her sister. As we were leaving and approached within 50 feet of the exit, they both had their ciggies ready. In fact, the PTSD was so bad, they only made it to the first set of automatic doors - both of them. By the second set (15' away), they were already enjoying burning plants with toxic additives and putting the nicotine goodness from it into their lungs.

If you watch police shows, you'll notice they arrest the perp for shooting 47 people and raping kittens, and the only thing the bad guy will say is to beg for a last cigarette before they take him to jail.


Other scenes from a mall

When the ice cream guy hands you caramel ice cream and strawberry cheesecake ice cream, why do you have to taste them first to figure out which is which? When you tell him someone dropped an entire cone on your side of the counter, he asks small or large.

The frozen lemonade stand looked interesting. It would be more interesting if they had actual lemon-flavored lemonade, as pictured. This is what I call Unreasonable Expectations.

The place that has [James Earl Jones voice] THE MEAT, doesn't tell you THE MEAT doesn't extend to the outside of the bun. But hey - curly fries. There's apparently a bell by the door you're supposed to ring if you thought the food was delicious. If anyone ever rung it, it would develop a crack larger than the Liberty Bell.  I guess if you didn't think the food was delicious you'd need to signal your thoughts, perhaps with a long, pronounced fart.

Speaking of long, pronounced farts, have you seen that Payless Shoes is going out of business? Now's the time to hit the stores. That is, unless you're my size or like what I like, in which case there aren't any shoes. When I had determined there were no shoes for me in the entire SHOE store, I was tying my shoes and some lady asked, with great difficulty, if she could use the seat to tie her other person's shoe. Well, sure, but they'd have to wait for me (I'm funny that way). While waiting, the other person, probably on the autistic spectrum, let out a long, zippy kinda fart. I was waiting for the entire aisle to fall over, but everyone politely waited til we left the store, before doing verbal impersonations.


All in all, it was a great day to swear this is something you'll never do again, then forget and do it again.  At least we procured a tie with functional piano keys on it, so the day wasn't totally shot.

Taxation is Theft

Pigs Fly department:

A federal grand jury will hear evidence that 9/11 was a controlled demolition.

This is huge, whether you believe the assertion or not. Because of the JFK Effect, I'm somewhat skeptical of the outcome, but movement is great. 

Both buildings came down in what looked like controlled demolition. One of the major news network reporters stated that it looked like controlled demolition, once. And never again. Then there was the rather inconvenient fact of Building 7, barely damaged, coming down in its own footprint too.

I guess this is the necessary first step to legally drill holes in the official story of what happened on 9/11. If it was controlled demolition, there's the question of who pushed the button, then who ordered the button pushed. Regardless of the ruling, one of the people involved has a name that rhymes with Rick Haney.

• I know you're losing sleep, wondering what's going on with my work phone.... two weeks after issue, the phone works, but the work configuration is still foobed. At this rate, the phone will be properly configured the week after I retire.

Speaking of Ancient Astronaut Theorists, there is proof from a semi-reliable source (NASA) that UFOs popped by to check in when our space missions were going on. Would you classify a NASA astronaut a reliable witness?

Things heard on missions:

"We have a bogey at 10 o'clock."

"We still have the alien spacecraft under surveillance."

The second one was even more interesting because the feed was being monitored by ham radio enthusiasts (the frequency is known and wide open). At the end of the sentence, audio went dead, as the transmission went to the encrypted feed. As for video, there are anomalies on moon footage and all sorts of interruptions on the space shuttle feed, as Odd Stuff appeared.  ymmv

• A man entering Singapore was found to have a suspicious bulge in his pants, which turned out to be kittens.
• Sir, your penis is moving and swatting itself. 
• Expect this to be on Twitter before you get home.

Christian Mare, serving a 40 year sentence for child pornography, was beaten to death in prison. He obviously slipped in the shower and hit his head repeatedly on the plumbing until he died.

• Odds are your phone provider is selling your location data (at very least).

Dear lefty:

• Why is there never a parking spot near my house?
• Because you touch yourself.

