The Stove is so Clean You Can Cook on It

 Your love is like  a failed attempt at boom boom

Xi Jinping calls for more 'loveable' image for China in bid to make friends

He's got a point. Some of the new slogans:

1. China, where we lovably release viruses to infect everyone on the planet
2. Where anyone who disagrees gets lovably transported to our lovable facilities
3. We're wacky and lovable - try us!
4. We're on Mars too!
5. Where the press lovably prints what it's told to (kinda like the US)
6. making communism lovable

Today I identify as  the dirt that keeps reappearing on your laptop or keyboard that you can't identify, yet it comes back all the time. You don't have anything with bright green sparkles, but your computer does.

Sparkles are deadly anyway. As soon as anything with sparkles appears, sparkles will be all over your house and your body. There is no escaping it. You wake up one morning and discover there's a lone sparkle on your genitals. Then they get in the wash and you now have sparkles over ever item you wash. We have crafting sparkles. We have makeup sparkles. The reason I stay at my current job is that I can't interview in a suit with sparkles all over it.

The World Health Organization (WHO) has been successfully sued by the Who, and will have to change its initials. Original member Pete Townshend said, "It was a nasty assertion. The WHO is wrong 100% of the time. The Who is wrong only 50% of the time." Long Live Rock!

In order to avoid "stigmatising labels," the WHO will name Flying AIDS variants by the Greek alphabet (Alpha, Gamma, etc). This will last until the Greeks have a fit.

• Here’s what we know about the risks of serious side effects of Flying AIDS vaccines

How a Young Joe Biden Became the Architect of the Government's Asset Forfeiture Program

One of the many reasons he should never have been elected. The govt can take your car if they find drugs. And your house. Is that ok with you?

• How Harry Reid, a Terrorist Interrogator and the Singer From Blink-182 Took UFOs Mainstream

Amazon "Alexa will never record your conversations" has changed from mandatory arbitration to regular old lawsuits because they're swamped with arbitration cases because "Alexa records you".  I think I already did a Told You So on this.

• When Charlie Chaplin entered a Charlie Chaplin lookalike contest in 1920, he came in 20th

My best friend had a 'conversation' with his wife the other day....

HER: You should really eat more greens, just sayin

HIM: I don't like greens

HER: Yeah, but I'm just sayin

HIM: well will you STOP sayin?

HER: Why don't you gas up my car?

HIM: Because I don't drive it?

HER: Well, it would be nice if you did once in a while.

HIM: Drive the car or fill it up?

HER: dinner tonight is frozen tv dinners

• it's Pride Month. I'm going to go ahead and assume that's LGBTQ Pride Month.
• Still no left handed history pride month.
• We need lobbyists. Right after we figure out who to lobby.

There's a lot of hoo-ha over political parties supporting and not supporting LGBTQ rights. 

Once again, I want to recommend the libertarian party, where LGBTQ rights are human rights. We've been supporting them for as long as there's been a party. Same for black lives. They're all human rights.

I use a plastic bag as my trashcan in my office. Not only does it take up less space and create less of a trip hazard, but it throws right away. Great, functional idea. Sorta. Because then I have to remember to bring another bag back in after I throw away the full one. And I never remember to bring back an empty one. I realize this each time I have to throw something out, and promptly forget it. I could get up right at the moment and get a bag, but while I'm in the office, the Bag Repository feels like it's 1,000 miles away, in the frozen tundra of North Dakota. It's like getting off the couch to find the remote control for the tv. You wind up sitting there, watching Farm Report, because it's less trouble than getting up.

I have to get my ID card renewed at work.

This is a no-brainer at any company. 

Not my employer.

We had to fill out paperwork. When I went to check on status, they had asked for an external phone number, which was optional and I didn't bother with. That was the number they were going to call me on, but they wanted to make it a surprise, so they didn't tell me.

So I asked H/R. My 2nd mistake.

They told me I had to locate and make an appointment with an ID Center.

This is a flipping ID card, not a White House security pass.

Of course I'd have to find an ID Center, because doing the ID Center work in the damn building would be too easy.

There are no centers within 10 miles of my house.

There are centers within 15 miles of my house, but in an effort to diversify,  every one of them is Downtown (Center City).  I enjoy being Downtown just slightly more than dentistry. To make things more interesting, I have only a few days, because I started the process 6 weeks ago.

Did I suddenly start working for the gov't without knowing it?

