Captivity - Day 82 Revenge of the Windshield Wipers

I've been telling you something's up with the weather, as it's been incredibly nice for days in a row. That was my first clue. My most recent clue is that taking out the trash cans, having them picked up, and returning them is always accompanied by rain. Thus far, there has been no rain. Do you see what I'm talking about?

Speaking of the Great White North, I was watching a few documentaries on a famous ufo event in Canada and came across this one. Aboot 35 seconds in, right after the deep-voiced announcer stops talking, are interviews with 2 townspeople. Listen to their accents. Tell me if they require subtitles.

You're not gonna believe this, but I found a conspiracy in this video. The accents are so,.... ummm... original, on purpose, so you won't concentrate on the content.  OK, maybe not, but this is a real sighting, involving many in this town, the RCMP, coast guard, and the US navy. The US navy... investigating a submerged ufo or 2, in Canada. Go figger.... The incident has been heavily researched and there are lots more videos on it. This is a talk by the main researcher. I was confused, because he said 'abote' instead of aboot.



It's almost here... Bill & Ted Face the Music - same cast, including the bereft of life George Carlin. I liked the first 2 movies.




I watched her this morning.
As long as I live, a woman taking her bra off under her shirt will always fascinate me.

And fart jokes will always be funny.



My dogs develop bedtime rituals.
Marshall, bless him, would come up to me in bed and I'd scratch his ears for a few minutes, every night.  Penny runs up to my pillow and licks my forehead until she has to be physically removed from it. Any doggie shrinks out there?




Dear Mr Star Hoagie Maker:

We have to talk.
Remember the order a few days ago? Let me give you some feedback. Maybe it will help you in the future.

When I say no mayonnaise, it is not up for interpretation.
Like many people, I do not put mayonnaise on meat. Aside from being disgusting to me, it has the unintended benefit(?) of making the innards slide out the other side. I took a bite and everything inside rocketed out the other end, onto my plate (thankfully). So here I am, holding my meat, providing a little constructive criticism.   Note: the same applies to anchovies.

I realize you have a menu and probably have to turn your brain off to work an 8 hour hoagie shift - I don't blame you. This is more of an observation: when a customer gets a choice and says 'surprise me,' it doesn't look good standing there, stammering, stopping, attempting to speak, and having to go far inside to gauge the meaning, then saying "Huh?" This doesn't bother me at all the first time. In fact, it's kinda funny. The second time it loses its luster.

Lastly, when you take an order and tell the customer it will be 15-20 minutes, it's tremendously bad form to lose the order, surprising your coworker who had to ask the customer what his order was and tell him it will be another 15-20 minutes.

I hope you are well, Newbie, and your hoagie skills blossom. I want to come back frequently.






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I can't help myself.
Don't read past here if you're not interested in Floyd, Black Lives Matter, and looting news


In the 1st Amendment department, in New Jersey, there was a counter-march to Black Lives Matter by some white guys, who re-enacted the Floyd murder. Thus far, a Fedex and an NJ corrections officer were fired for taking part. Everybody from the mayor down was horrified. Freedom of speech includes speech of people you find abhorrent, folks. Would they still be working if they were on the BLM side?

Viral photos show Walmart locked up African American hair products, but not cracker hair products. Naturally there's OUTRAGE across the world. Here's another place where you are NOT allowed to bring up the truth.


Peaceful march drone surveillance came under fire by democrats and republicans. These are the same people who re-authorized and expanded the Patriot Act to unlawfully spy on you.


A statistically-gifted policeman in Tulsa, Oklahoma, said "We're shooting African-Americans less than ought to based on crimes committed." He will be very popular at the marches.


HBO pulled Gone With the Wind.
The 1939 film has long been considered controversial for its depiction of Black people and its positive view of slavery.  Orwell Comes Alive.

Ghana Invites African Americans to ‘Come Home’ in Wake of U.S. Protests.

The only problem I see here is that Ghana was a hub for the slave trade, so the demand for reparations would still stand.

Absolutely - Your Data is Safe With Us

Today's IT fact: Healthcare is now the most vulnerable industry to data breaches, with 328 breaches in 2017 alone (accounting for 60% percent of all breaches last year). The total estimated cost of these breaches reached $1.2 billion.

Remember this when your doctor talks about Electronic Health Records and offers you a URL to look at your records and talk to his office online. 

• The trash truck just left. Before it got to the next house, the Crazy Lady's cans were taken back to their resting place. This is weekly and for some reason, fascinates me. The thing is, the Crazy Lady has nothing to do with it. She has somehow managed to coordinate this dance with neighbors and whatever creatures Crazy Ladies socialize with. She has them all fooled, looking like she's having trouble getting around, when the fact is she's only 439 years old, which is midlife for her species (whatever that is).
• One day I discovered a neighbor working on her patio roof. I suggested concealing a bowling ball up there, with a trapdoor. He knows I'm sometimes odd, but he looked at me with questions on his face. Turns out he has no idea how evil she is and is doing work for her because he's a genuinely nice guy who helps people. This also gives her plenty of time to call the city and complain about some imaginary violation on my property. After which she'll leave us some fresh tomatoes from her garden.
• I need to start limping a bit. Then maybe the neighbors will take my trash to the curb precisely at the earliest time allowed, the day before the truck comes, then take them back to the house the moment the trucks leave. Snow plowing would also be good, as well as mowing the lawn. I try not to be unreasonable.

