The Pitter Patter of Nuclear Weapons

Mom said, "You're not like the other boys, lefty.

Wife said, "Your brain does not work like other people's."

What you mean is that my brain doesn't work. You can't fool me, with yer motherly love and yer wifely tolerance.

After putting together an external fan to cool a laptop, I realized I neglected to consider the negative effects of the dog interfacing with the power supply. In one move, she pulled both wires apart, which then shorted out, taking out the wall wart. Today I figured I'd like a little (more) aggravation, so I determined the wall wart was heaven-bound (or wherever wall warts go), located another wall wart, of the proper voltage, soldered it to make it 10% more dog-proof and it worked. Sure, it's louder than a 767, but the laptop is cooler.

Except the soldering. Once again my hands shook like a 90 year old meth freak with Parkinson's. The really smart person inside of me, way down deep, so far he's almost never seen, said I should go see a doctor; any doctor. I'm starting to think he might be right.

I have a box where I put all the superfluous wall warts and laptop power supplies. The professional people on tv, with initials after their names and tv shows guaranteed to last at least a week, would call me a hoarder. But when my fan needed a 12v wall wart, I dug into said box and pulled one out. When the dog shorted that out, I went back in the box and pulled out another wall wart. That's not hoarding; that's being prepared for future dog-related electronic circumstances. Just don't ask me about my stash of resistors, capacitors, and tubes.

I'm going to guess there aren't a lot of electronic hobbyists reading this blog. The blog's title, ThermionicEmissions, refers to how vacuum tubes (valves in the UK) work. I'll just do this for me...

Why do you have so many capacitance meters?

I like diversity.

How is that diversity?

I take a capacitor and measure it on 4 meters. Each result will be wildly different - that's diversity.

Then how do you know the value?

It's printed on the capacitor.

If my wonderful readers promise to have their friends read the blog, I promise no more electronics humor.

So let's set our scopes on Wife instead.

There are many things I don't understand. Getting married proved there were many more. 

Me: Honey, why are there upside down soda cans in the sink?

Her: Oh, I had to drain them before throwing them out.

Me: Ok, but why are they still in the sink?

Her: I am working more efficiently... I turn them upside down then go on to something else.

Me: I see. But they're still in the sink, thereby cutting efficiency by 50%.

Her: Were you thinking of sleeping on the couch again tonight?

I strongly suspect that is related to this:

Water is boiling. The whistle from kettle is deafening. People across the state know we have achieved very hot water. The instigator of this is nowhere to be found. Finally she comes through the door, cursing and screaming.

Me: Why are you screaming?

Her: Stupid water is boiling.

Me: Did this come as a surprise, after turning the burner on? Perhaps you could stay in the general vicinity of the water, then you don't have to come running while cursing its parentage.

Her: But I'm getting other things done...

Efficiency, as it turns out, is not.

Her: Yes it is: I get you to do it, cutting 50% of my duties.

Guys, no matter what you think your wife's IQ is, she's smarter than you.

Amazon packages reportedly overwhelm small post offices, delaying other mail

When they say 'delaying,' what they mean is that there is an agreement that Amazon packages have priority over regular old USPS letters. That's right - Humongo Corp now runs the US Postal System. On the other hand, it probably can't get much worse...

CEO Reminds Everyone His Company Collects Customers' Sleep Data

Remember this: Fitbits, watches, phones, games, and everything else collects data. Your data, which isn't yours anymore. The article is about a 'smart mattress topper.'

 

Vagina Beef

Your love is like   toe fungus - hey, mushrooms are a fungus and you eat them..

• A bunch of Montana TikTok users don't care that China gets all their information because they already gave it to Faceyspaces. If they don't prevail in court, they threatened to fly to China and give them military secrets. And their personal information.

Today I identify as  a quantum nothing 

Dontcha Hate it When....(COPS edition)

• A cool car chase happens. The criminal uses his turn signals.
• It's always hysterical to watch them taze a perp. Repeatedly.
• ALL stops end in a drug search
• car chases are called off because the perp is driving too wildly and the police are scared of running down innocent citizens. C'mon - this is Death Race 2023 - extra points for old ladies and strollers
• calm suspects are cuffed, then the police say STOP RESISTING and beat him to a pulp
• the perp won't let the police cuff him and keeps asking WHAT I DO, WHAT I DO?
• DAT NOT MY DRUGS, DAT NOT MY CAR, DAT NOT MY PURSE, DAT NOT MY PANTS
• I din do it. I wasn't driving.  But you were the only one in the car.
• the drug dog always finds something, even if the cops can't
• Why did you run? Because you were chasing me.
• People with severe head wounds always refuse an ambulance
• when police 'have one at gunpoint,' they never shoot him, even accidentally.
• The police can smell marijuana whether it's there or not.
• Nobody wants to be filmed, but the cops say "They're doing a documentary on me" and the criminals believe it.
• People don't know blinking lights and sirens mean to PULL OVER.
• You get up early on a day off.

For some reason no one can explain, I found myself up at 6:30am on a Saturday. I was shocked, ashamed, and my Rock and Roll spirit was crushed. What's next - mowing and planting flowers? Taking an interest in keeping the house clean? Being nice to my wife?  I better head this off at the pass while there's still time.

Being awake and alone (even the dog stayed in bed) gave me time to think and reflect. I've mentioned that my wife could be called Billy, from an old comic called [I Can't Remember - Family Circus!]. Mom or Dad would call him and little Billy would say, "I'll be right there!"  Only Billy's definition of Right There was slightly different. The comic strip showed his extremely roundabout trip home, and being Right There. He'd stop to visit neighbors, pet dogs, chat with friends, jump in mud, then eventually he'd be Right There. My wife IS little Billy. Never mind the gender or the humongous slight age difference. The woman couldn't get out of a burning building with a week's notice.

Believe me, I've worked on the problem, pretending it's mine. I've brought in specialists, read books, and loaded up on nuclear weapons, but it continues and continues to make me murderous very upset. I figured out a long time ago that I represented her father, with the exception of wisdom; wisdom and a mustache. Sadly I represented her mother too, also with a mustache. Only Wife had to obey her father, but she had a permanent hall pass with me. No wonder she was so happy to get married. I thought she was happy to have met her (scrufty, irascible) prince.. no, she was happy she didn't have to listen to anybody anymore. Sigh. The tears from her family were also lost on me. Wife told me that they were happy to get rid of her: she way my problem now. So much for that idea. Oh well, 'happy marriage' is another to add to the Oxymoron Pile, with Microsoft security and Congressional ethics. 

Honey, are you ready to go?

Yup, I'll be right there.

Uh-oh. I'll just build a small barn outside, then dig a trench from the basement to the barn. That should be enough time to be ready. Boy, wasn't *I* the stupid one? By the time the barn was built, she had made it to the bathroom. Well, everybody has to go - I can't fault her there. I came in for some water (I had started to sweat, which was very odd for me) and found her still in the bathroom. Just for fun, I yelled through the door...

READY YET? YOU SAID NO PROBLEM.

[The dog barked, because she gets upset when I yell.]

I'm almost ready. 

 What are you doing?

Cleaning up a bit.

You told me we couldn't be late.

We can't.

You were up 2 hours before we were supposed to leave.

I got busy and forgot.

Go fsck yourself

WHAT?

I said. "Don't forget to tuck in your shirt."

Ok. I'll be Right Out.

I'll just dig that trench and make some concrete walls for it. Right next to the Panic Room.

Ok, I'll be Right Out.

Right after George Washington comes back, looks around, and shoots himself.

What?

I said I just can't wait.

[dig trench, install concrete walls, order servers and computers, wire everything up, with NOTHING in The Cloud]

Why is there a soda can upside down in the sink?

Because I was emptying it out before I threw it away.

It seems to have missed the Throwing Away stage.

I had to drain it first.

How did you miss the Throwing Away stage?

I left it there because I went on to do something else.

Why didn't you just wait the 3/4 of a second for the can to drain?

There were other things to do.

And now I get stuck throwing it out.

Oh, would you do that? Thank you.

You're ready now, right?

I'll be there in a second.

How exactly do you measure time? You being ready takes about the same time as the doctor keeps you waiting in the waiting room. Are you secretly a doctor?

HEY, don't call me an asshole! 

So you're ready?

I'll be right there.

Ok, I'll build that full-scale train set you got me for xmas. See you tomorrow.

[busies herself in the kitchen. Goes upstairs to bedroom. Comes back down. Goes back up, having forgotten her shoes; the reason she went up in the first place]

Do these sparkly turquoise sneakers look ok with this dress? 

You're asking ME? The guy who can barely get his black t-shirts to match his black jeans?

You're always honest.

Yes, so long as I like it. I'm still recovering from that time I said it didn't look right.

Don't be sarcastic.