QUICK REVIEWS:

• Xubuntu 21.04: it runs
• Marshall CODE 25 amp: it turns on, stock sounds lacking

My work iDevice informed me that it had failed to update and there were 347 notices.

As we know, I know fsck-all about iDevices and I care even less.

So I sit there and observe as I set the update off. It finishes without a peep.

Either my iDevice is insecure and can't update without being watched, or it's an exhibitionist and likes to be watched. Bloody neurotic device.

this is a real headline

The Best Laid Plans.... Don't Get Laid

We have food trucks at work. That is about the most positive thing I can say about them. One of them featured Jamaican 'food'. One of my coworkers was talking to another, saying she didn't eat the curried goat because it's too spicy. To be honest, I don't eat the curried goat because it's goat.

Because my wife tithes to Dunkin Donuts, I noticed their new HUGE banner for bacon guacamole flatbread. I'd like to order a bacon guacamole flatbread - hold the guacamole and the flatbread.

Speaking of which, we recently discovered that, in addition to water ice, the dog loves banana splits. To be specific, he loves splits, without banana in them. He's a chip off the old block. Have you ever seen a dog eat an ice cream cone? I always wonder what's going through his head..... hmmm... this ice cream isn't water ice but it's really good. Since it's harder than water, I guess I should bite it - as he takes a bite out of my wife's ice cream. She's flabbergasted but not flabbergasted enough to stop him from trying to eat the actual cone. He liked the cone too. 

Don't get me wrong - the only people food he gets is whatever lands on the floor before we can pick it up, just like the cat. Funny, both of them sit at my wife's feet while she's eating.


THE WAR

Speaking of work, I've apparently entered the War Between Workers. Nobody officially declared war or even bothered to tell me that we have wars, yet here I am.  The shame of it all is that it's a silent war - The War of the Trashcan.

Every day I launch things into the trashcan under my desk.  It's quite a functional trashcan, black, and protected from my every day abuse by the ubiquitous clear baggie-looking-thing.  Every morning I arrive and the aforementioned trashcan has moved out from underneath my desk to right by my cube's opening. This creates quite the issue when I stumble into work and attempt to throw a bit of trash into the can under my desk, totally and completely missing the can.

So my only obvious conclusion is that I'm in a silent war. My opponent is not only laughing at me because my morning trash winds up on the floor, but also because even when I aim it at its new (temporary) location, I still miss the can. This is why I don't play sports. This and the memories of childhood friends, screaming, "HEY LEFTY - YOU'RE RUNNING THE WRONG WAY!"

I'm not typically a warlike guy, especially with coworkers (even the one who sighs wearily, snores and curses every ten minutes, driving me up the wall of my cube and onto the ceiling).... I sought a middle ground. I literally put the can halfway between the desk and the cube exit. And every morning, it's back in its other spot, as if some sort of Facilities Deity has declared it so.

Or it's just some sort of idiotic incentive (probably from my wife) to get me to move a little. Or at all.


SPEAKING OF CANS...

I live across the street from the House That Ate the Neighborhood.  It used to be a nice house that blended into the neighborhood in a pleasant way.  Then came the first add-on, a porch.  Then an additional two-car garage.  Then a porch that surrounded the house and the two-car garage. Then a third floor.  The neighbors have been busy pulling plans and permits at the township - it turns out he has an underground swimming pool, three levels under the house, plus a Very Deep Level, where he keeps his armaments, food stores, and surveillance equipment. My wife is jealous, as she tends to use the Manual Surveillance Mode, whereupon she sits on the front steps and watches the comings and goings of the denizens. "Hey, Patricia's home early from work."

So there's another house down the street which has had its porch under construction for a year. Mind you, this is not the type of porch that can be mistaken for an addition or another bedroom. It's a standard porch - the kind that should be populated with some rocking chairs, a swing, plus an occasional toothless relative. Two weeks ago, out of the blue, the porch had been completed. No idea whether it completed itself or had outside assistance.

Two days later we drove by to see that someone had started a large-ish extension on the side of the house.

Uh-oh.
It's (as they say) ON.

The sensors across the street at the first house set off the alarm. Without declaring anything, the Silent War starts. It starts with an extension. Then House #1 counters with a patio. A screened patio. House #2 parries with a heated sun room. The stakes rise when House #1 annexes the house next door, like Hitler took Poland. House #2, not one to be upstaged, calls in the township, which has laws about Stuff Like This.  In addition to not being allowed to run Slinkys across your back yard, you also can't annex a neighboring house (Hitler notwithstanding).  Pretty soon they'll be lobbing wheelbarrows and dump trucks at each other. The collateral damage will be horrendous.

