Walmart Ate My Coronavirus

Not everything must be complex and involve computers and hacking.
A teen walked into a Walmart in Joliet, IL, wearing a mask and a sign that said I have the coronavirus." He sprayed Lysol on produce, clothing, and other products. He and his buddy were arrested for disorderly conduct, retail theft, and criminal tresspass.

This is the kind of independent thinking we need in our youth today. Anybody can phone in a bomb threat - this took preparation and setup. I think we should start a fund for his defense.

• My friend's boss gave him a new term: maintenance window.
• I think he jumped out.

Tom Steyer, Dem hopeful, is calling for a $22 minimum wage.
It's great to see such naked pandering so early.

• We finally figured out how mosquitos sense our warmth. Part of it is exhaling carbon dioxide when we breathe. If we don't want our blood sucked, the only reasonable solution is to stop breathing.

Curious about the US budget?
Check out Science magazine.
They identify it as Trump's Budget, then mention it drowns science agencies in red ink. I'm sure there's implicit bias, coming from Science magazine.
What's very interesting is not the budget cuts, but the Budget.
It is incredibly difficult to elicit my sympathy for a 6% cut to the National Science Foundation, when the final number is $6.328 billion. If you read it this way, it might be considerably more interesting. The numbers are for the research component, so the figures may not be the entire budget for the unit.
That said, the remaining budget for these research areas is 59.951 billion.
Add many other departments, plus the Black Budget, and you begin to understand why your taxes are so ridiculously high. Imagine if you were 'allowed' to keep most of your own money.


Taking a momentary break from defending the planet, or whatever it is they do, Space Force is desperately searching for a short name to call themselves, like the short names the other branches of the military have. Therefore, they're crowdsourcing it. Back on the Old Days<tm>, we just Asked People. Now we crowdsource. Speaking to the internet is probably not the smartest idea....  none of the pre-existing suggestions are any good (Guardian, vanguard, sentinel). Therefore it is incumbent upon us to help out...

• UFO Fighters
• Spaceheads
• Tax Increasers
• Zero Gravity Jockeys
• Rocket Humpers
• Satellite Farmers
• Space d00ds
• Paratrumpers

Humor me for a minute.... 

The navy has ships.

The air force has planes.

The army has tanks.

The marines have scuba guys who do Bad Stuff for the CIA.

What does Space Force have?

If I understand correctly, the newest tech we've seen, aside from the secretive triangular thing that just got tested, is still the Saturn V (40s technology from former nazi, Werner von Braun) and the Space Shuttle. Any follower of history or even casual observer, knows there's something else we aren't privy to. How does Space Force get to Space? Do they cruise the moon to pick up Space Chicks? Do they run around in the Aurora, a triangular craft? Is there something newer, something triangular, that might be able to hover in-place and sometimes gets mistaken for a UFO (that doesn't exist)? Maybe they just do weird stuff to other countries' satellites.

While we're on the topic, Popular Mechanics ran a story on the government's UFO program. It's interesting. It gives a view into secret government programs too. Worth a read, keeping in mind that this is the public level; the one you're allowed to see. UFO research has been going on forever, but this particular 'disclosure' is somehow being allowed to go public. If you think UFO research started a number of years ago, with a $22 million program, I have some nuclear cold fission patents to sell you.

• Weird, unseen auto industry inventions.

Today's Special List of concerts the promoter knows I want to see, starts out with Janet Jackson and Backstreet Boys. Ummmm... guys - it's time to fire your algorithm. Yeah, Frankie Valli too: we don't really have 4 seasons here. On a positive note, the Black Crowes are touring, as is John Fogerty.

Dear lefty:

• What do I do with my erection?
• Just keep it away from women - we don't need you reproducing.

VITAMIN D ALERT

This is a warning to avoid vitamin D: it is very troublesome.
It comes in tiny little football-shaped capsules, and without fail, it will roll off any surface it's on. I spend 10 minutes every morning, trying to locate the little bastard on the carpet. It blends in.

• Stop what you're doing and watch this. Joe Bonamassa and Eric Gales jamming. It will tear your head off. I'm still looking for mine.

Today I identify as   a plaid suit



I am pleasantly surprised to read that Trump just signed an order to test the US infrastructure's vulnerability to GPS outage. I guess he's secretly reading this blog. For my next trick, I suggest that we figure out what happens to planes and other things if GPS goes down. We also need to secure our insecure infrastructure, like power generation.

• Today's best line: You just cannot kill everybody who doesn't agree with you.
• Uh-oh

Bloomberg considers Hillary as running mate.
Sound the air raid sirens! Barge the bilge! Muck up the mizzenmunch! Stock up on babies to snack on -- Satan's personal representative is back! But wait a minute... wasn't the Chosen One supposed to be president? Bloomberg is sexist!

• Sex robots may cause psychological damage. 
• Paid for by the League of Frightened Women  

Heroes of the Stupid

Pets in China are being forced to wear bizarre face masks because their crazy owners are terrified they may catch coronavirus.