Speaking of neighbors, I have to remember not to cheat on my wife.

This is not really a difficult thing to remember, but I've already had an illustration of what would happen if I went insane and tried.

I'd get caught.

I  say this because every time I'm with a female in an honest circumstance, someone I know happens to pass by. I kid you not. One day I didn't have a ride home, so I asked a female coworker and offered pizza in exchange. As we're eating, my sister-in-law walks into the shop. I introduced them, being perfectly honest. Because it sounds perfectly honest to say 'she's my coworker'. Mrs leftystrat is friends with this coworker and refers to her as my Work Wife, so no harm done.

Another time I'm in the same pizzeria with another person who did me a favor (of a non-sexual nature) and Wife's niece walks in. Niece lives forty minutes away but loves this pizza.

Second niece, who lives around the corner, occasionally carpools with me. We're at a red light and there's a knock on the window. A gentleman is telling Niece that her left rear tire is really low and she could use some air. I looked up and the gentleman was the neighbor who worked on Crazy Lady's porch because he's genuinely a good person. We said hello and I explained that the very attractive young lady was Wife's niece.

So if I were theoretically ever so stupid as to want to cheat on my poor, long-suffering wife, I'd have to move to another state to try (at which point my parents will be visiting that state and staying at the same motel).

• Headline: Morbidly obese couple have sex for the FIRST time in their 11-year relationship - after losing almost half of their combined 1,256lb weight.
• No. Just no.

Sometimes you read an article so ridiculous that you check to make sure it's not dated 4/1. Unfortunately, this is not April Fools Day:

Microsoft is cracking down on what people say while using their services online. According to a new services agreement written by the company, the tech giant is planning to ban accounts that use “offensive language” and will go through your private data to “investigate” users.

Read the sickening article. 
We know of my great love for all things Microsoft; this is a great example of why, especially awful on the heels of the Faceyspaces privacy debacle.
This will not affect me, but if you use Office, Xbox, Skype, or certain others, you will be affected. I'd advise you to curtail your use of these services, even if you don't produce content that will trigger an alert.

I know that you're not putting anything in your documents involving obscenity or bestiality, but this is the first step to dictating what you can say and how they own your data. Remember lefty's law #2: if you can't touch your data, you no longer own your data.

One does not have to be looking for conspiracies to see what's going on here - it's happening in real time.  You will look back on this and realize how this was a major step that pushed us across the line to censorship and official corporate monitoring of your data. And you agreed to it. Think about it now, while you still have the option.

Things is getting weird and concerning.

• Speaking of movies, don't forget to see Bedazzled. The original, not the Liz Hurley remake (although Liz Hurley...). The dialogue is unbelievably funny and beyond merely witty. Check out some quotes. I'm told this is a spoof on Faust, but I'm a Philistine and don't know anyone called Faust.

My wife is watching some movie about Jewish gangsters of yore. Yes, I know they existed but never stopped to think about them.

Jewish gangsters.

Time for a little stereotyping.....

You owe me a favor. If you don't complete it, I'll sue you raw.

What do you mean you can't pay? I'll beat you with 3 day old bagels.

Oy, dis interest is meshugga. I shall cut it down to 99%, for you.

You know Moishe, right? Moishe the tailor. He forgot his protection money and got audited.

• If you're giving a PowerPoint presentation to several departments at work, remember to close your porn. Trust me.

I've read some winners lately. I really enjoyed the complaints that gun control was too white. Ladies and gentlemen, if we manage to surpass this, we can be 100% positive that the rest of the universe is laughing at us (as opposed to mostly certain).

Holy Cross Theology Professor Says Jesus Was a ‘Drag King’ with ‘Queer Desires’

Go ahead. Try to beat that.
And while you're beating that, perhaps you can define 'Drag King'. A woman who dresses up like a man? Will we all be watching Rachel Maddow's Drag Race on tv?

Saint John’s constant references to Jesus wanting water, giving water, and leaking water “speak to Jesus’ gender indeterminacy and hence his cross-dressing and other queer desires,” Liew contends.

Well, that's certainly an original interpretation of the New Testament. I don't want to come off as a biblical know-it-all, but I'm beating my brains, trying to figure how the actual expert got from water to queer. We're obviously out of our depth. Maybe the guy's subconscious has been writing up these theories.

• There's a very interesting article in California's Mercury News about deportation of illegal aliens. In short, ICE is deciding on whether or not to deport an illegal who has been deported three times and has a drunk driving conviction. His wife and children, US citizens, want to pack up and move to Canada if Dad gets deported.
• The path to Canada is fraught with hills and valleys (mostly hills). Canada will accept refugees from terror in their home country. Since it's difficult to prove this in Mexico, they've got a problem getting in. They want to apply for permanent citizenship.
• What the tens of thousands of people streaming into Canada don't know is that they need to prove they have skills that would benefit Canada and that they won't be a drain on the system.
• For some strange reason, the article is reasonably balanced. Recommended reading.