This is not going to end well. Or soon.

[UPDATE]
I thought we might have seen it all but I was seriously mistaken. There is yet a THIRD house undergoing major reconstruction. Neighborhood War I will be upon us in short order.


AND NOW, THE MUSIC

Today's musical gem is features Sass Jordan. She's one of my favorite female vocalists. Very few know that Sass was invited to spend some time at the Van Halen compound when they were looking for a new singer. I think VH made a terrible mistake in not hiring her. Gary Cherone?

Forgetting for a moment her model-like looks, the woman can just plain sing. She can do slow, she can do fast, she can Janis it out. She also has a great range. While she's more popular in her home of Canada, she needs to be heard round the world. I saw a video of her band recently, where she walked up to the mic with a beer and belched right into it.  Who can NOT love a woman like this?

Make You a Believer is some straight ahead rock, starting with its main riff and going all the way through to its church-like refrain, 'I will make you a believer' at the end.

If you'd lke to hear her softer side, check out You Don't Have to Remind Me. This lady has balls.

The Unemployment Follies #8 - Will the Kurds Get Their Whey?

[The following takes place between the last time I wrote and today.]

Good morning, good afternoon and good evening, dear readers.  It's great to be here today. In fact, it's great to be anywhere.

MUSIC APPRECIATION

Many years ago, when I still flew, I went to Los Angeles on vacation. I visited a lefty guitar store, one of the main ones at that time.  It was truly Disneyland for me.  A store where almost every guitar was a lefty.  He had one of everything.  The one that really rung my bell was a 1958 lefty Stratocaster.  It was like heaven made from wood in my hands.  It was so magical that it almost played itself.  It was only twelve grand or so, just a hair out of my budget.

Hidden away in the back room was a treasure: a 1960 lefty Les Paul standard.  There were only three ever made.  McCartney had one, someone in another country had the second and I got to hold and play the third.  It was a decent guitar at a decent price - only $95,000.  I was a little disappointed, mentioning to the store owner that it only played like a $35,000 guitar.  Price aside, it was not for me.

Yesterday I opened an issue of Vintage Guitar magazine and discovered that one of these Les Pauls just sold at auction, for the bargain price of $194,000.  Don't I feel stupid for not picking the guitar up when it was under a hundred grand...

THE CONTINUING SEARCH OF BUNGALOW LEFTY

To no one's surprise, I am still without a job.  Of course the title probably clued everybody in anway. Let's emphasize the positive and state that when I get a job, I'll have to go back to writing... well... whatever it is that I used to write before the hammer fell. And you'll have to read it, so let's just give thanks where we can.

You were probably wondering what sorts of interesting job search results have appeared.  Let me ease your burden and list some of them:

• Visual Impairment Service Team Coordinator [VIST Team - FREEZE!]
• Customer Destruction Specialist [now here's one we can all get behind]
• Concierge-Event Planning [because I love people and hospitality]
• Java Developer [I'm more of a java consumer]
• Tumor Registrar [a room for how many organs, sir?]
• Freelance Sports Photographer [because I love sports and can't take a picture with an idiot-proof camera]
• Geospatial Technician [huh?]

I had an incredible interview the other day.... it was an intensive security position with a very large company. Everything looked good, I liked the job description and they seemed to like me. Then BOOM - the anchor dropped.  The job required over fifty percent travel.  I don't know about you but two months in beautiful downtown Utah just doesn't make my nipples swell.

I have spent a whole lot of time consuming job interviewing tips from all over the place. I can safely say that I know what not to do and even a bit of what TO do.  The key to a good interview is to anticipate the questions and have answers ready, in addition to examples. During a phone conversation, it should go something like this:

Tell me about yourself.  Hi, my name is lefty and I make people nervous.

What is your ideal day on the job?  Thanks for asking. I'd start with an intensive review of the evening's security events, followed by some chocolate, pizza and then the strippers. I'd close with some oral.

Wait - I need to put you on hold - my wife is flashing me.

Where do you see yourself in five years?  Certainly not in this dump. I intend to avail myself of all the benefits and run like the wind. With any luck, I'll be able to blame it all on the boss.

You were laid off?  Why?  I'm glad you chose to ask this highly illegal question.  My position was eliminated, right after I eliminated the CIO and half of the board.  Just because I soiled his wife was no reason to be so upset. Yes, that was a chainsaw, but I couldn't have done it because I could never start the damn thing.