Heroes

There's no question about it - social media is toxic. It's best to take a break to get back in the real world for a bit. Somewhat less toxic are the email groups, for special interests. There's a (police/fire) scanner group, with all the technical people and knowledge you can ask for. Most recently, there were a ton of messages to and from "Robert." The last one had Robert thanking everybody for not making fun of him; he's autistic and takes a little longer to understand things, but really likes his scanner. Looking back over the previous messages, one could see many in the group helping Robert, step by step if necessary, to get set up.

There are many stories like this. They just get swallowed up by the words of assholes.




SJW Slop



Transgender ideology can take on a comical character, as in a recent American Civil Liberties Union commentary objecting to sales tax on tampons and similar products while pondering: “How can we recognize that barriers to menstrual access are a form of sex discrimination without erasing the lived experiences of trans men and non-binary people who menstruate, as well as women who don’t?”

Somebody Call the SPCA

In the most recent weather horror, people were leaving their pets home while they escaped, in North Carolina. Why is this ok?  Leave the kids tethered in the back yard and take the pets. It will certainly be a more pleasant experience.



Browser Settings
if you don't use a browser, please ignore this.

Reminder to spend a few moments configuring any browser you install on your computer, tablet, or phone. I keep several browsers installed for different purposes: one locked down, one wide open, one encrypted, and the one everybody has but doesn't admit it (for the thing that everyone does but doesn't admit it).

The default browser settings are an absolute nightmare. I know, I know.. you have nothing to hide and you don't care. I do.  Yesterday I installed Opera. I'm a bit leery about this, as it's owned by a Chinese company, so it's probably going to be uninstalled. Every other setting needed to be changed. It's the worst I've seen yet. 

Stop the saving passwords first. This means anybody who is using your phone or computer or tablet has your permission to log into anything you do. Also stop offering to save logins or actually saving logins. This is about security. 

Don't use a prediction service: this is the same as going to Google or somewhere else. Don't use Do Not Track: nobody honors it and it allows sites to know you exist for tracking. Protect from malicious sites also goes out and gets a list. I'd also uncheck anything about sending data to the browser's company. 

Other protection - Extensions: help yourself out a lot by installing some extensions. Start with an ad blocker. I like uBlock Origin. Opera has a native ad blocker I'm checking out. History Eraser gets rid of everything when you close the browser. HTTPS Everywhere makes every place you visit secure, if possible. Do not accept Google as your default search engine: use Duckduckgo or something else of your choosing. Google needs no additional information of yours. Install a VPN if you like. This makes it insanely difficult to track your location (but still allows fingerprinting of your browser). Kill any personal news or recommendations on your home page: more profiling. Put your own bookmarks there if you want. 

NoScript is my favorite extension. It turns off javascript. This might break websites, but I only let javascript run where I'm sure it won't try to damage my browser. It saves the settings on a per-site basis. Another favorite is Cookie Monster, or similar, which does the same thing for cookies. It's a sport and privacy matter with me.. your mileage may vary.

Save yourself some space and allow searches in the URL spot. This gets rid of the separate search blob. A great time and effort saver is mouse gestures and rocker gestures (having nothing to do with your choice in music). It's very handy to have a shortcut to go back or forward a page with just your mouse. You don't need to set up users/profiles unless someone else uses the browser and wants it set up differently. 

• there is a new UK movement called Go Sober for October. It took an entire week to film the commercial because the actors kept breaking out in laughter.

I am so tired of the endless calls for diversity in the tech industry.
What we need is diversity of thought, not of gender. It's not the industry's job to 'teach' society anything. It's their job to get the best and brightest, regardless of anything but ability. If employees are chosen on the basis of race, gender, or size of their nostrils, it is sexism, racism, and nostrilism. Hire for brains, not breasts. Or other stupid slogans.

• A security professional noticed an access point on the corporate network that didn't belong there. She tracked it down to a water heater that had a wireless access point on it. Because water heaters need wireless access points in order to heat water. Smart = Stupid. Stupid = Smart.

"People are almost universally recognised as being the weak link in the cyber defence" 

You're kidding me!
Companies who care about security spend a lot of time and money securing and monitoring their systems. It only takes one well-educated employee to click on a phishing link and POW, the network is infected.

• The US Government Payment Service just exposed 14 million records. This is the government: the people who are going to keep us 'safe' and issue standards for cybersecurity. Eat your own dog food, boys.

ThermionicEmissions Detective Agency
Help solve this Important Security Matter...
I will provide the facts and you make a deduction.

There was a security analysis of cyber-attacks against universities and colleges in the UK

• attacks increased from 8 or 9am and then tailed off in the early afternoon
• There was a very sharp decline in attacks in the Christmas, Easter and summer breaks and during half-terms - with attacks rising again sharply when terms resumed.

Take a guess.....

• Have you ever had this happen to you?  You're minding your own business, walking into the bathroom, when you trip over the hedge clipper?

My parents have adjusted to cell phones better than I thought. Dad even manages to text. Mom manages to text, but she doesn't understand there's a limit on characters. She fires up SiriGoogleFrank and dictates texts, so they total about three or four on average. Their limits on text knowledge showed today, when Wife replied to a group text. She immediately got a call from Dad, who didn't understand what she said. She explained group texts but he wouldn't understand. He said she had to come over This Instant to explain it... Mom's all upset.