While we're in California, a San Francisco policeman pulled over a self-driving car and gave it a ticket, for driving too close to a pedestrian. How do you pull over a self-driving car? Who gets the ticket? Can I bring my emotional support elephant?

• Headline: 'World's worst' super-gonorrhea befuddles doctors...
• Yes, it's super-gonorrhea.. faster than a teenage virgin. More powerful than all antibiotics. Able to leap tall condoms in a single bound!

Last weekend, hackers got to Baltimore's 911 system.
I'm not all that fond of hacking websites, but this is different: it could cost lives. How would you feel if you needed an ambulance for a serious issue, and the system was offline or backed up because it got hacked?

• Good news for the stragglers who have not abandoned Faceyspaces: Firefox has an extension called Facebook Container Extension, which prevents FB from tracking you across the web.

Walmart made a 'business decision' to pull Cosmopolitan magazine from their checkout areas. It might not have been entirely a business decision, as Walmart recently heard from the National Center on Sexual Exploitation (NCOSE), which had launched a campaign to pull Cosmo from checkout areas in an effort to make them more “family-friendly and sexploitation-free.” They claim the magazine "regularly promote pornography, sexting, BDSM, group sex, anal sex, and more.."

Isn't it wonderful that we have somebody looking out for us, to make sure we don't see things they don't want us to see?  Like the women who stood behind the alcohol prohibition of the early 1900s?  Women are actually campaigning against consensual sex. That's shooting yourself in the vagina, isn't it?

• Our friend and neighbor, the schizophrenic, is a really nice guy. When he was able, he'd plow our sidewalk when it snowed. It doesn't take a professional to understand he's paranoid, but we all have our issues (especially in our house). Yesterday, Mrs leftystrat pet-sat for him, so he could get some stuff accomplished, as he doesn't get out much. The guy, a vet, barely makes enough to get by. 
• When he returned from his trip, he had purchased lunch for both of us. You can't tell him no. Solid guy. There's some good in the world (contrary to the stuff I put here).

Sister Wives

Is this four times the fun? Looks more like four times the trouble. 

Avoid.

• Need some ideas about how to see if an email is legit? Check this out.

Just remember that if you're unlocking an iOS device with the fingerprints of a dead person, it only works with the recently dead, so jump on that corpse ASAP.

Really Deep Thoughts - Really

Really, what's the point of life?

Everybody has asked this at one time or another: it's my turn.

What becomes of you when you're gone? While we all have our ideas of where we 'go' after our time has passed, what of our space on Earth? What did we leave, if anything? Do we have to leave anything?  Does it matter?

When we go, we leave some sort of impression. Do we truly live on when people remember us?

What of our Stuff?

Like most grandparents, mine kept a shoebox with all of my accomplishments over the years. They were very enthusiastic about this, so it was more like the size of a 1971 Cadillac. 

As I mentioned, my grandmother died years back. As I saw some of her furniture and whatnot come into her children's houses, I stood, stunned, when I thought of my shoebox. It opened this whole quasi-existential dilemma. This is not about me (ok, it is), and not really about the shoebox.  

The box was no doubt a source of pride and love. It fulfilled its mission in their lives. But now the box is an orphan; it floats in space and time. A possession of paper, with emotion attached to it. But now the emotion has no owner.

My parents have a box like this. It is now time to change the topic.

Which brings me to Me.

For some reason, I feel I need to leave something. Why? Is this common?

I have done many things of which I am not proud. When I'm feeling down, they come visit, and dance in my head. On the other hand, I will certainly leave a lasting impression, mostly in a positive way. I've made a difference in a lot of lives, mostly people around multiple personality disorder. I keep a virtual shoebox of emails from people asking questions and getting information they needed. Sometimes I look inside the shoebox... it has emotion attached to it and makes me feel really good to have helped a little. note: this is not bragging or virtue signalling.. it's just inventory. Mostly (hopefully), I've left laughter and entertainment (intentional or otherwise).  I guess that's a decent legacy. I guess it only has to matter to me, because it will be nothing in one generation. Dust.

I'm kind of attached to my Stuff.

While all the other kids were buying nice cars and spending money on dating, I bought guitars and amps and related things. When people rented apartments and bought houses, if there was spare money, it went to guitars. When I went on vacation, I had already scoped out where the music stores were. The result of this is apparently quite an enviable collection. It's interesting and frightening that the 'dog' guitars I bought are now considered vintage and desirable. I also paid frightening amounts, just like everyone else, for a house.

When I'm done here, what happens?
I can't leave anything to Marshall, as the actuarial tables have him predeceasing me. Mrs. lefty obviously gets everything. The equipment that I loved and poured everything into becomes orphaned. It will eventually find new homes, via one of those 'collector died' sales. The house will probably make the news and local legend, as one of those 'crazy old couple' stories.

I think I'm going to leave everything to the SPCA. Or establish lefty's Home for Wayward Women. Damn, I was dead sober serious up until the last paragraph.