Then I'd never speak.

Oh, you figured it out? 

By the way, the house is on fire.

I just have a few more things to get.

The dog, who is normally attached to your legs, has run out for her own safety. When was the last time the dog went somewhere that wasn't following you? That dog would rather sleep in the bed with you all day than come say hi to me. But at least she's got enough sense to run for her life.

Do you think her coat matches the fire? Did I leave my phone somewhere? The car? Target? The pool? 

See those flames by the tv? You have about 10 seconds before you go up like the tv.

I've just got to do a few more things.

Like what?

Clean the bathroom.

You just cleaned the bathroom when you went, 6 hours ago.

But it needs a serious, full cleaning.

So the ashes are clean?

I don't want the firemen to think we don't clean regularly.

I see.

Where's my pocketbook? 

By the door, where it always is. The door through which you should be running several hours ago.

Not that pocketbook - the black suede one with the fringes.

The normal one isn't good enough?

I will not be seen by the firemen looking like this.

When did you become so vain? You probably thought this blog was about you.

I am not vain - I just care about how I look. A lot.

Look, I got dressed, didn't I? 

You're not going out like that. Your shirt is all wrinkled.

At least I'm dressed.

I just need a few more things. Try one of the new shirts I bought you.

You bought more shirts?

The other day.

So that's where the money goes.

You didn't expect me to wash them, did you? 

That explains why I have 427 pairs of socks. The fire has cut off the steps. We'll have to go out the window!

Did you put in that fire ladder I asked you to last month? 

Yeah, about that.....  I'll put it in right now. I'm almost ready....

Being up at 6:30, the time I used to come home when I was young, had me ready for breakfast by 7:30. 7:30 is NOT when I have breakfast. I have breakfast anywhere from 10am to 6pm.  Having breakfast when the Normies do is embarrassing. At least we have Chocolate Frosted Flakes. I liked it better when the Flakes had those Irish marshmallow-like treats, like the commercial. That lasted about 1 week before being violently pulled from the shelves in the store. They'll get my Chocolate Frosted Flakes with Lucky Charms Marshmallows when they pry them from my cold, dead hands.

We got them at Ollies. Ever been to Ollies? It's pretty damn cool. It's where all unsold merchandise goes to die. Everything from bed sheets to children's bible books and Chocolate Frosted Flakes, which were also pulled from the shelves last year. Check the dates, folks. The depth of stuff you can find boggle the mind. There are even foods. These are the most interesting, because you see stuff that made it to market for a few days or weeks. Stuff you didn't know existed, but within date. They had pet aisles too. PLEASE do not buy any food or treats made in China. They have no controls and almost killed Ren (aka Satan). We had to take him to the vet constantly. Let's see, there's plastic kitchen utensils, bunches of stereo wires, actual toaster ovens and coffee makers, and hilarious signs featuring the character of Ollie. Don't mistake me - it's a fun place to vist. They even have huge amounts of coffee k-cups. All of them suck, and are in at least packs of 401, so you have no choice or way to return them. Since they're plastic, I usually just set them on fire in the yard, along with some of the neighbors who have outlived their usefulness, if they ever had any. The guy who invented and got rich from them, said he wished he'd never come up with them. There's not enough plastic to recycle, so they wind up with the other trash, in a 1,452 mile wide swirling pile of trash off the Atlantic. Federal courts have ruled the businesses can continue dumping in the water because to actually clean things up would constitute too heavy a penalty and too much profit loss for the corporations. President Giveaway is studying the matter scrupulously, not to decide its Constitutionality, but to determine how many billions to give them.

Oh yeah, Ollies.... the store had changed from last time. Some sort of explosive or nuclear device had gone off, rendering half of the merchandise open, half of it irradiated, and the other half on the floor. The only good news was that all the food was free from unsightly growths and critters. Even the staff was infertile. The half life of the radiation was much shorter than the shelf life dates on the merchandise, so everything was safe to pick up (unless it was out of date). There was one moth flying around, though. It had small human legs, a nose, and told us to get out of there if we were at all concerned about the shelf life of the religious books. Religious loons come in many flavors. We ignored the moth and went to the checkout line, even after it told us it was an employee too - the manager. We found out that every employee was a manager. We believed it because we only saw one employee the whole time.

One employee also happened to be the number of cashiers present. They had space for 5 cashiers, but in their infinite wisdom, only had one operating a register. From the 15 minutes we spent in line, with the same customer at the register, we figured she was definitely a manager, although managers are not generally that helpful - they usually get in the way of any progress or work. We started our countdown clock, which is a relatively new feature. Generally a 5 minute timer, it is started so that we know to leave in 5 minutes or less without any help or progress. I was getting ready to use one of their squirting automatic machine guns, when I realized the manager was a minor, so I dropped the weapon before the police arrived. It turned out my desire to wipe the manager from the face of the planet was premature. I listened in to the conversation between the 2 person team slowing everything down and realized it was entirely the customers, not the employees, relatives, or representatives of the NFL. Apparently the one hag even managed to piss off the less-aged hag, who finally kept saying, "Mom, it's ok, let her do her job so we can confound a cashier in the next store over."  A-HA!

I think we surprised the hell out of the scheduling manager. Yes, they're all managers to make them feel important (impotent). The scheduling manager didn't think there would be any customers on a holiday weekend, particularly a Saturday with wonderful weather, so he only scheduled a single manager for the register. She started shrieking something into the p.a. system, vaguely sounding like a cry for help. Her shrieking went so high, we thought she was talking to the moth. Ten minutes later, a bearded, bedraggled manager appeared, looking every bit the manager in charge of napping in the back room. And he was NOT happy about being awakened. He regaled me with stories of the 3 managers they lost that month. followed by the mass exodus of lesser managers, who left by threes, for jobs that paid a few dollars more. The store managers got a kick out of this, because the lesser managers found out they were getting more per hour, but were only allowed to work part-time. The manager who was telling me this asked for my loyalty card. What would I be doing with a loyalty card; I'm hardly the type to be loyal to humans, no less a store. Then he asked for my social security number. I told him he could have mine, but only after he gave me his. He wanted me to sign up for a loyalty card then, because I would get 3.4556% off this cart full of no-longer-radiated merchandise. He tried another tactic and asked for my phone number. I gave him the one we always make up whenever we need to give out a phone number and discovered we were already in the system. Hmmmm..... apparently I DID have a loyalty card. This will NOT go well at the country club. People would interrupt me during the gig, where I spent 4 hours tuning my guitar. I took breaks, though, so the union didn't send Mario and Luigi out to have a 'chat' with me (screw you - that's their names).  The union's policy is that you must take your breaks or else you make every other union member look bad. And if you thought the chat with Mario and Luigi was going to be bad....

Now, about that loyalty card. I suspect it was the reason for the calls and discount cards they kept mailing to us.  I swallowed it up, just like the discount cards from Shoe Warehouse.  She never thought I'd notice, but she never noticed the discount cards from Guitar Center. I'm just kidding - Guitar Center never has anything I want, specifically nice left handed guitars. Maybe it's because they're bankrupt (morally and monetarily).  At a guitar show, I was apparently so funny about something or other, a Guitar Center employee gave me a 25% off card, or maybe a $25 gift certificate - I remember 25 being on there somewhere. I suspect my constant whining about never having any money had actual basis in fact, and the constant 'roof repairs' failed to explain why the roof leaked. Perhaps the roofers belong to a union too. 

• Precisely at 12 noon, the air conditioner came on. It doesn't have a timer. It ran til 12:01 then turned off. It could be like one of those tests of the emergency air conditioning system that always interrupt your favorite shows. Or not. It's not even near the top of the list of strange things that happen in ThermionicMansion on a daily basis, so I don't want to spend much time questioning it.
• One of the things near the top of that list is the refrigerator. Actually I don't know if it's the refrigerator - it just happens at the refrigerator. For 2 days when I open the door, a bottle leaps from the shelf, either trying to commit suicide or having been pushed, perhaps by the CIA. Both times I wasn't wearing shoes, so it created powerful memories, as well as depressions in both feet. It's hard to do that because my feet are like Swiss cheese, from constantly shooting myself in them.  The bottles weren't positioned precariously and in no way would they fall. I smell conspiracy. Aliens. Or a podiatrist.
• Mrs. lefty has a bad back. This is why I stopped questioning her on why the sofa moved across the room while we slept. I just go with it these days. It's easier and less stressful to believe it just happens, as opposed to not liking the real reason why.
• Your furniture moves around too, right?  Please? 

In a complete shock to no one, the budget farce was passed by Congress.

Every time it's the same thing: debt theater. They should all be removed from their jobs and forced to pay for what they voted for.