My parents really need a hobby. One that isn't us.

• Here's a bit of self-knowledge I recently discovered: after being exposed to people, I need a few weeks to recharge before I see people again.
• Whether this is a consequence of voluntary agoraphobia or the cause of it, I don't care.

In case you were considering it, you are not allowed to bribe your spouse's doctor to tell them that frequent sex will make them feel better. This is because of some nonsense called professional ethics. Or so I hear...

I just got this app for my phone where you put in your zip code and it lists items for sale in a radius around you. I don't get excited about new apps unless it's revolutionary or sends supermodels to my house, and that has never come along. This one, however, was interesting.. I searched for 'left handed' (strange, I know). What I got was pages of left handed golf clubs, a left handed bow (there's a left handed bow?), two left handed baseball gloves (one of which was right handed), a bunch of left handed guitars (one of which was right handed), and the piece duh resistance... it's almost like the app was written just for me... a breast pump.

I'm not going to tell Wife about this... no, not because of the breast pump; because of the Shoe category. In Electronics, I located a hair dryer, all sorts of things with apples on them, a black and red and black metal tool, a black and red digital device, air hoses, a computer set, and a Toshiba 4gig screen (laptop). Any ancient dusty speakers in your basement are 'vintage'.

The pictures were all taken by the same drunk child. Some people were far away, most were in the dark, one lady was selling rings who had HUGE hands, so the rings were dwarfed, only the backs of phones, and a flat screen tv side shot.

Ghost-Busting Quantum Pets

Today in pet news:  Hamas arrests dolphin accused of being an Israeli spy. I sure hope they don't behead him.

To continue the theme, Parrot detained by Indian police after 'hurling obscenities' at 85-year-old woman. What's next? Walrus arrested by US on hacking charges?  Ant farm accused of communism? Hippos wanted for surfing in Humans Only section of the beach?

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

A while back I noticed that the dog does not eat his food when we're not home, leading me to wonder, in quantum terms, if the pets cease to exist when we no longer see them.

As you would expect, I'm working on a few other theories...

One thing I've noticed over all of my Pet Interactions is that they're smarter than we are. It's tough to admit but I have to go with the truth. Plus, like prison inmates, they have all day to focus upon the things we give mere minutes.... they're bound to come up with innovative solutions as to how to get at the cat food and which furniture to claw when training Mommy to let him out.

Let's say everyone is fed and the humans have gone for the morning. I kinda imagine that Warner Brothers cartoon with the sheepdog and coyote(?) checking into work at the timeclock in the morning, completely friendly. As soon as they punch in, they're adversaries. In reverse, my pets barely maintain interest or peace when we're home but things may change when we're gone....

BANG, the door closes and we're gone. The pets (cat and dog) look at each other and punch their time clock,  conveniently located in the sink; a place the humans never go. The rest of this is pure speculation... The first order of business is to leave each others' food alone - that's for later. Instead the cat opens the refrigerator door and both grab whatever smells good. This explains a lot about where food goes when we swore it was there last night.

Here's the controversial part: after breakfast, it's TV Time!  We discovered this when one day we came home to find The Game Show Network on the tv.  My wife leaves the tv on, the theory being that it keeps the pets comfortable. My wife does a lot of stuff for seemingly random reasons. I gave up questioning these years ago, for the sake of my own well-being. She usually watches the local Fox affiliate, featuring a miniscule amount of news, between the latest antics of the Kardashians and talking about social media and the comments of the Great Unwashed. As it turns out, the SPCA defines this as pet abuse.

Will the last one watching broadcast tv please turn off the lights when you're done?

I can't claim to understand this but the swill that passes for network television is, well.... swill. True bottom of the barrel. Did you know there's a network devoted to ancient 70's shows? You can watch Emergency! every day, followed by The Rifleman and Adam 12,which is on right before Dragnet (just the fax, Ma'am). My wife is the only one who would ever watch this Pageant of the Dead: the cat lets himself outside and the dog goes upstairs to sleep on my pillow (or me, if I'm home).

Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, there's the Game Show Network. Since the pets turned it on the other day, I thought it might be interesting.  As it turns out, the pets and I have differents ideas of what is interesting.  Ladies and gentlemen, these game shows are FORTY YEARS OLD.  Yes, the entire purpose of the network is to air game shows from the period right after networks started broadcasting in color.  You can see Gene Rayburn, Bert Convy and several other people who just plain faded into obscurity (or just plain expired). If you see an attractive woman (with very peculiar 70's hair), remember that she's retired now, most of the way on the path to The End. Or dead, assuming some tragic accident, possibly involving a leaf blower.  The hosts died right after the show did, some not bothering to wait.  WHY do the pets find it necessary to view this Televisional Farce? Why does anybody view this Televisional Farce?

My immediate hypothesis is that being a pet in our house takes up so much energy that they need to have their brains bashed into oblivion during the day so they're ready for us at night. The dog probably still gets excited, watching forty year old cat food commercials. This hypothesis is subject to change, much like Hillary's answers to any given question. Or unlike Trump's fancy hairstyle (which he insists on being called Ralph). The reason for the hypothesis is that my wife says the same thing. I dare not take off work, lest I have an entire home full of beings with Bashed Brains. I get enough of that at work.