What will I think then?
The atheists say I'll be rotting in a box.
The Buddhists say I'll be coming back.
My mom says if there's any justice, I'll come back as a parent with a child like me.
The Judeo-Christians say I'll be one of two places. At least one lets me observe. I'll be with my loved ones; and most importantly, my pets.
Others say I'll join my 'higher self' or the Universe, perhaps coming back, perhaps 'moving on', depending on what I need to learn.

If I don't know I'm dead, I could haunt a place forever. You don't want that, trust me. The moment I figure out I can 'do stuff', there will be no end to the merriment. I'll have found my Eternal Gig. One wonders if this isn't heaven...

The Great Trash Conundrum

I don't know what it is about trash, but I hate it.
Not the idea of trash... taking it out and putting it at the curb.
Come to think of it, I have always hated trash, just not as much as mowing. Now that we have hired a child (damn near) entrepreneur to do the mowing, I can concentrate my hatred more efficiently and totally on trash. This simplifies the entire operation.

It starts a few days before actual trash day. I see the trash in the house and can start to hear it mocking me. It is not pleasant. It starts to grow over the top of the can. A day later it is actively mocking me. I do my best to ignore it because it's still not trash day and to actively see the trash would mean I had to carry it outside and I'm having no part of that. This Active Ignore process is usually ruined by The Commandant, who gently 'reminds' me to take the inside trash outside. This just creates another problem, in that I have to put the wife on Active Ignore. Some people spend most of their marriage with the wife on Active Ignore, justifiably or not.

Due to the expanded load of items on Active Ignore, it becomes too much to bear and I can again hear the trash mocking me, this time even louder, with derisive laughter (Bruce). If I'm very lucky, this process has eaten up enough time that it's the night before trash and I can put everything out anyway.

My city has weird trash laws. No, really... apparently they've got nothing better to do that legislate what time you can put out your trash (the afternoon before) and when the cans have to be off the curb (next morning, latest). Worse than the regulations are the people who follow them to the letter. This would consist of exactly one person, and I use the term 'person' lightly. It's the Crazy Lady, who uses her age (438 this year) to get people to do stuff for her. Some dude pops by at precisely the first moment you can put the bins at the curb and does so. He's obviously a nice guy to do this every week, but it also could be that if he doesn't, she'd talk to him. She has snakes coming out of her head, and most of her body parts have been replaced three or four times, so I wouldn't be in the vicinity either if she spoke. The entire neighborhood is composed of really nice people who do stuff for her. One guy was replacing the roof of her patio. I pleasantly suggested he place an anvil in the roof, ala Wile E. Coyote, and rig it to the door, so when she opens it, BOOM. He looked at me like I was nuts. This is a look that no longer bothers me, as I see it all the time. In fact, I have come to expect and cherish it. They don't know this monster, who has a red phone that goes directly to the city inspectors for when she thinks something is out of spec with my house. This is the lady who reported standing water in my back yard. Standing water was Marshall's pool. It is a rather large, purple-ish thing that leaves no doubt as to its function. I'm sure they had kiddie pools wherever she came from - even the depths of hell, where she might have ruled for a period of time.

Where was I? Oh yeah, trash.
So it's nine or ten pm, the night before trash day. All of the sudden, I remember that trash has to go out. While I still have the same complete lack of enthusiasm for the task, I have no choice. But wait!!! The cans are so incredibly LOUD that I don't want to disturb the entire block. But then again, it would disturb the Crazy Lady. No it won't, she's bloody deaf. Or at least she says she is. Having no choice, I get the trash out. This actually happens without too much grief and aggravation, except for noise. I keep telling myself that wasn't so bad, but by the following week, I'm back to Active Ignore and the process starts anew. 

You think I'm done, don't you?
Nope.
There's the small matter of paper/cardboard recycling. We haven't quite gotten the hang of this yet. Obviously we know paper and cardboard when we see it.. it's just the process. Wife puts the collection basket in a different spot than the trash. And we always generate a lot of paper, overwhelming the poor basket. So every time I go to take this stuff to its can, it all leaps out of the basket, all over me, then into the can, except for the seventeen small bits of paper that lands on the ground. This is only a small issue, as it's completely dark and I can't see the ground. At this point, I receive help from an unlikely source: another neighbor. This fellow is a paranoid schizophrenic and has motion detecting lights, to detect when someone is vandalizing his car. He's a very nice guy and there were people vandalizing his car - the embodiment of "just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you." His light guides the way to the bits of paper on the ground.  Every week, when this nonsense is done, I swear to the wife that we need a better system for this. And every week she agrees. And every week (for over ten years), I take the same basket out, with the same result.

And this is why we had to hire someone to mow; because if trash seems like an endless house of horrors, it's nothing compared to mowing.

Just don't get me started on cleaning the house.

• Another of the World's Smallest Books: Hot Policewomen on COPS

This week's Marshall news:  This was a between week, so it was blood work. He's been turning his head quickly, beating himself to death with his own flaps. This is indicative of ear problems. At the oncologist, we asked if they could look at his ears. The nurse said.. "uhhh..... no. That's a doctor visit - you'll have to call your vet."

WTF?