• the debt ceiling was suspended til 2025, so the thieves can continue to plunder and raise the debt even further.
• think I'm over the top? Per the article  "This allows them to pay their bills until that date and know that the next fight over raising the ceiling will not interfere with the presidential election."
• shockingly, the only clear winner was the Military Industrial Complex, with $886 billion.
•  Biden agreed to cut $20bn from the $80bn to the IRS, but divert that cash to other non-defence spending. President Giveaway strikes again.

No mention of the other pork loaded into this mess, but rest assured, it's there.

Does Drinking in Your Home Office Make You Drunk at Work?

 

What about having sex on your office desk?

Try it out and report back, please.

Your love is like  ground beef with blue hair growing on it

It was almost worth pulling over to take a picture..

The liquor store, with the flashing advertising sign that said Ready for School? 

Like many, we have 2 cars: 1 for her,and 1 for the dog.

No, wait, 1 for her and 1 for her.

Hang on, 1 for her and 1 for me.

2 for her but the 1 she's mad at for me. That's it.

We have a long, wicked history with cars. 1 had over a dozen minor accidents with Mrs lefty at the wheel: none her fault. I watched people come out from nowhere to hit her. My dad gave us his sentimental car, which started every day and was just fine as long as you didn't like to accelerate faster than a lawnmower or have air conditioning. Air conditioning season was made more interesting because the driver's window didn't come down. I gladly drove this car to work because it started. Mrs lefty would go to great lengths not to drive it. One day I found her digging up the back yard for an underground entertainment center for the block, when I finally asked her what was up. "It scares me." 

The first week, some asshole dented it. Then it stopped 'just starting' and even Dad couldn't figure out why. It sat in the drive until we saved enough to fix it. Unfortunately we never figured out how much this was because a tree fell on it, smashing 2/3's of the lucky sentimental car. You cannot be seen driving to work with a just starts car in which only 1/3 is roadworthy, although this isn't such a great problem in many parts of Philly. 

Dad was not amused.

When it became clear Dad was not going to be driving anymore, they gave us their  next car, which has been in the family since 1863. It was made for exactly 1 year, by a non-car company that thought it was a good idea at the time to build cars. At the end of that year, they packed their gear, screamed, and ran off to Acapulco, vowing never to make anything with tires ever again. Their factories went back to making vacuums. It begins with an S, I think. Subaru, Suzuki, Schism, Saluki, I just can't remember. I have to avoid asking for insurance quotes because I just can't remember. I froze up last year, when they wanted not only the make, but the model. G-Bus, these people are killing me - isn't Saluki good enough? How many models did Saluki make in the single year they made cars? That's a lot to make an owner remember.

So the Saluki went in her name but nobody remembers why. It has no value and we don't drink. Every now and then she'd call with bizarre complaints, where the car would start hiccupping, snorting, losing power, and claiming to be Beyonce. We asked every member of the family, including the dead ones, what these things meant. Nobody knew a thing, and I didn't want to be the one guy on the block whose car thinks it's Beyonce - it gets no royalties, so I don't want to hear no shit about who it thinks it is. Guy down the block's car thinks it's Jen Aniston and it has so much green it gets repairs even before anything breaks. You'd never know it was over 50 years old, lawdy. Last family member said the tire light was always on, but that was only to let us know it had tires. Somebody else said the engine light was always on, and I guessed out loud that it was to remind us it had an engine. Alas, no, it was to let us know to pick up a spare engine, if we ever drove past certain vacuum factories. The other one told us the engine light never came on. Mrs left was not impressed. Further not impressive was the fact that none of this ever happened to me when I drove it. She thought maybe the car (or the family) was having a bit of a laugh at her expense. This was her fatal mistake: she is hilarious enough in her everyday life not to require Car Hijinks. So even though this car is legally hers, she refers to it as 'the Saluki."

This car did not come with a great invention of mine, as no other cars on the planet do: a pizza slot, preferably heated. You've all had to transport pizza, hopefully not across state lines, and you go to put it on a seat which isn't level, so the cheese all slides to one end. If you had a pizza slot, you would simply slide the pizza in, set the temperature for Transport, and be certain it would be as-new when you got to your destination. For a few hundred extra, you could have some Pizza Scent wafting through the car, whether or not you were transporting pizza. Yet another Billion Dollar Idea.

So the one-sided cheese pizza and I are stopped in a left-hand turning lane. We watch a car go through the intersection on the other side, stop 100' past, and start to reverse back on this busy road, eventually doing a 180 and disappearing somewhere. I was most impressed, the pizza was flipped out. As I made my left turn, I was stopped by a car just sitting there, on the wrong side of the street. Yes, it was the Great Reverser. It had been a very impressive night - even the pizza wasn't prepared for this kind of excitement.

As I got closed to my destination, the car had no power and the engine light came on. Yeah, this was just like Mrs lefty described. I'm sorry - where was I?

Today I identify as  the winter glove with no mate. It was there last year and all through the summer...

So I called Mrs lefty, both to tell her that she wasn't imagining things (well, those particular things), and that she should stand by, in case she had to come rescue me in 'her' car. I called her on her phone - no answer. I called her on the landline - no answer. This is a continuing thread. I thought I could never get in touch with her because she simply didn't want to talk to me - it was an honest, straightforward issue. But no, it's everybody who needs to talk to her. Working from home, I've been able to watch this. The moment she walks into another room, her phone rings. If she goes to let Penny out, the phone rings. If she's on the phone, the phone rings. If she takes a nap, the phone, that she leaves near me, rings. Continuously. Then the alarm she set to wake her from her nap rings. On the phone she left near me, not by the bed. I know if Satan Himself, or his earthly representative, Dick Cheney, was about to eat my soul and I got 1 phone call first, I'd tell him nah - enjoy your snack.

I pondered installing a beeper in her intestines, but knowing her, she'd change intestines on the day I needed to get in touch.

• Have you ever had a family member delivered by the police?
• Leave the story in the comments
• Mine started KNOCK KNOCK - Police. Is she yours? Do you want her?
• [confused] I guess this means she's not upstairs napping.

Heard online: the NSA is the only part of government that actually listens to you

• Famous 9-11 prevaricator and Trump stooge Rudy Giuliani turned up infected and was rushed to the hospital. We expect to find out what he's infected with any moment now...

Dear lefty  

• Should I go shopping in person this year? Is it safe?
• absolutely. Go out, take video, and don't wear your mask. I need some holiday cheer.

• A robot is now making Jamba smoothies in a California Walmart in less than 3 minutes
• Spokesperson for Walmart said robot would not be hired full time until it screws up at least 65% of orders.

Hey, whattamI, chopped liver? 

The Bad News: Penny ate the entire container of chopped liver

The Good News: she didn't touch the crackers

The Other Good News: the container is perfectly clean and free of chopped liver

Doctors say the Flying AIDS may cause erectile dysfunction. They just have to figure out how to crush a little blue pill into the vaccine.

Highest-paid sex worker in US sues state government for having no work during lockdown. This is precisely the kind of idiot government interference that's killing this country, lockdown or not. Perhaps she should do what some restaurants do: carry on business outside. 6' distancing is a real bitch, though...

(CNN)The Department of Defense released the first images of a Covid-19 vaccination record card and vaccination kits Wednesday.

The Department of Defense?

There may be questions...

Those wacky conspiracy theorists are right more and more these days.

Let's Go Shopping!

• Be careful when browsing Ebay for "english cocker spaniel" in the morning. You're liable to wind up with Joe Cocker, Jarvis Cocker, LuLaRoe, or Training Guide, teaching the dog how to train the people. Although... "Tribute" is all about the Joe Cocker Mad Dogs and Englishmen tour, as well as the tribute concert with Tedeschi Trucks. Hmmm.....
• Fortunately, you will not turn up any refurbished wireless ear buds. Why they've probably sold damn near two of them.
• You can now buy New Balance sneakers that look like they're already dirty. From the people who brought you pants with holes already in them.
• I was going to purchase some essential oils, but I had to check with Idiot Governor to make sure they weren't non-essential oils, and couldn't be purchased because of the Flying AIDS.
• Slouchy beanie hats are on sale. They would instantly confer Coolness upon me, especially in summer, when it's 90 degrees. I hope they're made from wool.
• How about a refurbished Roomba? It keeps banging into stuff and terrorizing the cat because it has the previous owner's floor plan in it.
• There's the Ninja Foodie. As I understand it, you put all the ingredients in it, leave the room, and 5 black-suited Asians come down from the attic and cook your food for you.
• Guitar Center is still at it, but has appeared to change its borderline stalking behavior to plain old ads. Stalking aside, I'm not going in there until they have something I want. They can have as many sales as they like.
• You can get all sorts of refurb power tools. I'd be all over them, but I'm not allowed to own power tools after the Mouse Incident. Heh heh.
• there's a Tag Heuer Chronograph for $2400. Because you can't legally call it a watch over $1,500.
• Ebay, in an actual attempt at targeted marketing, wants to sell me a variety of p.a. systems. If Ebay read this blog, they'd know that for me to use a p.a. system, I'd need a band. They are not selling bands, sadly. Godammit, I'm the best-equipped guitar player in my neighborhood.
• There are also 2 sets of salt and pepper shakers. I'm not sure what this means. Oh shit - they bugged the house! We couldn't find the shakers the last time we cooked.
• I could buy some gym shirts, but unless they compress flab, they're of no use to me.
• Some very smart company sells a 3 pack of laser levels. Because you're always losing one. It's like buying a wireless phone with 2 or 3 handsets. You don't need 2 or 3 handsets, but you're going to lose 1 or 2 of them. Or they're going to break.
• very popular are the 13" laptops. They're called Squints.

