The March of the Magnetic Moles

Blue Cross and Blue Shield laid out $55M for a test of making cheap generic meds. This is a very interesting and clever concept. Assuming Big Pharma doesn't find a way to kill this, costs to cover meds will go down. Unless BC/BS chooses to pass the savings along to itself.....

“Perseverance is not a long race; it is many short races one after another.” Walter Elliott

The Harvey Weinstein trial continues, with some sort of Huge Process Debate over Rosie Perez appearing on the stand. Nobody will admit to calling Rosie to take the stand, but the judge has been called upon to adjudicate the matter. It has further been suggested that no one called Ms. Perez to appear; she just showed up because she likes judges and hasn't been in a hit movie for years.

The judge ruled that Rosie cannot participate in the trial because she may be involved in the penal phase: if Weinstein is convicted, he will be sentenced to 23 hours per day of Rosie talking at him in his cell.

I'm picking up law via tv...

• Everybody stands up, as some person in an evil looking black robe walks into the room. There is no applause or verbal utterance.
• Robe seems to be in charge, backed up by several severe-looking folks with weapons. Whenever someone misbehaves, these folks observe and make a determination as to whether it merits movement on their part.
• The room is divided down the middle, with the guilty party (the Accused) on the right and a lot of people in suits on the left (The Attackers). There's a large box on the right, with 12 Dudes sitting there.
• Robe asks someone from the audience to sit by him. Again, there is no applause. Seat looks up to Robe.
• Regardless of which side, Suits get up and ask Seat things, frequently nasty.
• The moment a Suit asks a question, the other side's Suits scream "OBJECTION," and Robe barks a 2 syllable word.
• New Seats are seated now and then, after which, Suits and Robe bicker.
• Dudes listen to everything Seats say, unless Robe says they are to ignore what Seat says. Somehow they're supposed to unhear what Seats say. This is a quantum leap in physics.
• When the arguing is done, Dudes go to hotels, where they get free food and hotel and they chat about what they heard. A few days later, one of the guys with the guns pops by and tells them they have to all agree on what they heard. Oh. So Dudes sit and chat, between swimming, sunbathing, and gambling. If they're clever, they can make this go on for weeks. 
• Eventually Dudes come to a consensus or they don't, whereupon they go back into the box, reluctantly, with bitchin' tans. They tell Robe if they agreed or couldn't agree.
• Robe says Accused goes to jail or home. If jail, Robe tells Accused to come back in a few weeks to learn how long he'll be in jail. Nobody knows why.  One time a Suit suggested Robe say how long Accused will stay in jail after Robe makes the decision. This particular Suit is still in jail.

The Oregon Supreme Court ok'd signature-gathering on a petition to limit self-checkout kiosks in stores.

There's so much going on here.....

As citizens, we don't like these things. They're a pain in the ass, frequently misbehave, and we feel bad for displaced staff. Or some of us do.

Another serious backer is the public-welfare-minded AFL-CIO.
This union, surprisingly enough, represents 300,000 workers and is worried about technology taking jobs. STOP LAUGHING. They claim the kiosks make customers feel socially isolated, particularly elderly people. I SAID STOP LAUGHING. The AFL-CIO employs a team of 1,427 lawyers and public relations people, who generate Ridiculous Shit<tm> like this. "Make sure to get the old people in there somewhere - people love old people."  They are only slightly concerned that the kiosks allow the store to use part time workers. I almost forgot: the kiosks make it easier for minors to buy alcohol and people to steal from stores. "Hey Bob - make sure to get something in there for the children. People love children."

I think we owe a debt of gratitude to the union representing the workers, for their thoughtless campaign for the rights and well-being of the public.

In totally unrelated news, Walmart bombed the state of Oregon.

• Best online for the month:  What did Kobe know about Hillary Clinton?

WTF is wrong with you people department

20 state Attorneys general are filing a suit challenging a federal regulation that could allow blueprints for making guns on 3D printers to be posted in the internet. Let's conveniently ignore the fact that the gov't has no business messing with the internet....

Proponents: we have a legal right
Attorneys general: but but but increase in gun violence, weapons in the hands of criminals, domestic abuse, dogs and cats living together.....

We don't give a care for rights - we want this stopped!
It's for the children.