So Marshall stopped to visit the vet, with steaming parents. The vet takes a look, plays with her Vet Chemistry Set, and delivers the happy news: Marshall has not one, but three separate ear infections. He has single-pawedly generated three separate bills in one day. Not only is he incredibly smart, he's incredibly talented too.  Now, if he could only use these talents to make some money...

• I  have seen some weird stuff on tv, but the winner of the name contest has to be Peaky Blinders. I don't even want to watch it with that stupid a title. I did make the mistake of watching it with the wife, which was, as I said, a mistake. Good old fashioned (very old) fistfights with Irish accents. No thanks; I can see that at work every day.
• Speaking of television, this weeks award for Best Spoken Phrase goes to one of those pregnant teen shows for the line, "Nobody told me it was so easy to get pregnant." This was closely followed by one of the mothers of the teens, who said, "Quite honestly, I wasn't surprised."

Have you ever met a person named Ignatius?
Neither have I.

• Please look carefully at your email. Phishing is out of control this holiday season. A great rule of thumb, used by me personally, is NO. Just don't. Don't open it, don't read it, and don't click on it. Since I'm one of four people on the planet who do this, I'll make a few recommendations for the rest of you:
• if some huge retail outlet sends you an email offering free this or sale that, hover your mouse over the link to see if it really goes to where it says. Better yet, go directly to their website - do not click on the link. Anything they're trying to sell you will be on their page.
• if an email asks you for money or personal/credit card details, DON'T. Period. Whether it's a Nigerian prince or Sears, don't.
• be suspicious of bad spelling or wording. No legitimate concern is going to send you anything with bad grammar or spelling.
• if there is a file attachment, don't open it.
• if the email is from a friend and looks weird or has an unknown attachment, get in touch with them to make sure they sent it, instead of being spoofed or hacked.
• if the email is from anyone under 25, delete it. People under 25 don't recognize the validity of email, instead preferring Faceyspaces. They'll send you their dopey pictures and pithy ramblings online.

Don't forget: there are only 400 days til next Christmas. Shop early.

• Researchers have discovered an unprotected database containing 1.8 billion posts collected by a Department of Defense contractor, who didn't secure the Amazon Cloud Storage correctly. This is why we do not ask the government to protect us. In fact, we need protection from the government.

There's a new method to lock your phone that uses your face. No, it's not the new one... it works like this: the phone takes one look at my face and locks itself out of fear and sheer terror. Unfortunately it also locks if you have ugly friends or relatives, or a particularly unsightly child.

• Here's a chilling headline: "Senators introduce USA Liberty Act." No good can come from this. The trick to deciphering any legislation is to read it. If you can't or won't, look at the title. The bill's effect will be the opposite of the title, hence Liberty Act is designed to take away your liberty, just like the Patriot Act. 

This week we said goodbye to that nice Charlie Manson. Unfortunately I haven't had time to put together a musical tribute, but he did present songs to the Beach Boys and others, plus he believed the Beatles were speaking to him (Helter Skelter).

The man was raised by wolves. Actually that's not fair to wolves. His (single) mom was a prostitute and not really present or a good parent. He was in California and happened to be close to a known CIA mind control facility. Considering his hypnotic influence on followers and famous people, along with the unbelievable horror of his crimes, you might consider that there could be more than a coincidence in his location. I do not know if any mental health worker ever spoke to him during his incarceration, as they did Sirhan "please call me Sirhan" Sirhan.

Who'd have thought that permanently scrawling a swastika in your forehead would get you denied parole every time?

• Speaking of goodbye, we bid a fine farewell to Malcolm Young, founder of AC/DC. Malcolm left the band recently because he was diagnosed with dementia and could no longer play. He was 67. For my money, he was the best rhythm guitar player in the business. The band is still touring. I believe his brother, Angus, of the schoolboy uniform, is the only original member.

would you eat a burger from this mascot?

Update: At Least it's Only Cancer

So I come home, followed by the wife and Marshall.
Rather then tell me what happened, she's mad as hell and wants to tell me why. Marshall seriously misbehaved at the oncologist's office. And assholes in cars. And someone took her parking spot.

Dr Doggie Onco was very nice, explained everything, and gave options.
First, the idiot vet who removed the lesion missed the second lesion, inches away. This has to be removed.

Second, no chemo. There's a new treatment done with vaccines. Once a month for a few months, then a booster. Before they start, he needs yet another test to make sure they're treating the right cancer, possibly because the previous test was not expensive enough.

We've already paid for the vet's Mercedes and her daughter's education. Plus a kitchen redecoration for the ear surgeon. Now the oncologist needs a winter home. It was bad enough when I worked to pay for our medical costs and the occasional pizza. Now it's vet costs and no pizza. And you cannot write off pet medical expenses on your taxes.

According to Dr Doggie Onco, Marshall will be with us for 2.5 to 3 years after treatment. As that's close to normal, we'll take it. I guess we never thought about the end, but today put a period on it. That's probably why I feel way worse than I should for a guy whose best friend is going to live for a few more years.

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

With that bright news, followed by the financial news, I decided it was past time to get working on the other job. And POOF - their server was down. No work.

Since no work, it was time to work on the basement. Yesterday I vacuumed the living room and it was a piece of cake. The basement did not go so well, largely due to three inches of water from a pipe that's older than me. Pipe repaired, water not.