Shopping Help

Don't buy a smart tv - they're ridiculous privacy invaders.

Since you can't buy a dumb tv anymore, at least don't buy a Samsung: they have the most draconian 'privacy' agreement you agree to by turning the tv on.

If you purchase a wireless security video system that comes with 4 cameras, place 3 around the perimeter of your house, and 1 permanently focused on the hot neighbor's bedroom. NOTE: this does not work well with drones. Trust me.

• Here's a great article: Why Europe's big cannibis route is so hard to shut. Wait, did I say great? Is that demon marijuana coming to get us? Is this one of those Onion stories? Looks like just another justification for keeping the (failed) war on drugs going. I don't even smoke the stuff but this is just silly. I suspect the only marijuana related deaths we'll ever see are the war on drugs troops.
• You Own You. You want to put that stuff in your mouth, go right ahead. Just don't hurt anybody else in the process.

So in Flying AIDS news, most of California is under strict new lockdown.

Questions occur, such as whether this is a good thing. Maybe if they were put under voice lockdown....

China has put together a quantum computer they boast as the fastest of any computer anywhere. Unfortunately, no one can explain how quantum computers work, so they built another computer to figure this out, called Deep Photon.

Surprise, surprise: AI cameras sold to schools in New York struggle with people of color and are full of false positives. Hang on... AI cameras... sold to schools....??

In monolith news, more are being found. We know the first 2 were the aliens, messing with us. The new ones are humans. If I were them, I would guard my anus with steel equipment. You do not want to piss the aliens off. I smell abductions!

SJW Stupidity

 

In England, fans of a Colchester team who boo during taking the knee are 'not welcome'. 

Will You Show These 20 Good People the Dog Kennels?

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

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

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

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

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

Mom: And the fridge.

Wife: The fridge?

Mom: Yes.




Wife: I'll call some movers.

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

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

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

Wife: Not on your life, bud.




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

Husband: You're just tempting the universe.

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

Husband. A path, you say?

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

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


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

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

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

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

Wife: STFU and get vacuuming.

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

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

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

Wife: Yes.

Husband: Why am I cleaning literal trash?

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

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

Wife: You need to take the doors off.

Husband: No I don't.

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

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



One day earlier:

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

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

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

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


Back to Friday: T minus four hours til delivery.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


Fictional Mover: Where do you want the bed?

Husband: upstairs.

Mover: Do you want the fridge up there too?

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



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

Mover: What old one?

Husband: The old fridge.

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



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

Husband: Oh.

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

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

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

Husband: stunned silence.

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

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

I Love the Smell of Peanut Butter in the Morning

One of the symptoms of ADD/ADHD is when there is too much input at one time, one gets cranky, in an explosive kind of way.

While I'm doing some VIBW (Very Important Blog Work), my parents call. I know this because their ringtone is Zappa's Jewish Princess. It is their ringtone because they're neither Jewish nor princess. Suffice it to say that I can not discuss whose ringtone is Fat Bottom Girls, for my well being.

Since this is during working hours, nobody is supposed to call me, unless something is on fire. My sixth and seventh senses tell me nothing's on fire and my Special Training on Shitty New Software sold by the Boss' Daughter is about  to begin, I don't answer.

So I'm home from work, working. I'm talking to my workmate about something that was supposed to be clarified last week that is due tomorrow. My boss, bless him, is the nicest person I know. He does fourteen jobs at once. He asks for something, like a few slides on working environment, and we deliver. Before we deliver, we always have to nail him to his chair for five minutes to clarify that 'a few slides on working environment' means 'two full color PowerPoint slides for a presentation to a number of groups, on the topic of workflow in our specific little group.' He's truly the nicest person I know. Takes his kids to church three times a week. To synagogue twice a week. Every other week to a mosque.

My boss is not answering my workmate's pleas to clarify the last project, which has been going on for months, so we're less than optimistic about the project for tomorrow. We discuss this on our call, after working hours (which, as we know, may become illegal in New York). While we're talking, Marshall barks. He can always tell when there's work involved and it goes right to his bladder. So he barks and I start to growl.

Back on the phone, Workmate continues to talk, oblivious to the fact that I put the phone down 2 minutes ago. I get a few words in, when I hear silverware rattling. As I'm the only human home and Marshall can't open the door by himself, this is not good news. This is a rodent.

I'm horrified to admit this. But it's not my friggin fault. We're clean, don't leave food out, and wash dishes frequently. In the winter, they arrive all over the neighborhood, even in the antiseptic conditions of the (non-crazy) neighbor's house. If there's no food, what the hell attracts the little fuckers bastards? Warmth, probably. Apparently they like wires too. Aside from iron, I'm not sure why. We spent time over the winter mouse-proofing the house. Finally we found a hole and patched it. No more mice. Until today.

My growl is growing in volume and is starting to concern my workmate, who mentions it in an offhand way. I become aware of my overload just as I'm reaching through the phone to strangle him. No, I tell myself, that will have to wait til after the presentation tomorrow.

Back to our discussion, we're coming up with ideas and someone is knocking on the door. The schizophrenic with the guns knocks in morse code, so 'they' won't know he's here. This was a more defined, whimsical knock. It's a shame that the door doesn't have individual ringtones. Because of the whimsy, it could only be the wife. Last I heard, she had house keys, although the way things have been going lately, they're with everything else she lost. I say to myself CANT I GET A SIMPLE PHONE CALL DONE WITHOUT A FLYING TRAPEZE ACT SUDDENLY MATERIALIZING in the living room?

My wife does not simply walk into a room. Fran Drescher (more likely Joan Rivers') autobiography is called Enter Laughing. My wife's is called Enter Talking, Loudly. She does precisely this and it takes all sorts of hand signals and screaming to let her know I'm on a WORK CALL. Oh, sorry.

Back to my call. Three words in, Wife stands in front of me with a bag, like there's a tremendous surprise in it. She tries to hand it to me while I'm still taking. For some reason, I get REALLY MAD and try to convey, in hand signals, that I'M WORKING. STILL. NOTHING HAS CHANGED SINCE TWO MINUTES AGO, WHEN YOU WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR that I had to open because your keys fell into some sort of multi-dimensional vortex. Or you just think it's cute that I'll open the door for you.

There are all sorts of mouse traps. Glue (inhumane), regular old (not effective), variation on regular old, with a fake cheese-like step, and these White Things. The White Things are ferocious-looking beasts, with huge, pointy teeth, but all plastic. I have no idea how a mouse could get bait out of this thing, because it closes on my finger whenever I try to bait it. It's hair bloody triggered. Wife will not go within a ten foot radius of it when it's armed.

After my call, I go into the kitchen, where there is no mouse. This worked out well, as I don't like mice. I checked the trap. I'll give you one guess what I saw. Yes, the little #*@&er ate the peanut butter.  HA, I thought. I am going to win this war. I put fresh peanut butter in the trap, feeling like MacArthur. I love the smell of peanut butter in the morning.

On the way out of the kitchen, Wife wants to know where she put that bag, because she lost it.  It's now been fifteen minutes since she entered the house, and in that time, she has already misplaced the bag she carried in. Maybe it's in the car.... no, Dear, it's not in the car. I know this because you tried to give it to me repeatedly while I was on the phone. Oh. Did I?  I'm already through for the day and have given up rage, work, and looking for Stuff.

Apparently I had not given up grief, though.
My parents make a phone call and if no one answers, go right into Panic Mode<tm>. Because I didn't answer, they called Wife. Why hasn't she called in weeks? Does she no longer love them? [insert Charlie Brown teacher noises - wah wha wah wah.] When the first person fails to answer, they call the spouse, the kids, the landline, then the hospitals and police.

While she is regaling me with Tales of the Parents, I listen to their voicemail to me. "We were wondering what happened to Wife. She hasn't called in WEEKS and we thought something was wrong."