Parents just don't understand
Some of us have had to introduce our parents to cell phones. While this is about as much fun as beating yourself to death with a spoon, someone has to do it, and you feel sorry for the poor guy at the phone store.

• No, Mom, text messaging doesn't require a 'Dear Son' or a 'Love, Mom.'
• Yes, hit the little phone picture to dial. Yes, you have to dial a one first, just like the phone on the wall. Yes, you can use it in the car. Yes, you can call long distance to Aunt Sadie in Florida for no extra cost. Yes. Yes. Still yes.
• You can even put your doctor appointments in the calendar. Yes, there's a calendar - push the little calendar picture.
• Just because you text or call does not mean I'm going to pick up the phone.

I give up... "Just hit that button and ask Siri or Cortana. No, you can't call me; I don't have a phone anymore."

The funny and evil part about this is that people having an iDevice works for me for once. "Sorry, I don't know how to do that stuff on an iDevice. Call one of your children who have one."

Maybe sic-ing them on the guy at the phone store isn't such a bad idea after all...

• the Additive Suicide Principle of cell phones states that if you put one phone on top of another, the top phone will go rocketing to the floor as soon as you stop looking at them.

My personal recommendation of concerts arrived today. Keep in mind that I only attend instrumental guitar and classic rock shows...

Kiss - if I want to see too much makeup, I'll turn on the tv

Mariah Carey - speaking of Golden Globes...

Billy Joel - half of a classic rock, but yuck.

Tyler Perry's Madea - huh? Like top 10 radio, it's not music.

Bluegrass - that's close to classic rock, right?

Hootie and the Blowfish - we've all been holding our breath for a reunion

Backtreet Boys - backdoor boys? Killer guitar instrumentals

Disney Junior Dance Party - future meltdowns of America

Buckethead: be fair - it's instrumental guitar (with a KFC bucket on his head)

Piff the Magic Dragon - because they'll get sued if they use "Puff"

Other stuff I learned from watching police shows: 

• Without exception, no one has their license or I.D. on them.
• It's ok to blame your grandmother for the joint if it's her car you're driving.
• When drunk, people always admit to having 2 drinks.
• You must use your turn signal for two full seconds before changing lanes. Or you'll be pulled over, and naturally, searched for drugs.

Dear lefty:

• Which men's designer jeans do I wear to the feminist supporter protest?
• How did you become such a snotty, virtue-signalling utter bastard?

More adware posing as games, TV, and remote control simulator apps in Google Play. Trend Micro spotted this, not Google.

More Evil Villain News: Microsoft was sued in Finland and ordered to pay a Finnish man 1,100 Finnish Herring (1548 Canadian Pucks) for pushing a Win10 update, without permission, which broke his pc. There is another suit pending.

• The aliens have their own Comedy Channel in the ships: our weather forecast.

The Key(board) to All Phone Grief

I tend to get aggravated when I use my phone. What pisses me off isn't necessarily what pisses you off. Stuff like bad cells, dropped calls, dropped phones, and dropping phones in the toilet are points of contention, but not mine. The single largest point of annoyance with my phone is input. The keyboard. It drives me mad. No matter how hard I try, how careful I am, how quickly or slowly I type, it never comes out right. I wind up screaming at the phone, calling it things I usually reserve for spouses and family members. After about a day of this, you don't want to see an allegedly grown man cry. It's pitiful, like my attempts at being polite in social situations.

I've tried manual typing, using one or both hands, different keyboards, changing key size, asking the dog to type, and the swipey keyboards. I get the same result regardless, just like my pitiful pleas for sex. I'll grant that my brain wiring is a touch off (no, really?), rendering me a dyslexic typist, but I can tell when I've typed something backwards (unless the A.D.D. is active, in which case I only read some of the first sent of a paragraph). The only thing I haven't tried, besides asking my wife to type for me, is voice input. I know if I tried talking to the phone (as opposed to yelling at it), I'd probably develop a case of dyslexic speech. ALthough it's almost impossible to speel words incorrectly when saying them, I'd find a way. Plus you remember my warnings about speech input - Google and the others keep every word you say, 'to improve service.'