Wife says she has 3 wheels for the wet-vac. Why not four? No one knows. I look at the beast and it has no provision for wheels - it just has 2 leg things, one of which was, you guessed it, missing.

Plug in and go. Well, not so much go as Nothing. Maybe there's a switch with that outlet? Why yes, there is. VOOM. Water starts getting sucked up! As does all sorts of crap that I try to avoid. No matter, the vac takes it in stride. Until the yelling. I leap to turn it off and ask what's wrong. 

"It's spitting water on my books." 

Sorry, it's got some sort of tiny leak or something. 

"Well, you can run it then." 

Yes, I was running it, until you screamed to turn it off.

Back to vacuuming water, and my Special Supervising Assistant left me to it. It filled up rather quickly. And don't you know it - water's frigging heavy. I'm struggling with the vac and my Special Supervising Assistant is standing exactly where I'm going to dump it. Like a cat. 

WHOOSH - one bucket down.

Now that I have a rhythm going, it feels better. I'm getting the damn water up and making a visual impact. Then AAAAAHHHHHH. I rush to turn the thing off and the noise is coming from the machine because it's lying on its side. Why is it lying on its side? I have no idea. I didn't even see it go down. 

Believe it or not, this has not brightened my day. In fact, my neighbors are no doubt aware of this for two blocks, even though I'm in a sealed basement.

Another bucket's full. Pull the top off the vac and SWISH, the water's all over me. More exclamations and suppositions as to the vacuum's parentage. The vac, however,  was ahead of me: when I brought the bucket back, the top had rolled right in my path, almost tripping me.

The old lefty would've been screaming that this is personal. The new lefty was trying to maintain his composure (which, unbeknownst to him, walked away earlier) and swears that this only looks like it's personal.

A couple more buckets and the job is done. I felt accomplished and my wife only had to throw down a rope, which I tied around my waist, allowing her to haul me up the steps. Yes, I felt accomplished, but I couldn't feel many of my extremities. I don't do manual labor - I'm a Knowledge Worker.

Off with the shoes, which weren't that wet. The socks, however, were soaked and the legs above them had dirt on them. So there I sat, sockless. Why was I sockless? Because every matching pair was in the dryer. Why? Because we couldn't use the washer til we fixed the pipe. Eventually my wife appeared with fresh socks. Normally everybody loves socks fresh from the dryer, but it's over ninety here with ninety percent humidity, so I waved them about til they hit room temperature. If it were still light outside, I would've waved them about outside, for the pleasure of the neighbors. I'm like that.

We got through dinner swimmingly. At no time did I grab an entire stick of butter, like I did the day before. Then, just in case I forgot what it felt like, I grabbed it again. It's a good thing they don't let me play with fire.

Tired, full, and sore, we sat down for some tv time.  The tension was starting to abate. I was feeling a nice kind of tired. Then I remembered I HAD TO PLAY ADULT AND TAKE OUT THE GODDAMN TRASH. At 9:30pm.

It might have been worse than waking up ten minutes before the alarm goes off but who's counting. The paranoid schizophrenic's motion-activated lights are a great help when I take out the trash, as I can see what I'm doing. Unfortunately they were not working, which must have him in an absolute tizzy. They snuck up and killed my lights, man.

I got one can out and BANG- the gate slams shut. As long as I've lived here, the gate has never slammed shut. I'm not mad - I'm more amused because the old lefty would say this was personal - the new lefty says it only looks like it's personal. Another can out - another BANG - SLAM. 

Really?

Now to bring out the recyclables. Oops - there's a dog in the way of the door. He's looking at me, with bags, then chooses to lay down. I politely ask him to move. I impolitely ask him to move. I notice he's playing this almost deaf thing for maximum effect, as he can hear the sound of cold cuts being opened in the kitchen from the basement. So I do what we always do: open the door, which, in turn, pushes him along the tile floor. No one gets hurt and he can go back to snoozing (or whatever he gets into while I take the trash out). 

I pick up the recyclables, which knocks twelve other things down. Week after week I tell the wife we need to find a more intelligent way of dealing with the recyclables. Week after week she agrees. Week after week I pick them up and knock twelve other things down, making a mental note (with a clear marker) to talk to the wife about finding a more intelligent way of dealing with the recyclables. I pour them into the can and only a third of them go vaulting to the ground and flying about. Boy, it's a good thing this isn't personal.

Back on the couch, Marshall appears to have no water. Off to the fridge, because we have a Water Ritual. We take a water bottle, fill it up, chill it, then pour it out very slowly into the bowl. Marshall stands there, drinking from the stream until it stops, then he takes a few sips from the bowl, and proceeds to either go swimming in it or use a paw to redistribute the water to the floor around the bowl. We have absolutely no idea why.

After the Water Ritual, I finally sit down and take the shoes off. I'm relaxing again, which is always a bad sign, when BARK - DAMMIT - I SAID BARK! The little monster, after redistributing water, opened the door I closed and decided he needed to go outside. I was about to tell him to pay for his own cancer treatment when he made it through the door.