Things change rapidly when the little monsters hear me coming up the steps after work.  The dog leaps off the couch, dropping his copy of the Wall Street Journal, and lays by the door as if he's been napping all day. The cat leaps off the chair, knocking down his glass of Chateau deChassily, and sits in the middle of the room, as if he doesn't care. When I open the door, the dog forces me to push him with the door. The cat looks up expectantly because, as everyone knows, people are merely Cat Food Dispensers. Then the dog remembers he's supposed to look excited to see me, as the cat 'herds' me into the kitchen to feed him. After all, as everyone knows, people are merely Cat Food Dispensers. The dog sits there and thinks of ways to get the cat food. The cat opens the door, the dog runs in, then the cat claws a piece of furniture, waiting for the wife to let him out. And all is Normal<tm>.

And it turns out that the pets have been watching rock concerts all day. The wife is the one watching the Game Show Network. And I have to go - the SPCA is at the door.

Happy Friggin' Whatever

Well, folks.... it's been a long year; perhaps fifteen months' worth. We went through all sorts of bizarre excremental stuff here and shared it with you. The good stuff stayed home, sorry. We learned about health insurance, observed the Unemployment Follies, watched the car suffer potholes, Philly drivers, people who stop short, and discovered that each accident requires a five hundred dollar deductible. We also found out that there is a yearly limit on rental car days. Neighbors inquired about the house going on sheriff's sale and reported us to the township because of standing water (which turned out to be the dog's pool).

We were told tales of line-dancing Jews, I Heart Boobies bracelets, the woman who beat her mother with a vibrator, recording a song parody in the living room for Billy Joel, dusty Hawaiian shirts, Carlos Santana's questionable musical choices, Security Plus certification and Waffle House - average food...quickly. We even discovered how difficult it is to put stuff into bags.

There has been much head-exploding. In the world of pets, there has been serious attachment due to unemployment, a spooning spaniel, a dog and cat who taught the neighbor to feed them on command and a cocker who does his own recycling.

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

And for my last shot of 2014, I give you Internet Acronyms.

SOMFAL - sitting on my fat ass laughing
HYBIBRB - hold your breath, I'll be right back
WPFOMA - when pigs fly out my ass
SWWK - strangling wife with keyboard
IGTRTTIAKY - I'm going to reach through the internet and kill you
WTFAYW - what the f- are you wearing?
OMGYFTAI - Oh my God, you fit that all inside?
MBFFIAT - my best friend forever is a transexual
ITDHTCA - is the dog humping the cat again?
AFKBA - away from keyboard, bleeding again
TKALUITB - the kids are locked up in the basement
ICTWYMF - I can't talk with your mouth full.

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

Thank you all for showing up, reading and commenting. I'd like to take this opportunity to wish you Happy Whatever. Stay healthy. Get a job or a better job. Peace. Take care of your pets. By default, 2015 is going to shine.

Good Riddance, I Say

It's still 2012 and we're all still alive.  There was no apocalypse and my crew somehow managed to survive.  It wasn't easy.

I have been struggling with a way to describe this past year.  The title of this post will serve for now.  We have been struggling in general.  This has not been a happy holiday season.

It would seem that there are but a few groups who aren't struggling now.  One of them is Congress; currently busy not struggling with a way to save us money and benefit its constituents.  Instead, the traitorous bastards struggle with ways to get us to pay for their misdeeds and usurp the Bill of Rights.

Another group not struggling is rental car centers, or at very least, the one near us.  We're on week two of our rental, with nary a word on the body work of our car after the deer committed suicide with it.

Deer are another topic entirely.  My friend, the deer hunter, told me he had a clear shot at a deer a few weeks back.  He shifted, the deer heard it and ran.  If their hearing is that good, how does a deer miss a loud 35mph Hyundai at night with lights?  I suspect it was suicidal after all.

Some tell me this is deer season and they're about.  They sure are - they're decorating hoods all over the place.  And trust me, you don't want that kind of hood ornament.  Last weekend we were near the scene of our accident and came upon someone else's fresh accident.

Do we need to aerially spray the neighborhood with Prozac for the deer?  Are they that depressed?  Others speculate that they're just horny.  I'm just horny too but I don't go leaping in front of moving vehicles (unless that vehicle is Eva Longoria).  Some organization or other is talking about deer contraceptives, which brings me to my next point... what in the world is the pope going to say about deer condoms?  He sure as hell doesn't like them for humans.  My only thought here is that since the pope doesn't believe animals have souls, perhaps it's all equal in the end.  Perhaps if we tell the pro-lifers that we're giving abortions to the deer, they'd guard the roadways.  This way we won't actually have to touch the deer and the deer won't be able to get to the roads to leap in front of random cars.  Everybody wins (if we assume the deer aren't depressed in the first place).