How do you keep current with security news?  Websites, news readers and Juggs magazine.

With preparation like this, it's amazing that I don't have multiple job offers.

IT'S OK, I'M INDEPENDENTLY WEALTHY

Remember the well-meaning neighbor?  The one who asked when our house was going up for sheriff's sale?  We're finally one-up on him: we called the mortgage company and, as it turns out, they're not all that keen on calling the sheriff.  The best moment was when we were going over our finances, Lieutenant Mortgage came to the conclusion that without our mortgage payment, we were four dollars in the hole.  Suffice it to say, they're quite content to work with us.  This works out well, as I can't rely upon public wifi to write these sagas.

NOT QUITE ERRATA

I passed the dog on my way in.  He had his face buried in something of weird color.  Then I got distracted by the neighbor washing her car in those shorts and.... 

Ok, so I passed the dog on the way in. When I got back to him, he was finishing up someting.  Minimal detective work indicated that he had bored through a pizza box to get at the poisoned pizza that he stole from the trash.  He has a cast iron stomach, largely from eating cast iron.

Speaking of trash, I mentioned our new automatic trash can.  Wave my hand over it and it opens, then closes on its own.  Apparently it needs a tuneup because it tends to open and close for no apparent reason.  Every night we sit in the living room and hear the can opening and closing.  It's almost a form of cheap entertainment these days (as everyone knows, I'm a cheap and easy date. Mostly easy).

Last but not least, I need to unburden myself.  This is just between us, ok? I don't want the wife to find out.  You see, it's about the wife. For some reason, perhaps due to all that loud music when she was little, her hearing has gone to hell.  I didn't want to be the one to tell her that she answers her cell phone in speakerphone mode, then puts it to her ear.  Mostly she puts the phone down and talks to it REALLY LOUDLY. I keep telling her she's shouting. She keeps telling me she's sorry, then goes back to shouting at the phone again. It's getting so I can't hear the tv or watch porn on my laptop.

I feel much better now - thank you.

The Unemployment Follies (#7) - Dusty White Shirts

[In this post, our hero has amazing difficulty in the act of becoming employed, in spite of major effort.]

COMING OUT OF THE CLOSET

The bedroom closet is a bit shallow but extremely wide.  I'd estimate that it could sleep two people, foot to foot.  Four people foot to foot and breast to breast; twenty-four people if you slice them correctly.  How, you ask, does this relate to employment?  By a damn fine thread, as most of my output tends to go.

When interviewing, I discovered it is strongly advised not to wear Hawaiian shirts.  A wag suggested I flout the system and wear Hawaiian underwear but the jury is still out on that.  After paying an absolutely frightening amount for a new dress shirt in the wrong size, the wife came up with about seven of them in the correct size. From the closet, of course.  I'm beginning to think that this closet occupies several more dimensions than we know of, as stuff seems to appear and disappear when searching.  It probably also does this when we're not searching, but I'll leave this to the quantum mechanics to work out (Shroedinger's shirt?).  Speaking of quantum effects, most everything in the closet has dust on it but only the very top.

So there are seven additional shirts in the correct size. This indicates that at some point, it was possible to purchase shirts off the shelf in the correct size.  Just not anymore, plus they're a lot more expensive.  Ain't progress grand?  I'm not good at math (or history or science or databases) but I'm going to say that these business shirts in the correct size look incredible for what must be sixteen years old.  No, really, they look every bit as good as the hideously expensive new shirt, including one that's almost the same shirt.

Speaking of Hawaiian shirts, I have a strange fondness for them.  Because of their dusty-topped condition, the wife decided to wash them.  As it turns out, I have rather a lot of them.  Really rather a lot of them.  The beauty of Hawaiian shirts (or most things) is that if you hold onto them long enough, they'll be back in style in a few years.  I don't want to say my shirts are old but they have come and gone out of style four times.

THE JOB SEARCH

One of my mentors suggested I arrange the Hawaiian shirts very close to the middle of the closet and the business shirts at the far unused end.  This way the Universe knows I need a job in which Hawaiian shirts are just fine and business shirts are laughed at.  So the Hawaiian shirts are just to the right of center, because if I cross the center line, my wife will bite me in a very sensitive place (and not in a good way).

Having located the jacket, with dust only on the top, I am now officially ready to go on interviews.  That is, if there were any.  According to the ads, there are many jobs available... just not for me, apparently.