Giving up, I went back to the couch. On the way, I stepped in the water Marshall redistributed to the floor. With my warm, clean socks.

Here Comes the Noise Again

I like to tell people we live in a nice, quiet neighborhood, right up until we moved in, but that's not correct. We're pretty quiet too, surprisingly. We only have odd bursts of noise, like the TRASH TRUCKS. There are three of them, plus both sides of the street, so we get treated to six trucks stopping at every house, with all the noise involved, up and down the block, for as long as we can hear them. Plus the lady who blows her #*@&ing horn at 7:05 every morning for no known reason, perhaps rudely picking up some brat or other. And the mailman, who Marshall used to bark at. Marshall's getting older and isn't always aware that his mortal enemy is coming up the steps, but once a day or so, Marshall sits on his own steps and barks at someone or something I can't see.

I love Marshall but...

Speaking of trash, if you care to look, you can tell which neighbors are retired or not working by their Trash Patterns.  What are Trash Patterns, you ask?? Glad you asked. Trash Patterns are when they put the trash cans to the curb and when they move them back to the house.

It is said that good neighbors take care of each other but this was never more apparent than when my wife started to let loose that she knew an awful lot about the comings and goings of the neighbors. The guy across the street must be sick, because he goes to work every morning at 7:17 and his car has been in his garage all week. Next door usually goes to church every morning but hasn't the past two days - I hope she's ok. There's a Monty Python sketch about this (there's a Monty Python sketch about everything, as it should be), with two women running the equivalent of the early 1970's NSA in their apartment, one reporting what she sees and the other bringing it up on one of their monitors. My wife needs no monitors.. she can tell everything from sitting on the step or just looking out the window. She also catalogs the dogs that walk by and sometimes their owners. It's weird but consistent that people always remember the names of the dog but not always their owner.  "Hey, remember Max's mom? She's having surgery this week. I forget her name."

Let me wander back to Trash Patterns. The Crazy Lady, who recently celebrated her 439th birthday, puts her trash out the night before collection. My wife can tell you what time, but no doubt it's militarily consistent. In the span between 6.7 and 9.6 minutes after the trash trucks have left, The Crazy Lady emerges from her hole and drags each humongous can back to the safety of her Can Spot. I know she has a Can Spot but dare not make a note of where. Then there's the old retired dude across the street, who in spring and summer camps out on his lawn with coffee and a lounger, waiting for the trucks to come. As soon as they've driven down the street, he marches out, also with military precision, and puts them perfectly back in their place, because everything has a place to ensure Order. This dude either needs a hobby or is desperate to get away from his wife, thus turning trash into a multi-hour escapade, after which he goes back inside and cleans off his hand tools, that haven't been used since the last time he cleaned them.

But I digress. Always.

• The doctor asked me if I have any trouble sleeping. NOPE. Sleeping is something I'm very good at. No problem there, Doc.

Yahoo announced another breach. This is in addition to the last breach they announced. Just in case, change any Yahoo passwords you have. Better yet, close them. Yahoo needs to get their act together, perhaps starting with some heads rolling.

• In Merry Olde England, a Coca Cola delivery to a theater was canceled after a huge brawl. The truck (lorry in England) pulled up to the theater to deliver his soda and parked. A traffic warden objected to the parking location and let the driver know. The driver protested that he had all his paperwork. The warden said there would be no room for emergency vehicles, at which point the driver let him know that there was enough space on either side of the truck to park a small army. The warden was not impressed and started 'waving a finger with intent to scorn.' I love that phrase. The violence in the waving and scorning is most apparent. After this, the warden's hat was knocked off.
• For some reason known only to the warden, the warden began throwing cans of soda out of the lorry. Within minutes, more wardens arrived. Glass started breaking. Four riot vans arrived. All in all, fourteen people were involved in The Great Soda Riot of 2016. Presumably it was difficult to purchase soda at the theater ($7.95 each) and the had to settle for tea ($6.95).

Continuing our International Flair, the Chileans are in an uproar because a Cabinet minister received a blowup doll as a present. I truly wish this was the United States' biggest issue. Blowup dolls for everyone!

• Police in Mt Laurel, NJ, received a call about four suspicious donkeys behind a house. Apparently this was not a common sight, as the non-specific donkeys don't get reported.

Just in time for Christmas, a Tacoma, WA, elementary school's satan club opened. Naturally there were protests. The best quote from the protesters was, 

“These 5-year-old children are very impressionable; if you have an adult come in and talk about Satan, they’re going to be harmed by that."  

Make no mistake, the First Amendment states that this is a no-no. Period. But some judges decide on a 'compromise,' where all religions are allowed to participate. Lately this pattern ends right after the satanists put on their display. At this point, the Christians decide to tear the satanists' display down when nobody's looking and then reconsider their standpoint on anybody doing this on government grounds.

Hillary

huntin. Yes, women all over the neighborhood are going into the woods, hopeful for a Hillary sighting. Unconfirmed rumors state that the RNC is raising funds to lay bear traps. Here's Freddy, the largest dog in the world. The Great Dane stands 7'1" on his rear paws, which is a really silly way to measure a dog. Aside from being tall, Freddy also went through 23 couches. Although Guinness certifies Freddy as the largest dog, there is no word on whether he has the record for Couch Destruction.