HOLIDAYS

Holiday time is supposed to be a happy time.  Supposed to.
It seems that happiness took a few days off during my recent break from work.  It had gotten so bad that I cancelled xmas entirely (for myself).  As for everybody else, depression crashed into bipolar disorder, which sideswiped dream therapy, causing horrible nightmares for children.  Neuroses played table tennis with grief.  Not to be outdone, multiplicity sulked behind the scenes and refused to effectively communicate.

That aside, everything else was fine.


SOMEONE ELSE'S MIRACLE

Bro and Sis-in-law's mom had to go to the hospital for tests.  She walked in, had tests and became half paralyzed.  Brain cancer.  Then full paralysis (I strongly suspect the hospital, not cancer).  Days later, with many diagnoses, she was alert, awake, and oriented.  A transfer to hospice that was a death sentence got commuted to extended care.  My wife (the nurse) proved to a doctor that he had no idea what he was talking about.

So my relatives are celebrating and my wife scored some dignity for a dying woman.


THE WIFE'S MIRACLE

I hate health insurance companies.  This is kind of like saying that we hate Hitler.
My wife has been on the same medication for chronic pain for three years.  Because the insurance company is invested in finding new and better ways not to pay for things, they introduced the review/precertification process.  Once a year, the prescribing physician has to jump through hoops to get the medicine recertified so the insurance will pay for it.  The last time was June.

So what happened when my wife went to pick up her December pain meds?  The insurer decided that one year between reviews was no good and decided on six months instead.  Yes, these thieving bastards required another review so my wife could receive the pain meds she's been on for three years. This was made all the more amusing by the fact that her doctor was on vacation for two weeks with no way to reach him and a full answering machine.

The pharmacist, bless him, sat on the phone for twenty minutes with the insurer and got an override for four days worth of medicine (with the full copay, of course).  We had the option of paying cash for the meds, at ten dollars per pill, which we could not do.

For anyone still following, the insurer decided it was perfectly ok to completely stop a patient's prescribed pain meds due to a precert that could not be reasonably performed in one day.  This would cause not only horrible pain, it would cause the patient to go into detox.  But it's ok - this is how the insurance lobbies got Congress to write insurance law.

My wife put on her asshole hat and called the insurance company.  They were quite sympathetic to her plight but checked all the way up the chain and couldn't do a thing for her.  Her only option was to pay cash for the meds, which they would reimburse after the fact, then tackle the doc when he returns and force him to make the paperwork right.

So we're out about two hundred for meds now.  Combined with weeks of car rental, our mortgage company hopefully has a forgiveness program.

Another slew of imaginary points to the wife for keeping herself out of detox.   Notice that I am not sending kudos for bettering herself - just for scraping to get the bare minimum.   Life should not be about scraping for bare minimum.


MY MIRACLE

A few days ago I ventured across the building in search of Coca Cola.  There, in the machine, shining out like brown gold, was an actual row of Coke.  In the Coke machine, which is usually filled with Pepsi.  An xmas miracle!

But luck refused to abandon me this week.  The next day, there were two rows of Coke in the Coke machine.  And as if that weren't enough, there was silverware in the silverware drawer.  I was on a roll.  If I played numbers, this was the week to play them.

Finding soda made me feel almost invincible.


AND IN THE END

The kids were upset.  The pets were clingy.  Gifts sat unopened.  No one was happy.

We decided to hold our own xmas, the night after the other one, perhaps sending out our own metaphorical finger to the universe.

The kids got excited.  The pets got in the way.  The Hess chopper was the star of the evening.
I participated, in spite of cancelling xmas, by giving.

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

We wish you a very Happy Whatever, dear reader(s).  Strength to those who need it.  Good health for all.  Keep the deer away from us.  Have a safe and happy new year and may 2013 be much less apocalyptic and much more enriching.

The Great Storm of 2012

I heard noise coming from down the street.  It wasn't enough to really disturb me but it was sufficient to probably piss off a neighbor or two.   My wife informed me that it was the new guy, redoing his entire house.  Of course, she's the expert.  I don't know exactly how she knows this stuff but she does.  It's almost like the Python sketch with the two old ladies who had the whole neighborhood under surveillance with videotape and multiple monitors.

Having been brought up to date on the Neighborhood Situation, I only hoped that the new guy would generate enough noise to sufficiently piss off the Louds.  I have written a few times about the Loud Family.  There are two very loud parents, five or seven loud children (each with their own loud cars), at least two loud pets and a loud house.  Furthermore there is a loud basketball court somewhere out of site, as well as twenty or thirty really loud friends.

The loud children lob F-bombs at their parents.  The loud cars are the 2000 reproductions of 1970's muscle cars so they're very loud.  They just got a loud lawn tractor, much to my dismay.

So I hoped the new guy could make enough noise to get on the nerves of the Louds.  But it was not to be.  Later the next day, the noise was getting so bad I had to consult my wife.  I said that the guy had a right to redo his house but this was getting out of hand - especially when it woke me up at nine in the morning.  Mrs lefty informed me that eight is ok to start in our little township.

I should have known, of course.  No normal human being can keep up that amount of noise for that protracted a period of time without physical or emotional harm.  It wasn't New Guy, it was the Louds.  They somehow managed to procure a smaller (but LOUDER) piece of yard equipment and were taking turns with it all weekend long.