The recruiters are driving me up a tree.  The metric tonne of Indian recruiters have called about very old jobs and want to submit me for them regardless of skills or location.  Last week I got calls about jobs in Colorado and Wyoming.  One job search turned up a result for restroom attendant (don't laugh - I applied).  Ok, maybe not.  The local recruiters are a different species altogether.  They call, spend some quality time with me, sound incredibly interested, all but promise me a job and then I never hear from then again.  I suspect these folks are recent graduates from local used car lots.  I don't want to tar all recruiters with the same slime - one of them has actually called me back.

I did find a government job.  I couldn't understand the job title or description, so I figured I'd be perfect for it and applied.

I am going to depart from this blog's entertainment and sarcasm focus to mention that this whole thing is downright depressing.


SUPPORTING THE AUTOMOTIVE REPAIR AND RENTAL INDUSTRIES

No post to this blog would be complete without some new and exciting information about the car.  The collision repair place for the insurer called to tell us the car was ready.  When we got there, we discovered that there was yet another five-hundred-dollar deductible.  This topic has actually gone to the realm of logic: how can an unemployed guy make five-hundred-dollars appear out of thin air?  You might be surprised to learn that my piles of hundreds have been depleted by unemployment and tithing to Dunkin Donuts for the dog's coffee.  And even if I had hundreds in the closet, they'd be dusty up top.

Not being independently wealthy has been complicated by another ironic phone call, this time from the insurance company.  It seems we are just about to exceed the number of rental car days for the year.  I've never even heard of this happening.  So every day that passes is another day we have to pay for our rental.

Causing five-hundred-dollars to appear is no small feat.  Do they expect me to pull it out of my buttocks?  Let's face it - if I could, as my friend pointed out, I wouldn't need a job.  Perhaps I'm just a masochist.

The entire process of getting the car repaired this time has been one of frustration.  I suppose it's ironic that this is the only time the person who hit us had insurance.  There was a huge amount of confusion over whose insurance was going to cover it and if theirs was, why were we paying a deductible.  After weeks and many phone calls, the repair place overruled the insurer and our insurance is covering it.  The lady in charge of the process possesses all the grace and charm of Genghis Khan.

Off we went to pick up our baby.  The wife got back into the rental and just looked at me.  What now? An additional part had to be repaired and the car, which was 'ready' the prior day, would take another hour or three.  And we're racing the clock on the rental.

Know what?  I have to give major points to Hyundai.  As you've undoubtedly read, we have driven a lot of rental cars lately (stop laughing) and my wife still prefers her Hyundai.  There are definitely features on the other cars that surpass ours (seats, stereo, handling) but the Hyundai is still the better car (or close) overall.  The current rental is from a country known for its meatballs.  We have this car because the choice was between it and a Mini Cooper.  It hurts me to even look at a Mini Cooper; my eyes feel cramped and unprotected.  I have never priced the Meatballmobile but I understand they're fairly expensive.  And after driving it for a few weeks, I'm not impressed.  It's bumpy as hell.  Yes, the power seats have presets and lower back support and the engine has balls BUT that doesn't justify its premium over the Hyundai.


WHAT IS LIVING IN THE KITCHEN

We have an issue with trashcans in our house.  By this I mean we have a Dog Issue.  He loves trash, among other things.  After the little monster kept getting into the trashcans, we bought the cans with the lids that you have to lift.  This kept the dog out for all of two weeks.  Between his innate intelligence and my wife's failure to put the lid back, he was back into things immediately.  Failing that, he just knocked the thing over and took what he wanted.

I have no idea whose idea this is or where it was found but we have a new trashcan.  This one is an automatic can, where you wave your hand over it and the lid opens by itself.  Then closes by itself.  Until the dog figures this one out, it's a perfect solution, plus it's pretty neato for the people.

The other night, we heard a weird noise in the kitchen.  Then the dog started barking in its general direction.  My parents would say we had ghosts - I'm skeptical.  It turned out to be the can, opening and closing by itself.  If the dog hadn't barked, I'd swear he just figured out how to operate it.

Bright as he is, he sometimes fails to notice his mortal enemy, the mailman, coming up the drive but the moment you put your coffee cup on the table, he starts barking like a rabid animal and circling the door.  I yell between hysterical barks and he somehow manages to completely ignore me.  If ignoring me weren't a regular occurance with everyone in the house, I'd be upset.