Why Did the Politician Cross the Road?

...because the Road Building PAC paid him to.

It was a glorious morning - the sun made a rare appearance and it was almost no-jacket weather. I mention this because I had to go outside to get the dog before I left for work. He was where he always is - facing the neighbors' house, waiting for his morning treat. He likes to ignore me at these times. In fact, this morning he hid in the bushes so I wouldn't see him.  This plan, although ingenious, failed because he didn't realize that there were no leaves or vegetation on the bushes - just bare sticks.

Our good friends at the Department of the Motherland Homeland Security are offering yet another service to make us safer: Family Reunification Program. This is where we pick up families from three South American countries (at the Mexican border, trying to sneak in) and give them free transportation and a special refugee/parole program with “resettlement assistance” and permanent residency.  Pretty soon DHS will be 'helping' with elections, drivers licenses and food shopping.


FOUR RING CIRCUSES

It's no secret that I live in a weird place, with a weird wife and weird pets. And I'm not exactly standard-issue either. But sometimes I long for a life in which gravity is one hundred percent effective and things don't blink in and out of existence with regularity.  Normal life is boring - I prefer something closer to the middle, though....

Yesterday was a pretty good day. Some of the Potholes of Death had been filled. It was better than I had a right to ask for.  I was expecting a good evening too, at least until I got home.

Upon opening my front door, I was greeted by a house full of smoke. It didn't occur to me to panic; instead I ran to the kitchen, from where the smoke seemed to be emanating.  I was full of wonder, wondering what had happened and which denizen did what to cause it.  Maybe the cat had once again taken up his hobby of leaping onto the stove, turning the gas on in the process.  Perhaps the dog had decided to have his cat food warmed first, as opposed to out of the cat bowl.

Nope... the wife was busily attending to the microwave, which housed some formerly exploded and burning potatoes and taken out the device permanently.  I opened windows and turned on fans, relieved that we didn't have to call outside help.  The police and fire folks occasionally stop by for a laugh when they're feeling down.

After that little bit of fun, Existential Agita started to set in. This is the state in which I start to question Stuff in the larger picture, which sometimes tends to be a little frightening. And frightening it was.. I don't know about other people, but I never have any idea what to expect when I return from slaving over a hot computer. Virtual children, Pet Damage, sleeping wives, things hurling themselves at guests, disappearing objects, fire, and people determined to flee the house for purposes of purchasing Code Red (Mt Dew which tastes kinda like maraschino cherry soda, heavy on the caffeine).  Weary, I climbed the steps, only to discover that the bedroom was every bit as full of smoke as the kitchen. Never let it be said that we do anything halfway.

What did this teach me?  That the next day, my coat and all of my clothes smell like exploded potatoes, which was only discovered on the way to work, in the car.  My new colleagues have already developed a healthy distaste for me.. this will only make matters worse (if it doesn't trigger the building's smoke detectors).

Perhaps a little less explosion would be nice.  Less people (and pets) bouncing off the walls. No trips to the Happy Place. No $250 Performance tires on the Hyundai. No $350 pet xrays. Not another idiot hitting the car EVER again. Fewer days in which the house looks like the aftermath of pets playing with explosives. No more of the wife preparing for a lucrative career in Chainsaw Juggling (or fish gutting).

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

I have good news and bad news for you. Unfortunately I'm not sure which is which, so I'll leave the decision to you, my empowered readers:  

1. The Vatican exorcism course is set for April.
2. It's sold out.

Something called Azealia Banks, referred to as a rapper, has stated that she wants to f___ the president. I wonder what would happen if JZ stated that he wanted to f____ Michele Obama [Barack would be horrified and Michele would be on the first plane to LA].  Ok, bad example.  What if Bill Maher said he wanted to f___ Michele Obama. [Michelle would be on the first plane to NYC].  Ok, I give up, but you get the idea.

ABC is reviving The Muppet Show. Gee, I thought they already had with Beat the Press. Shows what I know.

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?

The Week in Skepticism

Apparently bunnies have a weed problem in Utah.