We have only one working theory for the Louds: poor Mr. Loud is in such a horrible marriage that he would rather spend all of his time outside, working on the yard and house, than inside, with Mrs. Loud (whose other car is, in fact, a broom).

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Meanwhile, news of the impending storm raced through work Friday.  They were working themselves up into a pretty spectacular PANIC, which is par for the course.  Meetings were called, Continuity of Government operations were put into place, disaster recovery was brought up (and laughted at hysterically) and multi-unit conference calls were had by all necessary emergency personnel.

I had bacon pizza.  If you have never tried bacon pizza, I cannot recommend it strongly enough.  Even if it sounds a bit weird, give it a try; you'll thank me.  I brought a few slices home for the wife to try, setting them carefully on the table, out of the range of leaping cockers.

Since Saturday was supposed to be nice, we went out for a bit.  As one would expect, the weather was dreary and every major road was either closed for no particular reason or so jammed up, it took forever to get to your destination.  I maintain that the best thing that could happen to Philly is a fire.  They they could rebuild roads to a reasonable capacity for now and for the future.

When we returned, I went to heat up the bacon pizza for my wife.  No dice, lefty.

Why?  Because I found the pizza box on the floor, next to the table.  Need I mention that it was totally empty?  Occam's Razor (the easiest answer is usually the correct answer) dictated that the cat jumped up and sent the pizza box flying, at which point the dog probably ate it.  Or they ate it in tandem - they work well together when no one is looking.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Meanwhile, PANIC ensues.  Philadelphia announces it is closing Monday.  Public transportation is closing Sunday night.  My workplace, the Twilight Zone<tm>, is also closing.  This of course requires a twenty-person conference call.

We went to visit friends for dinner and stopped at the market for a pie.  The wife informed me that the place was a madhouse, with people whizzing all over the place, as if there was going to be no food for them to purchase.  Wawa was out of bread and milk also.

When we returned, we were treated to the sight of a huge stain on the carpet.  Somebody (smart money is on the dog) overturned a cardboard drink caddy with two or three half-finished cups of coffee in them.  We should invest in carpet cleaner stock.

What's even more frustrating is that we have no one to blame but ourselves.  And our smart ($*#ing pets.

Speaking of smart pets, the cat has been attached to me and licking my arm.  No one knows why.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

UPDATE: Hopefully final.

Philthydelphia and work shut down for a second day.  Then we lost power at home.  Totally.  But simply losing power was not sufficient for modern infrastructure, no sir.  My cell phone service went out too (thank you once again T-Mobile).  You have to admit that it was a stunning coincidence; the electricity and the cell phone service going out at once.

Fortunately our power got reconnected, only twenty five hours later.  We seem to live in something of a power black hole.  Last time was similar.  The block next door had power but we did not.  We have no idea why.  Apparently the entire block is looking into generators or somehow getting put onto a less black holey power feed.  Have I mentioned we have a guy who works for the local electric concern on the block?

Too add insult to injury, the Louds had procured a generator for just such emergencies.  Need I mention that it was a sufficiently loud generator?  It sounded like a truck idling outside my door for twenty five hours.  I am somewhat surprised that it didn't kill the entire neighborhood via carbon monoxide but I'll take my luck where I can get it.

Cell phone service is another matter entirely.  The only reason it reappeared is that I ran it through my wireless system.  Up for work Wednesday morning, I still had no signal.  In fact, I had no signal until I got to work, where it seemed to fluctuate wildly.   Even when I went wireless, it still failed.  Having trouble texting, which is the easiest thing to get through.  Sigh.... maybe one day I'll take the test to become a radio amateur; at least that never goes down.

According to the largely useless FCC, approximately twenty-five percent of cell towers were damaged by the storm.  I suspect it to be only the T-Mobile towers (both of them) but time will tell. 

The ride into work took twice as long as normal, largely due to trees that steadfastly refused to stay planted (and city workers that weren't working).  New slogan: Welcome to Philly- You can't get there from here!

Lessons learned: buy a super UPS for the computer, possibly a generator for the house.  Get real cell phone service.

RE-UPDATE:

Cell service is crappy all over.  Really crappy.  T-Mobile rep has been sending me updates, indicating they're making real progress.  None that I can actually see (work+home) but she's pretty honest.

NJ is a mess.  Moreso.  A good fried of the blog lives in that godforsaken mess and said it is not pretty. No electricity, almost no cell service, no internet, and a three hour line for gas.  Curfew and necessary traffic only.  We may have to dispatch the Libertarian Guard to rescue them.  We will look most resplendent in our official Hyundai.

At least we have our health?

The Wisdom of the Original Americans

Today, ThermionicEmissions is proud to bring you a special guest, Chief Running Water, of the Whaddadafuk tribe.

Good morning, Chief.

Good morning and may the Great White Spirit not do anything on your parade.  We hear you've been really busy lately.

Blessings upon your teepee, Chief.  These are indeed trying times.  I was wondering if you'd grace my readers with a bit of that old fashioned wisdom which you seem to possess in droves.

Fire your arrows when ready.