Information wants to be free, as it should.
The 2nd Amendment doesn't technically give us the right to bear arms. What it does is guarantee there will not be any laws against our natural right to bear arms (...endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights...). Understand: the right to bear arms is considered a natural right. It supersedes the Constitution, along with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Choosing to ignore this legal bit, Pennsylvania Attorney General Josh Shapiro took to Twitter to say nobody needs weapons made from 3-d printers and the instructions shouldn't be online. AG Shapiro didn't open Twitter the next day because of 1,003 'polite' responses from people who don't choose to ignore the Constitution. When I say 'polite,' I mean the response I sent, not the 1,002 others.

• I didn't want to read Shakespeare because the words were all in the wrong place.   - Steven Bassett

• Conspiracy:  Rip Taylor, often confused with Rip Torn, died in 2019 at 88. Rip Torn, often confused with Rip Taylor, died in 2019 at 88.

Rip Taylor, with his famous mustache and rug

Rip Torn - fought aliens with Will Smith

Linda Fiorentino - also fought aliens with Will Smith. Makes my heart go faster.

There is a story about a woman (a Registered Nurse) driving her car in the Southwest, with some sort of orb pacing her. Pulling into her parking spot, she sees a rabbit, which was about 4-5 feet tall. She phones her parents in the apartment and tells them to come out, armed. One comes out and Rabbit disappears.

They call Police, who, for some reason, call MUFON (Mutual UFO Network). Mufon comes out and checks things out. The side of the car near the orb is magnetized. Radiator and oil were magnetized. They call in the local Navaho Rangers, who also take a look. In this neighborhood, this isn't terribly odd. The Navaho are somewhat suspicious of Paleface and you do not walk on their land without permission.

So if you see any giant rabbits in your driveway, call MUFON and the Navaho. If nothing else, they have some great jewelry.

• Annanuki: giants who came to earth from the heavens
• Spannunaki: fuzzy creatures with large flaps, who came to earth to be a friend to Man.
• Afghanistan: a huge drug producer, occupied by the US for years for some good reason, that we're not privy to.
• CockerSpanistan: a land where you can't sit or lay down because a dog is on your seat or pillow.

Previously I asked about what we (armed forces) have in the can, as concerns technology. The SR-71 Blackbird was being worked on in the 50s, I think, so by the time we saw it, it was awe-inspiring and fascinating. The head of Skunk Works (a division of Lockheed Martin), the guys who put the technology together and produce planes, said we have the technology to take ET home. I wondered what this is, because we haven't seen it, other than a few reports of things here and there.

To answer my own question, Skunk Works is working on the SR-72, and have released a little info. It has a combined cycle propulsion system that merges a supersonic jet engine with a rocket engine, to exceed Mach 6. It will go right to the military, which gets all the Good Stuff<tm>. It is referred to as hypersonic, which makes me wonder what kind of word they need to describe the SR-72s successor. It is expected to be tested early this year.

An interesting intel site is Deep Black Horizon. Worth reading regularly.

I want to restate that the release of the Tic Tac ufo that the Navy documented was opposed by many High Up Officials because it was caused by demons. These people are in very high position in the Pentagon (and elsewhere?). I don't care what their religious persuasion is: I don't want these people in government.

• When buying dog treats, do you taste them first, or is it just...

[Insert I WAS RIGHT graphic. Again.]

Avast subsidiary sells 'Every search. Every click. Every buy. On every site.'
The people who 'help protect your computer from malware' are selling your information. Read the very tiny print: free antivirus owns every bit of data going through it. When it's free, your data is the price.

Either buy a very good antivirus, or switch operating systems to a safer one, where malware is less likely.

UPDATE: For some reason, Avast shut down its subsidiary that sells your information. It hasn't stopped collecting your data, though.

• It turns out New York's Borgata Hotel is not in a central New Jersey wildlife preserve, but the ad the placed in Waze directed them to the preserve (govt-ese for swamp). 10 cars were towed.
• Must be related to the three GPSes that tried to send us into the Delaware River.

Today's trivia question: When watching British tv, the announcer can pronounce Illinois, but also says MARYland. Why?



Dear lefty

• What's this impeachment thing?
• One ass clown took office. The other group of ass clowns were out to get him since he took office. So it's the anti-gunners who own guns against the anti-big businessmen who own big businesses.