The method that works best, best being relative, is swipey. One advantage is that they learn from you over time, making typing faster and easier. Except mine. My keyboard has some sort of learning disorder, where it allows me to make the same mistakes over and over again, like my life. There are certain words it refused to spell, mainly my saltier vocabulary. I have to type them one letter at a time, then tell the little bastard to remember the word. It's a good thing the blog software has a spell checker, or this blog would be even more horrid. If it had a grammar checker, it would have died years ago, like dehumidifiers in PA.

Dear lefty.....

Controlled Losing

There's something ugly in the air.  Let's start with the weather: it sucks.  We're deep into fall/winter (fall actually having been outlawed by the state of PA), which means it's cloudy and cold.  In the summer, it's cloudy and hot.  It's always humid, but I digress (usually).

Today I'd like to talk about boundaries, consequences and mental health.

Whenever you are in any relationship, including friends, you need boundaries.  One puts up boundaries so as not to get walked upon.  It's not always easy or intuitive; sometimes you need to learn the hard way.  In my family, we practically insist upon learning the hard way.  Again and again.

Consider a boundary like a see-through wall, which you erect to keep yourself safe.  One example would be telling your drug-addicted cousin that he can come over, but not do drugs in your home.  You can't control the drug use but you can control who you let in your house and what goes on inside.  After you put up the boundaries, you may be called upon to defend them.

This is actually a very basic, accepted principle of psychology, which I insisted upon learning the hard way when I met my wife.  Being the observant type, I noticed that boundaries, although healthy, come with their own downside.  I refer to this as Controlled Losing.  This is where our actual tale begins (continues?).

======================

My parents move a lot.  Some older folks take up hobbies like knitting, stamp collecting or doting over their grandkids (or grandpets); my parents move.  We don't have the time or willingness to diagnose this, although we certainly have our suspicions.

At first it was enough to lift an eyebrow.  Then we started noticing patterns.  Now we watch in horror, as they seem to fall into semi-yearly cycles.  I jokingly suggested they affix wheels to all of their furniture and invest in their own warehouse full of boxes and packing material to save costs.  Ok, half jokingly.

Here's where the boundaries thing kicks in....  

I'm a middle-aged guy with a back that gives me grief.  One brother lives on the other side of the country and another is local.  We don't have a lot of difference in age.  So this moving thing gets not only tiresome, it flipping hurts.  Every child helps their parents move, right?

Well, unless they get a moving company.  

We're not entirely sure why they don't get a moving company.  We're only talking small apartment here.  I suspect Mom thinks Dad is a moving department.  Judging by his newly-acquired limp (from bad knees), Dad is no longer the moving department Mom thinks he is.

So the last time we helped them move, as I was walking out the door, I set a boundary.

Mom, I hope you like this place, because it will be the last one.  I can't do this anymore.

My wife backed me one-hundred percent.

Fast forward a year or two, when the wife walks in with that look.  Guess what your parents are doing.....

Then, I enforced my boundary.

No.  I am not doing it.

Doctors, therapists and fellow inmates assure me this is a very healthy move on my part.

As if on cue, the wife says she has to help them.

I tried the Boundary Talk with her.

We already told them NO.  We have to enforce that.

If you're married, you will understand that I was overruled.
But I then had to defend my boundaries with the wife and the parents.

Fine but I'm still not doing it.  And you're going to hurt yourself trying. 

Now here we are at Moving Week.  My boundaries are holding strong.  I'm doing the right thing.
The only problem is that the right thing is coming back to bite me in the nether regions.  Let's tally the score, shall we?

• I told my parents I would not help them move after the last time.  Now they're upset and they're not getting a lot of help, so it's slow going and physically painful.
• I told my wife to defend her boundaries.  She hasn't.  Now the lady who needs a cane sometimes is helping her in-laws move.  She is bent over in agony now.  She is also quite crabby as a result.

If I had not defended my boundaries, I would be bent over in agony.  Since I allegedly did the healthy thing, there are a bunch of crippled, angry people, slowly moving an apartment.  And I'm lucky to still be married.

This is why I call this exercise Controlled Losing.


P.S.  Happy birthday to our spiritual leader, Jimi Hendrix!