First of all, why do they call you Chief Running Water?

Damned if I know.  People are always going to the bathroom after I arrive.  It's a mystery to me.

I understand that there are many omens showing up that concern the Indians.

Absolutely.  Lady Gaga, reality tv, five-legged buffalo, porn stars voting republican and Dancin' with the Stars have all been foretold by the Great Spirit.  Interesting times lay ahead.  And you know the ancient Chinese curse, right?  "May you live in interesting times."

I think I may have it tattooed on my body here somewhere....  
What many people don't know is that you were kind enough to give my pets genuine Indian names.  Marshall the Cocker is "Smells Like Cat Food" and Ren the Cat is "Hair on Pants".  Could you favor us with a few more?

Yes.

Barack Obama?

Smells Like Bush.

Mitt Romney?

Chief with Many Squaw.

Mrs. leftystrat?

Large Internal Tribe.

Dick Cheney?

Flys into Buildings.

Roseanne Barr?

No.

Penn State University?

Hooked on Preschool.

Joe Paterno?

Pedobear.  (Yes, that's originally Indian)

Joan Rivers?

Melts Near Fire.

Kanye West?

Why?

Indeed.
Steve Jobs?

Rotten Apple.

Bill Gates?

Do No Right.

George Bush?

Hunts with Dull Spear.

Nancy Pelosi?

Frightens Small Animals.

Fred Willard?

Right Paw Sore.

Congress?

Candles Lit but No Bears in Cave.



I would like to thank Chief Running Water for spending a little time with us.   Until next, time, I am Writes with Wrong Hand.

The Ill Wind That Blows

I come to you today on a mission.  A matter of great import.  Something that is not regularly talked about in polite society, therefore is a staple of this blog.

Of course I'm talking about pet farts.

The problem, as I see it, is all about reaction.  Never mind the fact that we fart in the first place - it's just our reaction to it.  Men, probably from birth, are fascinated by farts, not to mention highly amused.  This leads them to pop right up and claim ownership, displaying some sort of perverse pride in the simple act of anal exhalation.

Women are not so proud.  Should some feminine puff manage to escape their dainty sphincters (of which there are over fifty in the human body), they will not so much leap up to assert that this was, in fact, theirs as attain a couple shades of red and apologize for the natural bodily function.

Natural as this is in humans, it is the same in pets.  As you might remember, I have Marshall the cocker and Ren (aka Satan), the nineteen pound tabby.  Both are rather prodigious in the amount (and quality) of gas production.  Any real man would show pride in discovering that their pets are flatulent.  Rather a chip off the old block, no?

Now here's the real issue: dogs and cats have no taboos (or at least any of which they've spoken).  They are neither proud nor embarrassed by their own methane production.  This makes it virutally impossible to figure out, in the words of Charlie Waffles [Two and a Half Men], Who Cut the Cheese?

It is medical fact that any diet change will produce changes in digestion.  Stated another way, if you change Fluffy's food, Fluffy may fart.  Or, in my house, where the dog is powerless over his addiction to cat food, Stereo Flatulence.

The trouble here is figuring out which little beastie made with the methane.  It is especially difficult when they are near each other, on the floor or on the couch.  Of course when they're both on the couch, the matter of which one produced the gas becomes secondary to potential asphyxiation.

The cat has been rather needy lately.  No one knows why.  Neither is content to let the other get any attention, producing yet more issues.  Ren just jumped onto the couch, sat on my mouse, then prodeeded to make himself comfortable on my hand, which was unfortunately attached to said mouse.  Just as he was attaining Kitty Nirvana, the smell became nauseating.

Oh great - we have to change the cat food again, this time due to Noxious Feline Flatulence<tm>.  And I thought he was simply being cute.  Obviously it's all part of his Master Plan to gas out the inhabitants of the house and attain world domination.

Of course I kid: this little bastard refuses to open his own food.  He insists on being served.  He loves his food but will not jump on the counter to eat it.  He will, however, jump on the counter to eat my food.  Mind you, Marshall has figured out how to hit the cat food can the right way so as to cause it to plummet to the floor so he can take it under the table and eat it.  He has quite a collection of empties there.  As best I understand, there is no twelve step program for cat food addiction.  And yes, it makes Marshall toot the old anal horn too.

It would all be much easier if at least one of them would toot his own horn after, well, tooting his own horn.  Can you teach an animal to be proud of his own farts?  There was a South Park episode where the denizens were fond of the smell of their own farts.  Perhaps we need to show it to the pets over and over.


Pets: be proud of your own noxious emissions.

The Pets Are Running the Asylum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this was Saturday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It could be worse: things could be sane.

Temporarily Released from the House...

My wife became bored with sitting about the house and wanted to go out somewhere. I can't imagine why - it's a perfectly nice house, with all our hobbies and the pets. Fearing a session of Retail Therapy, I figured I'd better go along to control the the Urge to Spend.

We wound up at one of those home stores like Linens N Things. I always wanted to go to that store, find a Helpful Associate, and ask to see their Things. This may be why they are going Chapter Eleven - I dunno.