It's a good thing I didn't answer the phone.
'Weeks' actually means 'a few days'.
None of Wife's behavior, or for that matter, mine, is new.  So why is it a surprise every time? The parents are not 90 years old and they have their wits about them, or at least keep them in the trunk at all times.

Wife goes upstairs, probably to look for the previous item she lost, and I immediately find the bag she just lost. Friend texts from vacation, in Bangkok. I don't care how old you are, Bangkok is FUNNY. Try it with me: BANGKOK. BANGKOK. heh heh... he said Bangkok. I advised him that if he goes on any dates, he should check the plumbing first.

It is unnaturally quiet as I type this. I brace for imminent arrival of a train, in the living room, next to the Flying Trapeze Act, which is still packing up before going home.

It's Never Too Early (to Be Late)

From Austin, Texas to the world (and back to Houston) here's Stevie Ray Vaughan, playing Texas Flood.

• If I understand this correctly, the lovely FLOTUS got on a plane for Houston and the press blew up because she was wearing heels. This is what passes for journalism (and political discourse). The real fun came later in the day, when Boy George said he wouldn't hear of Melania bashing.
• Ladies and gentlemen, we are observing history as it happens... the republican party is inclusive of gays. Some gays are voting republican. A musician has said something positive about a republican. Republicans are repeating what he said. The whole world has gone topsy-turvy. Dogs sleeping with cats, sun blocked out, people with eye injuries after the sun was blocked out...
• The dems are automatically obstructing everything, having taken over for the republicans, who did it during Obama.
• No, nothing's going to change as far as we are concerned: we'll still get screwed.  But if someone told you, twenty years ago, that gays and republicans would be playing together nicely, you would have had them committed for their own good.

Selena Gomez's Instagram account was hacked, resulting in nude pictures of Justin Bieber being displayed for a short period of time. This is not related to The Fappening and the account was restored quickly. These celebrity accounts are falling like dominoes. Funny as it may be, if you don't take security seriously enough, you will be next. I don't care how many Bieber nudes you have - I don't want to see them.

• With the Horrors in Houston, once again Amateur Radio has stepped up and helped. Like 9-11 and Katrina, these amateurs (hams) put their operational skills to work. Radio works when cells go down or are overloaded. It works locally to globally. Even the government (uh-oh) recognizes the value and has contributed financially to the effort.

The hearing-impaired dog just went off like an alarm, in Attack Mode<tm>. The mailman showed up. Normally Marshall sleeps by the door, just feet away from the mailman. Today he happened to be monitoring from another spot and actually saw the home invader mailman, setting off the Dog Alarm. I haven't heard that in a long time. It was nice and everything, but I didn't really miss it.

• The Definition of Marriage: I get homicidal when I hear JG Wentworth commercials. So she sings along with them.

The NYPD will be tossing 36,000 Windows phones after a year because Microsoft has decided not to support the phones. Way to go, Microsoft! Do you have any idea what the phones must have cost the NYPD?  Rest assured this contract came through friends, so there was significant money involved (plus who in their right mind purchases Windows phones?). Now they will have to purchase another 36,000 phones. If I were a NY taxpayer, I'd be pretty upset. This is a valuable, visible lesson for any governmental purchase; this stuff goes on all day, every day.

• When Life Gets Tough - annoy people. It's good for your spirits.

The Bed
I live in a non-standard household.
No, really?
Really.
You're putting us on.
No, really.

The house is non-standard. The occupants are non-standard. Even the dog is non-standard. The neighbors are non-standard. Even the sun is non-standard, in that it won't shine in the house. Seriously - light doesn't penetrate the house.

Ok, perhaps that's not the sun's fault.
The house came from a kit. Believe it or not, stuff got delivered and someone built it. It's pretty interesting, if you think about it. It's still standing, which is very fortunate. Unfortunately the person who assembled the house seemed to get everything right except for one small niggle: the house got turned around. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he was dyslexic. Maybe some neighborhood joker turn the plans around when he stepped away. Maybe he was $*#@ing stupid - I don't know. The end result is that the house is perfectly set up for a vampire - the sun doesn't get in. While my deathly pallor has caused some to accuse me of sleeping during the day, perhaps in a coffin, this is not true. Although I may try to avoid direct sunlight, I do like to know it's still out there. And none of it gets in, although I'm sure the siding is always warm.

Where was I?
Oh yeah, non-standard.

Being married to a non-standard wife is... well... non-standard. She has The Mother of All Sleep Disorders, which means she has to catch it where she can. This frequently means she's in bed before I am. I have no problem with this - I'm used to getting in bed in the dark. I spend a large portion of my life in the dark - why shouldn't it extend to the bedroom?

I wouldn't dream of turning the bedroom light on and waking anyone, especially the dog, so I always walk into a dark room. This would be no issue for normal people, but as I said, we're non-standard.

Like Charlie Brown kicking the ball, I assume, foolishly, that there's a clean path from the door to the bed. If there were enough light for video, I could produce some classic video. Maybe some of that green video that you can shoot in the dark.  The first obstacle I have to look for is Marshall, who may or may not be a few steps in, completely blocking access to the bed. Trying to be a good person, I really attempt to step over and not disturb him. This is sometimes funny when he's not there and I wind up stepping over nothing. This potentially sets me up for a great stumble, turn, stumble, fall.. right into bed.

Well, maybe not directly into bed. Something will invariably will have appeared in front of the bed. How it gets there, I can't even begin to guess: maybe stuff rearranges itself when the lights go out. Maybe there's some Quantum Rearrangement happening... this isn't my field, so I feel it best not to spend too much time on it. It would only hurt. So I trip on the dog that may or may not be there, stumble, turn, stumble, trip, teeter, then fall onto the bed.

While I'm falling, I have to worry about the Quantum Spaniel, who may or may not be in the bed already, whether or not I tripped on him when he may or may not have been in the way of the bed. For someone who isn't in the field, I sure deal with quantum physics a lot.  So Marshall may be laying at the foot of the bed, or on my pillow. I have to fall in a way that I won't fall on top of the poor guy.

The wife has not moved.

Now that I have done the Bedroom Dance across the entire room, I find myself (or most of myself) in bed, hopefully not on top of any living being. Regardless of marital status, it is unacceptable to land on your spouse for most, if not any reasons.

If Quantum Spaniel wasn't at the foot of the bed, he is snoozing on or about my pillow.  At this point it's ok to wake him so he'll move his fuzzy butt out of my way. So now he fakes sleep and plays stupid. Huh? You want me to what? Get up? MOVE? I don't understand. Say it a few more times. Gently tap my butt, so I can continue to pretend I don't understand. I can figure out how to get all sorts of things outside my reach but I'm really stupid when I don't want to leave your pillow.

FINALLY he moves to a different spot and I settle down to Blissful Sleep.

No I don't.

Stuff appears in my bed. Different Stuff than appears on the floor. Sometimes a pile of clothes. Last night, several packages of new sheets. Maybe a towel. Some books. A chainsaw. The odd bit of jewelry. Colored markers.. there's no telling and no reason for it.. the stuff is just there. The only thing these have in common is that they quickly become airborne, accompanied by screaming (usually mine).

The wife has not moved.

Along with the screaming is the nightly Litany of Self Pity. There's no written version but it goes something like this: GOD $(#&ING DAMMIT, CAN'T I GET INTO $&#@ING BED JUST ONCE WITHOUT THIS #&@&ING NONSENSE? IT'S DARK AND I DON'T WANT TO BOTHER ANYODY AND ALL I ASK IS AN UNOBSTRUCTED PLACE TO #*@&ING SLEEP. NO DOG. NO CRAYONS. NO CLOTHES. NO CHAINSAW. I WORK ALL DAY AND ALL I ASK FOR IS A BED I CAN GET INTO WITHOUT PAIN OR OBJECTS THAT DON'T %*#&ING BELONG THERE. I ASK FOR VERY LITTLE - AND THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I $(#&ING GET.

The wife has not moved.

Sometimes I do a little reading from my phone before I nod off. As soon as I silently click and the light comes on, the wife startles and sits up. NOW she sits up. The words are always the same: "What's wrong?" Nothing. "Oh."

The Sleep Number mattress leaks, but only my side, so I have to pump it up. She sleeps through that too - or at very least does not hit me with a cast iron pan, which is also in the bed, for reasons no one can explain.

Deep, Deep Shame

Shame. Perfidy. Shonda. Disgrace. Dishonor. Humiliation. Guilt. Sadness. Betrayal. Ignominy. Mortification.

All these things and more will not sufficiently explain my feelings.
I come to you humbly, hat in hand, begging your understanding and your assistance in determining what went wrong.

This is very difficult for me to type, so please allow me some leeway....

[sniff]

My wife...

[sniff]

My wife... has joined Faceyspaces.

There. I said it.