Today I identify as  instant coffee





SJW Stool

Being a white savior will not end gun violence and neither will white fragility - David Hogg

Cut down on emails if you want to fight global warming...

Burn It, Blow It Up and Dispose of It [Mowing]

Yes, it's that time of year again. Ok, it's toward the end of that time of year again. The time that I dread. The time that wakes me up at two in the morning, in a cold sweat, screaming NOOOOOO. It's Mower Time.
 I have written extensively on Mower Time but since it's this time of year and I have been doing battle again, I feel it necessary to get this off my chest (and arms and itchy legs).

I hate mowing. Nothing new there.  But I have an absolutely irrational hatred of mowing. It's definitely not Mowphobia... phobia implies fear.  I have no fear of mowing - I actively HATE it. I'd sooner saw off a random limb by myself than mow the lawn (and I pass out at the thought of blood).

We started with a push mower. I have no idea why. Then a gas mower, which died in short order. The two anemic electric mowers, which did, at no time, run over their electrical cords. They're probably still in the Mower Graveyard (the shed). They probably still work, or whatever it is they did, in a very meek, underpowered way. The next gas mower failed for what looked like fuel reasons. I figured that since I knew the tiniest bit about engines, I'd give it a shot. After having removed the air filter and what looked vaguely like a carburetor (or carburettor, for our British reader and Queen fan), I wound up with a no movement solution. Since it was already broken, it remained broken, due to my lack of true understanding of engines. I strongly suspect that what I thought was a carburetor was actually a Quantum Space Drive and I somehow managed to extract the Quantumness from it, rendering it a pot-metal version of a non-working carburetor. Again, since it was not working before my experiment in quantum physics, I don't count this as my fault, much like my wife 'saving' us money by buying shoes on sale.

Finally we invested in a serious mower. I know it was serious because it was more expensive than what had to be less serious mowers. And it had a Big and Strategic engine, which was the engine of choice for Indy race cars and underpowered golf carts. It also had a lot of metal on it, which was damn impressive (and harder to push). Because it was a serious mower, the throttle cable broke after a season or two.  Doing my best impression of a Manly Man, I purchased a generic replacement throttle cable assembly, since I couldn't remember the model of my mower. As it turned out, I didn't need to know this, because the only product sold is the generic one.  Of course, as usual in these rants, the joke was on me: after doing my best to route the cable and performing the unthinkable task of zip-tying the cable to the handle, the cable flatly refused to control the throttle in any way, shape or form. It just flatly refused. The reason this is a joke is that this cable NEVER works. Like most other things, it's just Performance Art. You purchase it, you install it, then you curse at it because it flatly refuses to work, like a government employee or a Kardashian.

Cursing, as we know, is a required activity for repairing computers and cars (and by extension, lawnmowers). The neighbors are actually frightened of me, which is a condition that occurs normally without a mower in-hand. Parents pull their children off the street when they hear me pulling the cover off the evil device. The Department of Defense goes to DEFCON 5.

So, as an Imitation Manly Man, I work up a jury-rigged solution with chicken wire, several push pins and a hair tie we like to call Ralph. This alleged solution requires more cursing than simply trying to mow. I tie up the throttle, at which point the mower still steadfastly refuses to start. Checking the gas, I notice it's almost empty. This thing uses more gas than the old land yachts I used to drive (the ones with eight cylinder engines the size of small aircraft carriers). After having topped off, I hit the prime it button four times (because the instructions say two times - I'm just like that) and it still won't budge. This is because Ralph has slipped, turning off the throttle.  Cursing for good measure, I re-tie the wire and Ralph, which finally allows the engine to roar to life, frightening the dog. The mower immediately chokes on the grass, which is only waist high (don't ask me).  I found out later that, as it turns out, if you tie the throttle up a little further, the mower won't stall all that much, even if the grass is wet, as it is wont to be in Extremely West London, US.  So I mow. And I curse. And it takes the regulation forty minutes.

After I'm done, I race inside, sneezing from the aroma of freshly cut grass. As I struggle to the fridge, producing a two foot puddle of sweat under me, I down a cold can of grapefruit soda (you think I'm kidding? Go to the store and purchase some Sanpellegrino grapefruit, which, unfortunately, I do not get paid for talking about or drinking).