So here we are at one of their competitors (who have managed to stay in business thus far) and even I'm a little excited to be out and about (they don't let me out much). I found all sorts of stuff there. And I remembered why I don't leave the house much. These stores use extreme psychological manipulation to sell you things.

My wife has this thing about organization. When I say this thing, I mean she is not organized. However, she believes that if she purchases a book on organization, she'll become organized. When that fails, she purchases another book. In fact, we have the most well-stocked book section on organization I have ever seen. Barnes and Noble is jealous. Unfortunately I can't find anyof them because there's no organization to where they're stowed.

I'll admit I used to fall for this trick. In fact, I still do to some extent; I'm just better at catching it before it gets to the front counter to be purchased. I have no hope whatsoever that I'll become organized. My particular delusion is that if I purchase shelves or shelving units, my areas will magically look less like the aftermath of a particularly large thermonuclear device. Or if I purchase power tools, I'll somehow be able to build things. After all, it looked so easy on tv... Have you ever seen a lefty use a circular saw? Suffice it to say that the debris comes out right in your mouth and you can't see the line you're cutting.

Since I'm aware of most of my weaknesses, I just satisfy myself to trail along behind my wife (and make fun of hers).

The first thing she was looking for was her favorite cleaner, Orange Clean. They had Orange Glow, Glow Clean, Orange Oxy, and twenty others, but no Orange Clean. I suggested we go to the front and try to find BILLY MAYS, the hyper-excited guy who does all the commercials for ONE OF A KIND PRODUCTS and CLEANERS THAT WILL CLEAN ANY KIND OF DIRT FROM ANY SURFACE. Why you can even GLUE YOUR CAR BACK TOGETHER AFTER AN ACCIDENT WITH NEW BONDO PUTTY - ONLY AVAILABLE RIGHT NOW. AND IF YOU ARE ONE OF THE FIRST FIVE HUNDRED CALLERS IN THE NEXT THIRTY-TWO SECONDS, WE'LL SEND YOU A FREE BABY. BUT WAIT, THAT'S NOT ALL.

Can you imagine that guy's home life?

HI, HONEY, I'M HOME.

HOW WAS YOUR DAY DEAR?

I HAD A GREAT DAY - NO, A STUPENDOUS DAY.

DID YOU MAKE A LOT OF SALES?

I SOLD ALL KINDS OF THINGS. AND GAVE AWAY FREE BABIES WITH EACH ORDER.

I'M TIRED. COULD YOU COOK DINNER TONIGHT?

I'M WAY AHEAD OF YOU, DEAR. I BROUGHT HOME SOME OF THE ADMIRAL'S FISH.

THAT WAS SO NICE OF YOU, BILLY.

BUT WAIT.... IF YOU EAT THE FISH, YOU GET THESE LOVELY HUSH PUPPIES!

OOH, I LOVE HUSH PUPPIES.

THAT'S NOT ALL. IF YOU EAT THEM IN THE NEXT FIFTEEN MINUTES, YOU GET THIS FREE COMBINATION BACK-SCRATCHER AND NOSE HAIR PULLER!

UMM... GEE, THAT'S NICE.

DADDY..DADDY..DADDY!!!!!!

HI, KIDS!

etc etc etc...

Not able to find Billy Mays, we labored on.

I immediately located the Espresso Storage Ottoman, which I explained to my wife that we could use for storing all of our espresso. She declined.

Like all good bargain hunters, she gravitated to the clearance table, where I observed the genuine KitchenAid Santuko knife, which would become invaluable should either of us decide to commit santuko.

We somehow managed to tear ourselves away from the hydrating therapy socks, although I'm not entirely sure how. Do they do the therapy or do they need therapy?

Right across the aisle I pointed out this year's model of the super soaker, which we've been searching for to help our cat with a little behavioral issue.

Of course there is no store in the known universe that would be caught dead without a huge supply of digital picture frames. I assume you can't put Polaroids in them. Then the iSound Spa, further proving you can sell anything if you put an `i' in front of it.

There was an entire section of bed skirts. I strongly objected; no bed of mine looks good in a skirt. It's an item like a valance, which is a word no straight male has ever heard until he gets married. POOF - all of the sudden he knows what a valance is and can be seen shopping for them with his wife (uh-oh).

Further on we saw an entire section of drawer dividers. These must be for the people who aren't getting their hydrating sock therapy and whose OCD is getting way out of control.

"What are you doing this weekend?"

I got these simply wonderful drawer dividers and I'm taking the month off to organize every drawer in my house. Apparently it's covered under Family Medical Leave.

Then there was the Fuzzy Duster Section. Not a lot of shoppers know that they're also french ticklers and cat toys. As it turns out, not a lot of shoppers want to know this important information. Or at very least, the lady I told was not interested. She looked more horrified than anything else. Bloody ignorant people.

I'm not sure what dryer balls are, but it sounds painful.

So that was our little outing. If you don't get out much and can't afford most of what you see because you just put seventy-five dollars in your gas tank just this week, you have to invent your own fun.

My next story on this topic will be Christmas Eve, when the wife and I grab some expensive coffee drinks and sit in the mall, watching all the frantic last minute shoppers attempt to purchase things. Now that's entertainment.