Here I am, Tin Foil Hat to the Stars, Number One Privacy and Security Guru, Winner of the 'I'm Not Paranoid - I'm Acutely Aware' Prize [1998-2014], with a wife on Faceyspaces.  Everyone's laughing at me.

Don't believe me?
Approximately sixty seconds after her signup, my own brother send a foe request, asking if I knew.
I'm doomed, like a chiropractor whose wife wears impossibly high heels. Except the chiropractor's wife at least looks good in them. Nothing good can come of Faceyspaces.

I explained that nothing good can come of Faceyspaces. I explained that it's the front page of the NSA. That the NSA either wrote the software or wishes they did.  That the mobile app eats data and privacy. That even with the highest privacy settings, it still sucks up all available data. That no one knows what the mobile app eats in terms of permissions because it's installed as junkware by the carrier.

Her argument?  She wants to keep in touch with the nieces and nephews.
Do the nieces and nephews not have email? Even though that's also property of the NSA, it's not public.

Will she now be required to post selfies every time she goes to the bathroom? Report on what she ate for lunch? Talk about which tire is leaking this morning? Describe picking up after the dog using Poop Bags<tm>? Purchasing a selfie stick? Beating me about the head and shoulders with it?

Can anybody recommend a twelve-step group or a deprogramming center?


I feel so..... alone.
And it's getting cold.... so cold.



THIS WEEK'S SELECTION

How could I go any further without mentioning another hero of mine: Frank Zappa. Zappa has played the bicycle, gotten arrested for one of his records, run recording studios, made millions laugh, got in trouble for insulting Jewish women then went after Catholic girls, gays, influenced many artists, and knocked the heads off many a guitar player.

This is a love song. A family song. A funny song. A song that you had better not play too loud at work (or home). It's called Crew Slut. It's a love song to the ladies of the road.  And here's Frank with a really nice instrumental called Watermelon in Easter Hay.

Sadly, Frank left us in 1993, due to prostate cancer. Get yourself checked, guys.

Transvaginal Mesh Machinations

An Indian sprinter is protesting her lifetime ban from sprinting because she failed a gender test. How does one fail a gender test? Did they perhaps object to her writing the answers with her penis?

After watching way too much daytime tv, I've discovered what my ailment is: my transvaginal mesh is killing me. I shall now sue.

In England, a group of Parliament Members state that the names of sex offenders in England and Wales should not be made public until unless they are charged.  Gee, are we hitting too close to home? 

It's been a bad week for bass players. We said goodbye to Andy Fraser (FREE, 62), who was battling cancer and Aids. Fraser cowrote Alright Now. We also bid farewell to Mike Porcaro (TOTO, 59), who had ALS, although details were not provided.

New study finds that women who sleep more have more sex.  I, for one, am not getting more sex. Perhaps my wife is.

The Flying Spaghetti Monster is finally getting some positive press! You should become a Pastafarian too.

SPOOKY ACTION AT SEVERAL PLACES

This morning I checked my phone and discovered that there were two calls from my brother at 4:30am. This could not have been good. I texted to ask if all was well and got a confused reply that all was fine, why? I told him I got two calls at 4:30 and he said there was nothing in his outgoing call log. Oddly enough, all I got was an alert - there were no calls received in my logs. As if this weren't enough, my mom's phone called my brother's phone around the same time. She made no such call. But she did receive a call from me at 4:25. There are no outgoing calls listed on my phone and I do not sleep-call.

I don't have any paranormal stuff happening at my house; things are weird enough without it. My parents have a phone that rings in their bedroom at odd times, although there is no phone in their bedroom.  And just to round things out, my brother's entire family heard a voice the other night, saying something to the effect of "Well, isn't that nice?". The children were frightened out of their wits. My brother cannot find any electronic reason that this happened - tablets, computers, toys.....

A MORNING IN THE LIFE

It started this morning as it usually starts: with me hauling my butt out of bed slowly and unwillingly, in utter disbelief that the alarm had gone off. I get dressed in the dark, so as not to wake the wife (on the odd occasions when she sleeps). Some would say I get dressed in the dark even with the light on. I went downstairs and let the dog out, at which point I put on my sneakers and saw the left leg of my pants, which had all sorts of dirt on it.  Damn impressive, as these were (allegedly) clean pants. Fortunately I saw them before I left for work.

Trudging back up the steps, I went for another 'clean' pair of jeans. I found a very clean looking pair which, when picked up, had a pair of interesting stockings caught in its zipper. How they got there, I have no idea (I swear!). I suppose it's downright Freudian that they were caught in the zipper. No amount of zipping, tweezing or wheedling would dislodge the errant stockings, so I had to use my teeth (not unlike normal). Finally I managed to get the pants on so I could go to work. Or so I thought.

In the bathroom was the tv remote. My electric toothbrush has been moving off its charger, next to some device that buzzes occasionally.  Yesterday my wife spent five hours looking for her cell phone. It was in her back pocket. My laptop had migrated under a table and there was a cup of dog food sitting on top of the dog food container, out in the open. There is a very large pot of viscous yellow liquid on the stove - no one knows why. When I asked what that pile of crumbs on the carpet was, I was told a snack.

Somebody's meds have failed. Whose meds is anyone's guess.
Have I mentioned stepping on a dog bomb this morning?


I suppose it was inevitable that I stumbled into a meme generator.


IF YOU EVER WANT PROOF THAT THE PRESS IS OWNED

Go no further than Reporters Give Hillary Clinton Standing Ovation after She Takes No Questions, Jokes about Email Scandal.  Complete drooling morons, doing what they're told and abdicating their responsibility to the country.

The latest mystery in New York City is the rising rate of syphilis. See what happens when you take away their extra large sodas?

Good Thing I Have a Job

I'm going to try something new today. You know how they say you should never go food shopping when you're hungry?  'They' also say you should never blog when pissed.  Well here I goooooooooo......

I have to tell you, I have absolutely NO IDEA how you single people get stuff done. We have a very equitable distribution of duties at our house but with my wife taking the week off 'elsewhere', I am the lone biped.  As such, I am in charge of the house and the two quadrupeds. Let me describe my day...

YESTERDAY:

Off to work by eight.
Off to home at four.
Stop by credit union to deposit last week's paycheck.
Credit union, which my wife told me closes at six, closes at four thirty. I got there at four thirty five. Mind you, this is the mortgage payment.
Spitting blood, I go home.

Once home, I am greeted by all sorts of Cat Detritus. For reasons known only to Beelzebub, the cat has taken to peeing on puppy pads. Then he wraps them up around a small rug in a knot and I get to untangle them and deposit them in the trash, replacing with a new one for him to foul.  Later, while cleaning the cat box, I find a pair of gloves. I have no idea why.

The dog is so happy to see me, he runs to the door because he wants to go out. But of course he wants to go out - he's been in the house all day, you are thinking. It's no big emergency as he has already shit on the kitchen floor. While carrying it to the toilet, some leaps out onto the floor.

"This isn't turning out well," I say to myself; in quite different words, at a ridiculously high volume.

Dog comes in and runs to the cat bowl, to lick out every last quantum molecule of cat food. The cat, meanwhile, is eating the dog's food. Funny as Cat Foot Ballet is, the cat shouldn't be eating the dog's food because he's f-ing diabetic. So I tell him to get out of the dog food. Absolutely no effect. GET OUT OF THE DOG FOOD. He doesn't even twitch. GET OUT OF THE F-ING DOG FOOD OR I WILL KILL YOU, combined with rapid motion toward the dog food bowl does the trick.

Speaking of diabetes, the cat needs shots twice a day. This is something I cannot do so a very kind niece helps (although she didn't help last night). When he misses shots, the peeing all over the house starts.

Undaunted, the cat jumps up on the couch next to me and starts pawing and pricking me, wanting attention. This cat is obviously lacking in empathy. At this point, I'd rather play Feline Aviation than pet him.  I gently pick him up and move him to the other side of the couch. Undaunted a second time, he immediately comes back, purring as loudly as he can, trying to get up my butt.  I move him again. He comes back again. I move him a third time and he comes most of the way back, sneaking over half an inch or less, til he can touch me. And purr loudly. So loudly I can't concentrate (ok, let's face it, I can't concentrate too well to begin with).  The dog, with his best I wasn't doing anything Dad look, leaps up on the couch and does not purr.

An hour later, I'm off to the Happy Place<tm>, for our single hour visit.
Then home to cook, straighten, and yell some more.

TODAY:

I lefty work early to make sure I could get to the credit union before closing. In spite of the fact that no one stops for stop signs, I made it(!).  I deposited my check, which my wife told me goes in as cash, and the teller tellers me that it will take two days to clear.  I asked why paychecks didn't go in as cash. She looked confused for a bit then asked me where the check tearoff was. Out in the car, of course. So I ran to the car (it's snowing at this point), only to find it's back at home, where I left it. Back to the counter, it goes in as a check, to clear in two days.  Have I mentioned this is my mortgage payment? Spitting bullets AND blood, I go home.