Eventually, after the leaking, sneezing and panting subside, I realize that it wasn't that soul-snatching an exercise (who am I kidding?). I make note of this for next time, so I won't have such difficulty with this most cursed of activities.  This matters not, as it takes two complete weeks of my wife dropping gentle hints (THE CRAZY LADY IS GOING TO CALL THE TOWNSHIP AGAIN, THE GRASS POLICE WILL ARRIVE SOON, I CAN'T FIND THE DOG) to get me off the couch and in the vicinity of the blasted device. After this, I can rely on failing to start the thing once or twice. Two nights ago it was too dark to mow. Then my near-fatal hangnail prevented all motion. After the grass has successfully hidden the actual mower, I have no choice but to walk past the thing a few times. Finally I prepare myself with tools, wire and a flamethrower and approach my nemesis.

Last night was beyond anything I've ever experienced. I go outside, in a perfectly positive mood, vowing to remain calm. The first time I try to tie up Ralph and fail, the cursing explosion starts, as if I've been trying this all day and it's just mocking me. This time I was ready, with solid steel wire and industrial tools. Knowing that there was no way I could even expect to tie the cable successfully, I had a pair of locking pliers with me. I tested the pliers, which clamped firmly onto the wire and would not budge or even release itself from the wire, knowing in my heart this was the solution.  I yanked on the cable, digging into the skin on my hand, and applied the pliers, locking them on the cable. Or NOT locking them, as it occurred.  The pliers, which worked perfectly in the midair test, completely failed to hold onto the cable in practice. It's like advanced math or windshield washing fluid - it simply doesn't work, leaving large white spots of bird shit on the glass (and I'm talking about the math here).

After a time or thirty of cursing at the locking pliers and applying a little pursuasion via the flamethrower, the machine roared to life, like Rosie Perez perceiving an insult. Aside from several branches placed in my way by a chuckling tree stopping the mower, I got done.  Yes, the mower had won, again, but I was experiencing the Mowing High people only whisper about, after getting their illegal performance-enhancing shots in Mowing Circles. Fortunately nobody from the township was around to urine-test me.

I ran into the house, crying and cursing, almost mowing down my wife (get it? - mowing). I demanded that the grass be burned down so I'd never have to perform the horrid activity anymore. My wife, used to a certain amount of entertainment post-mowing, did what she normally does and ignored me. I'd do much better arguing with the cat, only the cat occasionally appears happy to see me. As it turns out, the township forbids use of a flamethrower for mowing (or gas station tidying up), so I was pretty much out of luck.

A friend recommended hiring someone. This was a tremendous idea - one way too simple and brilliant for me to form. The wife got right on it, and by right on it, I mean she ignored it like I ignore anything with a lower case 'i' in front if it. She keeps trying to motivate me by saying 'this should be the last time you mow this year'. Unfortunately this fails the merit test in April and May.  You just try to hire someone to mow your lawn - go ahead - I dare you. All you get is services that want to come out weekly, mow and play with your shrubbery. I don't know about you but the last time I had my shrubbery played with was in my teens - a practice I vowed to avoid and have been thus far successful at. What about some neighbor kid who wants to earn a few bucks? No deal.. what used to be young entrepreneurs has morphed into selfie-taking, game playing kids who only leave the house to look at new phone cases (and get their tans from the refrigerator light). Plan B is that using the grass as a Doggy Bathroom would murder the grass once and for all.  Not so much, even considering the amount of liquids he consumes and his little chlorine-cleaned pool.

With only minor lacerations and thirty seven extremely itchy bug bites, I re-remind myself not to mow in shorts (or longs).  Meanwhile, I can hear the grass growing behind my back... inch by inch... it's openly laughing at me. Now I hear we've got a gopher or some such garden rodent (didn't anybody tell him we don't have a garden?) living in the shed with the old lawnmowers. The last time my wife checked, it had the unmitigated audacity to be swimming in the dog's pool! We might have to send the cat out after it - he's a born killa. He could drag the carcass in the house and onto the couch, which is still wet from the dog's last dip in the pool at two in the morning.

I f-ing HATE mowing.


===============================================
Led Zeppelin fan?

Jimmy Page just finished the remixes of the entire Zep catalog. I have only heard two songs but they're frighteningly good sounding. Worth a listen.