Today's information breach occurred at PayAsUGym, further proving there's absolutely no value to exercise and in most cases, it's dangerous. 300,000 accounts were affected.

Academics at Oxford University are being offered therapy in case they've been disturbed by their research. Perhaps it's time to wall off a section of the blog, to be called The Snowflake Report.

• For those of you considering a vacation this holiday season, here's a bit of text from an FAA.gov summary: Please reboot your Boeing 787 at most, every 21 days. Otherwise it might reboot while in flight. Do not run your plane on Windows.

Should Have Stayed in Bed

Have you ever gotten that feeling?  Right after you get up, there is a series of Really Stupid Stuff<tm> happening and you say to yourself that you really should turn around and get back into bed?

Yesterday was my turn.  It's a shame I never listen to myself.

It started, as most days do, with the noise from the blasted alarm clock.  If there is anything more hated than phone salesmen, it's alarm clocks.  In my normal morning haze, I observed the wife get up and head to the rest room.  Not completely awake, she didn't shut the bedroom door.

An open or semi-open bedroom door is way too much temptation for the dog.  Marshall was through the portal and down the steps before anyone knew.  After all, if there is an open door, it's the Doorway to Trouble.  I didn't watch it but I assume Marshall flew down the steps and ran at top speed to see if there was any cat food.  This is a safe assumption because cat food is Marshall's number one interest.  He checks in the morning, afternoon, evening and every time he comes in from outside.

My wife was justifiably concerned and signaled so by grunting, laying down and putting her eye cover on.

Finding no cat food (the cat was no doubt looking for it too - he behaves as if nobody ever feeds him), Marshall probably went for second place; the recycling bin, where empty cans of cat food are kept.  He stands up, steals a can, takes it to his spot, then licks it clean.  Sometimes we wonder why there are so many empty cat food cans all over the dining room, especially as we use a recycling bin, not the floor.  It doesn't even matter that we already cleaned the cans - he apparently has to give it the Special Spaniel Seal of Sanitation (SSSS).

I got dressed and let the little monster out into his yard.  When my wife does this, she looks at him sternly and tells him no barking.  She swears up and down that he understands and most of the time he does not bark when he goes out.  I see no such evidence.  When I let him out, he immediately runs around the side, sits at the gate and barks for the neighbor to feed him.  Yes, he trained his neighbor to bring him food on command.

The only problem with this arrangement is that the neighbor isn't always home.  So Marshall will contently sit by his fence and bark every thirty seconds or so.  I sometimes wonder whether he remembers he's supposed to go to the bathroom or not.  Needless to say, when I say no barking, it has no effect whatsoever.

Yesterday was no exception and for some reason, Marshall decided to make the barking constant.  I don't want to be the neighbor with the barky dog, so I had to run out to get him.  Deciding it was best to go with shoes, I sat down on the couch to put them on amidst the annoying bark/squeak of my little monster.

There are some sounds that are iconic.  A whoopee cushion is one.  A fart is another.  One of the most iconic comedy sounds is rrrrrrrrrrrripp.  As all of us know, this signifies, well, something ripping.

Judging by the sudden cold, that would have been the brand new hole in the rear portion of my jeans.

My spine shivered and my eyes rolled back in my head.  I thought that this would be a tremendous sitcom, especially if it weren't happening to me at that moment.  With the sizable hole near my buttocks, I went outside to fetch the barky people trainer.  It was a brave move - screw fashion (or modesty).

Yeah, I should have stayed in bed.

Having temporarily solved the barking issue, we all went back to the bedroom; Marshall for his morning nap and me for a less well-vented pair of jeans.  While the wife was ostensibly sleeping, I swore I heard giggling.


At work I discovered that my task overload had multiplied overnight.  Keeping a cool head about myself, I continued on with the work, when I got an email from my brother.  He wanted to know if I had heard.

Heard about what?

The lady who assaulted her baby.

No, but what about her?

She's Mom's neighbor.

Oh.  Mom knows people, doesn't she?

She was going to buy a baby present.  For that particular baby.

Oh (again).


Mom makes friends quickly.  Apparently her complex is the complex in which to live, if you like occasional drama.  She thinks it was the husband anyway.  I wonder if she interviewed the police or it was the other way around.

We were local celebrities.  Not Mom... our car.  When the news showed up, they panned by our car.  My wife was thrilled.  I was thrilled, too (that there weren't any deer involved with our car).


Back to work, I was busy doing Stuff for a legal case.  It's all hush hush, you know.

Never one to be silent, my phone blared for attention - it was the wife.  All of this baby assaulting had everyone in a spin.  This was not good.  Fortunately she slept it off.

Work Stuff refused to take even a minimal break.  The Stuff I was doing had an inadvertent effect on the network, causing no end of grief and minor calls for blood, which expanded to the entire department.  Nothing was actually wrong - it was just politics.

[Sigh]

I'm not a drinking man but I'm starting to wonder if I should look into it.


Probably should have stayed in bed this morning.  Let this be a lesson to you: listen to the voices - they may have a point.