I'm surprised they didn't call the police at that point.  When I hit the parking lot, I gave the entire neighborhood a lesson in Screamonics. I continued all the way home, questioning the credit union's parentage and noting that the check will clear for them immediately but I have to wait two days. This is why I stopped going to banks.

When I get home, I am greeted by all sorts of Cat Detritus. There is a puppy pad, wrapped around a small rug. And in the cat box is the pair of gloves. I continue to have no idea why.  Does he wipe with them? Do they make him feel more comfortable while he's excreting?

The dog then runs to the door again. And once again, he has shit on the floor. This is the weirdest deja vu I have ever had.

Then the cat jumps up on the sofa, purring, and tries to physically attach himself to me. This horrid rerun is brought to you by the Philly Credit Union, where no cats are ever hurt via banking. The dog is smart enough to make himself scarce when I go off. The cat, not so much.

LAST NIGHT:

Things are lovely at the Happy Place<tm>.  Walking in the door was not a smart idea in the first place, considering my mood. Where is my wife's hoagie from the previous day? Some idiot threw it out (probably after eating it). Why is my wife tired? Her first roommate spent her entire time coughing up a lung. When she left, they moved the Sandwich Stealer in, whose other hobby is snoring. Loudly and constantly. They had to give out earplugs (I am not kidding). Later that night, the idiot threw out someone else's sandwich.

Where is the staff?  I sure see them a lot. They suggest to keep sandwiches in their fridge. Do they discipline the Sandwich Stealer? No.  When Nina Jesus'd everyone to death and threw liquid at someone, did they move her? No.  Pardon my math and lack of psychological experience but why are the malcontents allowed to destabilize the entire unit? Where is the accountability? Over with Obama's accountability. I informed my wife that sometimes people trip. Perhaps the Sandwich Stealer tripped and hit her head on the wall three or four times. These things happen.

So here I am, ready to go visit for that generous hour and I'm in quite a Mood. Worse than yesterday. I sure hope they don't keep me.

Then it's shopping and dinner and lunch for tomorrow.  Only three more days of this heaven.

You betcha I'm pissed.


P.S. And just as I'm finishing this up, the f-ing BROWSER CRASHES. I am being pushed too far.

EDIT:  I found out some High Mucketymuck at the hospital came down personally to badger and intimidate my wife for copays. Someone will answer for this.

What's Black and Scrubs Your Back?

Martin Loofa.
[timely, no?]


So I have a new job.  More on that later.

The real excitement is depression.  Let me rephrase that... two solid months of depression.  Let me embellish. My dear wife has gone through two solid months of depression. Folks with bipolar disorder tend to swing from manic to depressed (Manic Depression - Jimi Hendrix). Two months of depression is really rather a lot. For anyone. In fact, it's unprecedented here.  After a brief conversation with the psychiatrist, it was time to take a trip to....

THE HAPPY PLACE

Yes, the Happy Place<tm>. Otherwise known as The Booby Hatch. Funny Farm. Loony Bin. Madhouse. Laughing Academy. Etc.  I'm kinda shocked at all the synonyms for this. I'm kinda unhappy too, as I like to refer to our house as The Madhouse.

It's not what you think it is.  Or maybe it is, depending on what you think.  Over the years, there have been a few trips there, little with any real comedy potential.  Generally, things are pretty calm. This time we hit the jackpot.

There are many units there, for people with different disorders and capabilities. This one seemed fairly nice.  I was allowed two one-hour visitations per day (this would have worked better when I was unemployed, not that I'm nostalgic or anything). When I got there, I was introduced to Nina, a very nice girl. Ten minutes later, Nina handed us a note. It said we were a great couple and that Jesus loved us. We should play the lottery precisely because Jesus loves us.

Uh-oh.

Then there was Sara, an eighty year old lady with one of those diseases that makes you shake. She would get so angry at her hands for shaking that she'd yell horrible things at them. Anatomically impossible things. As a result, she scared the poop out of most people (except for my wife, of course). There was also Julio, the Manic Hispanic. Julio is a great kid but apparently under-medicated. They were watching DVDs and Julio was reciting the lines along with the characters. Loudly.  Mania and noise have a negative effect on me so we moved to the next room.

In the next room, we were serenaded by Vicky the Snorer.  We'd get a word or two out and then [SNORE] and a few more words [SNORE]. A nurse interrupted her slumber to let her know that this was not good behavior. She agreed and quickly resumed snoring.

Nina came back and asked if we had read the letter.  Apparently Nina had written a letter to everybody, including the staff and visitors, about Jesus.  I think most of them knew already, so it got to be annoying.  I told my wife that they had better explain that this was not acceptable before someone with less understanding than me (really?) popped her in the nose.

Today's visit started with Nina asking if she could sit with me until my wife returned. With all of the goodness I could muster, I said yes.  She actually got an entire sentence out before she mentioned Jesus. If we weren't at the Happy Place<tm>, I would have brought out my inner Satan. She was good enough to leave when my wife came back.

Shortly before I arrived, Nina flipped out on her group, which upset everyone. I suspect they finally decided to send her to the Jesus Ward.  A further person debated me on how great a president Obama is. I had to keep reminding myself to behave. Of course she was arguing this point - the lady was in the mental ward.

If you're still following this, you probably have one question: how did they allow me to leave?
No, the other question: how is my wife.

Thanks for asking - she's pretty good, all things considered.

FALLOUT

You're probably asking yourself what's been going on at the house while Mom's in the hospital.
Glad you asked.

The real loony bin is the house.  The pets have taken full advantage of the situation. Marshall has taken to waking me at obscene hours of the morning to go outside. Mind you, this only happens when Mommy goes away. So far he's gotten me up at 5, 3 and 7 on alternating days. Here I am, all set to sleep late (job starts at 8am) and the little monster decides to play Fun with Daddy.

I thought I got away with ignoring him the first time but he showed me: he got into something and had diarrhea. The other times were just for fun.  Ever have to keep watch on a dog at 3am, so he doesn't run around the side of the house and bark? In the freezing cold? Naked?

As I mentioned a while back, the cat is diabetic, so he needs insulin shots. Unfortunately his daddy doesn't do needles, so a brave family member stops by to Dart the Cat. Unfortunately the brave family member lost my keys, so the cat missed a day or two. As a result, he's been rewarding me by peeing all over the house. Naturally I found this out the hard way. We actually have puppy pee pads two feet from his litter box because he likes going there for some reason. This is by his Southern Litter Box. The Northern Litter Box is near the kitchen. He avoids that one by peeing on the rug near the sink, which is how I discovered there was a problem. Ever do dishes and wonder if you spilled water, only to discover that it wasn't water? Yeah, that.

Marshall won't eat his food when nobody's home, although he will dive right for cat food, so I know he's not sick. He also goes Fishing for Treasure in the Cat Box, a game nobody wants to watch. To change things up, he 'helped' me clean the rug yesterday. I had to clean the rug because every time I clean the rug, he magically makes tissues appear, then shreds them all over the rug.  So he helped me clean by continually sticking his nose in the bag I used for picking up the detritus from the last time he shredded. He really seemed to enjoy that bag. After I got home later that evening, he had gotten into my work bag and consumed three fruit bars, shredding the silver wrappers all over the rug. Mind you, there was not a single crumb of fruit bar - only wrapper.

KMART

On the way to the Happy Place<tm>, I was ordered to stop at KMart and pick up a few games and puzzles for the folks.  Happy to contribute, I unhappily stopped at KMart. Unhappily because KMart is a hell hole. Every time I go there, there are unbelievable lines at the cashier. Apparently putting more than one or two cashiers at registers physically hurts management, so they make sure there aren't enough cashiers at any single time.

The parking lot had so few cars in it, I wondered if they were even open. After locating everything I was ordered to procure (coloring books are with office supplies and puzzles are with toys), I made my way to pay for them, with just enough time to get to the hospital.

Heh heh heh.
I had forgotten where I was.

There were exactly two lanes open, one of which had customers bailing out. The register must have started spitting out lungs or bullets or whatever KMart registers spit out (anything but register tape or change). People were fleeing the aisle with arms full of boxes and bags.

I was in the other lane, which had inexplicably ground to a halt, for no apparent reason.  Ah, I thought to myself.. I'm at KMart. This is precisely why I don't go there, not even with my wife.  Several millenia later, there was only one person in front of me. By this point, I had given up on seeing my wife on time.  The lady in front of me had one tiny little box (of fiber bars, don't ask), so this was a slam dunk.

Not so fast, Coloring Book Boy.

The register had stopped spitting out register tape, so the guy allegedly operating the register called a halt to operations (how could one tell?) and threaded the paper into the machine.  Or rather, he tried to thread the tape through the machine. He seemed to be a fairly competent cashier, which should have made me suspicious in the first place, so I figured I was in the right line for once. However, the simple act of putting new paper in the register was obviously beyond his meager capabilities. He kept jamming it in, folding it, ripping it and completely failing to get the paper through the slot.  I suggested if perhaps he hit it, REALLY HARD, that might help.  After a few more failed tries, I told him that I was going to hit it REALLY HARD. I even reached out to help him.

A small cheer went through the line as the cashier finally succeeded in putting more paper in the blasted machine. Fiber Lady paid with some sort of loyalty card and, as a result, somehow wound up getting fourteen receipts (I was terrified the paper would run out again) AND a whole lot of change that required meticulous counting out.

Sweaty and nervous, I stepped up to the plate (my only sports metaphor for the year). Register D00d got me checked out in record time, although he bagged stuff up and never exactly told me how much I owed. Having eventually gotten that out of the way, I ran to the car and took off.

When I got to the hospital, I noticed something was missing. Yes, Register D00d had somehow managed to keep one of the coloring books for himself and I somehow managed to not notice it til an hour later. WHY DID I EVER GO TO KMART?


So yeah, I have a new job.
I'll tell you about it next time.

The Unemployment Follies - Final: The Pets' Lament

Thanks for hanging in there with Thermionic Emissions through this most interesting time (all three of you).

As you might have noticed, this is the final installment of The Unemployment Follies.  This can mean a number of things: 1. I'm going to shoot myself (or someone else), 2. I somehow managed to become employed.  As amusing an idea of shooting would be, I'm going to have to go with number two; I somehow managed to become employed.

This blog is nothing if not logical.  Now follow this logic: as we know, I'm am information security guy. And as we've all read, there are tons of hacking incidents happening all over the place, each worse than the previous one. Therefore, there is a huge demand for security people, so I should get a job very quickly.  While this blog is logical, little outside of it is, thus the five month desperate search for a new position.

My wife is very supportive. She's been dealing with everything well but for some reason lately she's been reminding me (constantly) that I only have one month of unemployment compensation left. It's not that I didn't appreciate the rather frequent, panic-filled reminders, but I was somewhat well-acquainted with the impending date. No pressure, of course. Mowing lawns and McDonalds were starting to look good. And you know about my almost paralyzing fear of mowing. Not to mention my almost paralyzing fear of eating anything from McDonalds.

I started looking outside my specialty. Interviews started picking up. I spent hours each day looking for a job. My in-laws were holding prayer vigils outside the house at night, complete with candles that kept me up until daylight. The neighbor's children added me to their school's prayer list. Two people read my tarot cards and put me in a job before the end of the year. A friend said I was working way too hard and to simply ask for a new job within forty-eight hours, also writing it down on a piece of paper.

One, some, or all of the above held a conference, wherever these types of conferences are held and laid one on me. Within a few hours, someone called about a job. Within a week, I was provisionally hired. When I say provisionally, I mean that they have to do a little snooping around in my past. You're thinking that I'll be back on the unemployment rolls again, aren't you? I wish them luck - since I can't remember a bunch of it, perhaps they'll have better luck (and tell me a little about it). Hopefully neither of us will discover what I did with the bodies.


ADJUSTMENTS

There will have to be many adjustments made after me being home for such a long time. The ones affected most would be the poor pets.  Not that we weren't bonded well before this but now I have two quadrupeds almost physically attached to me all day.  Since I'm not exactly an athletic guy, this means there are two pets fighting for lap and sofa space all day. If one lays against my leg, the other one hops up on my lap. This is less than optimal, as there's usually a laptop there. The damn dog can do things I can't do on my laptop, with just one paw. I suspect my wife will have to take them through some sort of Pet De-Attachment Program. They won't know what to do without Daddy sitting around the house all day.

Inter-species same sex sibling relationships are the best.

The humans will have to make adjustments too, like having electricity and heat. Ok, more like having better chocolate and paying bills. I have a genuine fondness for paying bills. Well, maybe not a genuine fondness and maybe the wife pays the bills, but you get where I'm going with this.

Speaking of the little four-legged darlings, the cat has taken to peeing on a mat by the kitchen sink. Even after I've just gotten up, the mat does not resemble his litter box in any way, shape, or form. Now picture my sheer delight when washing the dishes, to discover I'm standing on a mat made wet by cat urine. Serves me right for not wearing shoes when I wash dishes. Or for having a lovely little furball who decided not to use his litter box that particular time.

The dog, not to be left out, has decided I take too much time to let him in from outside. Today I had to apologize for him having to bark twice before I let him in. I looked at the cat and asked him why he couldn't let his brother in - after all, he's a very bright cat. Of course he's bright... he gets ME to open the door.

THE BIG EVENT

Once in every decade or two comes an event so spectacular as to defy belief.  Yes, we started cleaning the house. Marshall was especially grateful for us removing all of the clutter that had deposited itself on the dining room chairs. This allowed him to use a chair as a step stool, gaining access to the table itself, whereupon he proceeded to eat the remaining half of a fresh cherry cheesecake. Let this serve as a lesson to each and every one of you: DO NOT CLEAN. EVER.


STARBUCKS

Most of you know Starbucks as a place to get overpriced, over-roasted coffee with a whole lotta smug appeal. Did you know it's also a great place for a sociology lesson?  Someone asked me to meet him there last week, in spite of my begging and pleading to go anywhere else, even Denny's.  While I waited in the parking lot, I observed the following:

• Some genius in an SUV pulls up to the NO PARKING HERE sign and parks (with a half-full parking lot).
• A BMW driver getting into his car with his double espresso half latte nonfat cream. He closes the door then opens it again and proceeds to pour out his old coffee onto the parking lot.
• A sixty-something with dyed black hair and boots so high she couldn't walk in them, attempting to navigate the lot and somehow open the door.
• Two more people spilling old coffee onto the lot.
• Several other people randomly inventing their own parking spaces, again with a half-full lot.

WESTERN UNION - WORSE THAN DENTISTRY

Speaking of paying bills, it became important to pay one bill immediately, as in now; and when I say now, I mean yesterday. I was advised to use Western Union, Moneygram or Wells Fargo. So I went online and did the transaction with Western Union. A day later, I realized that Western Union had not only not bothered to complete the transaction, they hadn't bothered to let me know they didn't complete the transaction.

So I called Western Union. Apparently the transfer was on hold. Apparently notifying me was on hold too. The nice non-English as a first language speaking fellow told me that it could not be completed. So I asked him why and he didn't know. Then he told me I could go into any Western Union office. I informed him that if I wanted to go into an office, I wouldn't have called him in the first place. He suggested I try online. I already tried online, using two operating systems and four browsers. Online help told me that people were having trouble online and to use the phone. Are you following me still?

He promises me a coupon. I don't want a coupon, I want him to put the damn transaction through. It was like the Cheese Shop sketch:

You are Western Union, right?

Yes, sir.

You send money, correct?

Yes, sir.

You have been around since long before I was born?

Yes, sir.

Are you telling me you can send money for everyone but me?

Well... let me check.  Ok, I checked and we can perform the transaction again. All I need is all of your information over again. And we're processing. And it has rejected again.

What has rejected - Western Union or the bank?

Western Union.

So you're telling me that Western Union cannot send money.

I didn't say that.

But you can't send my money.

You can try again but not for twenty four hours when our computers reset.

CLICK.

So I tried Moneygram online.  Oops, they don't have the correct receiver number - have to go to one of their locations. At their location I set up the payment, got my transaction number, went to the counter and POOF - they couldn't take credit cards for wire transfer.

My friend looked at me in wild-eyed wonder.

This morning I decided to go straight to Wells Fargo bank, as the money was being transferred to Wells Fargo anyway.  I called to make sure this was ok and off I went. After giving them cash, they took the opportunity to mention that the payment wouldn't post for up to three days. At this point my eyes were rolling like a slot machine. My ears were buzzing and the voices in my head were telling me to do things that were quite illegal, immoral and generally Not Nice.

The bank's staff were incredibly helpful and set out to find out how to let another division of Wells Fargo know that this division of Wells Fargo got a payment for them.  After another thirty minutes, we all discovered, to our shock and surprise, that it was faster to use Western Union or Moneygram than their own branch.

Since I will pull all of my own body hair out, one by one, before I visit Western Union, I opted for Moneygram. Within three minutes, the money had transferred. Two entire days to pay a bill by wire transfer. My brain hurts and there are still pieces of my cranium on the ceiling at Wells Fargo.

I'd like to close this merry missive with the words of the latest email I received:

Love the Monkees? Don't miss this!!!  

When I opened the email, it was an ad for an Aretha Franklin concert.