This blog has taken a break from the usual cynicism and general distrust but today we're back in full strength.

White House Celebrates National Freedom of Information Day by Making Office of the Administration Exempt from Freedom of Information.  Yes, the most transparent kingdom ever.

• Judicial committee approves FBI plan to expand hacking powers. They voted 11-1 to modify a rule to allow judges more flexibility in how they approve search warrants for electronic data. It's for the children.

How police fight to keep use of Stingrays quiet.  No, not the Corvette - this is the black box that spies on your cell phone by impersonating a cell tower. It would be catastrophic if the citizens knew how their Fourth Amendment rights were abridged.

• Despite Snowden leaks, Americans' use of the net largely unchanged. I should change the name of this blog to We're a Nation of Morons.

Private companies continue to amass millions of license plate photos, hold onto the data forever.

Automatic license plate readers are everywhere. The data is accessible to police and certain members of the public: car dealers, insurance companies, private detectives… basically anyone willing to pay access fees and who can offer a suitable justification for digging through a multi-billion plate database.

 Hertz puts video cameras inside its rental cars, has 'no current plans' to use them. We promise. Trust us. We're from the government and we're here to help you.

• McDonald's workers claim they were told to treat burns with mayo, mustard. It's still better advice than eating the food.

CIA worked with DOJ to re-purpose foreign surveillance airborne cell tower spoofers for domestic use. This wonderful example of intra-departmental cooperation is to spy on you, but it's for your own safety. Never mind that this is the CIA working on domestic issues....

• The Secret Service, fresh from drunk driving and failure to remain awake stints, is looking for eight million dollars to build a fake White House to train their agents. They have, however, rejected a fake Obama, saying that one is more than enough. Although it sounds like a great place to work, that's a lot of taxpayer money for hookers and booze.

Apropos of nothing, here is the story of an accomplished deviant Manhattan lawyer (redundant, I know) who liked to dress up as a TSA officer and choke his girlfriends during rough sex. Like the guy who shot two policeman in Ferguson, he explained that he meant to strangle someone else.

• Thailand warns that women who post 'underboob' photos face five years in jail. It's full frontal nudity or nothing - they have an image to protect.

Trial to begin for North Carolina man who cuffed a child to the porch with a dead chicken around his neck. Prosecutors demand animal cruelty charges.

• And speaking of North Carolina, the people must be incredibly tolerant. A man has been standing in his doorway, naked and smoking for ten years. Neighbors called the police, who said the man was doing nothing wrong. The neighbors claimed he was setting a bad example by smoking.

The big news is not that the Prevaricator-in Chief is keeping us in Afghanistan, it's that Angelina Jolie, famous for her looks, her husband, and voluntarily removing two of her breasts to avoid cancer, has had her ovaries removed, also to prevent cancer.

For commentary, we asked our medical consultant, Dr. Wilma Deth, about this surgery.  Dr. Deth has opined that this has absolutely nothing to do with cancer. Angelina simply hates her life and her husband, not to mention her thirty-some children and all of her money.  It has been theorized that Angelina is simply trying to escape, piece by piece, but Dr. Wilma states otherwise - that this is nothing more than self-mutilation, like cutting, tattoos and multiple piercings (especially on the genitals).  So instead of slicing and dicing her arms, she has an organ or two removed.  Imagine having at least two of your breasts removed.....

--Dr. Deth is a native of Camden, New Jersey, and practices in Florida.  What she practices is still unknown.

What the Hell is a Mandocaster?

That's easy - it's Eastwood Guitars' electronic mandolin. It kinda like you took a seafoam green Telecaster and put it in the dryer until it shrunk to half size.  This is precisely what I told my five yeard old nephew and he believed me. This is also precisely why I'm not allowed to see my five year old nephew often.

Eastwood is very nice to lefties, producing the greater amount of their offerings lefty, including a lefty 12-string mandocaster. I already own a Delta 6, which is pretty cool for what it is, although it suffers a hair in the quality control department, with pencil marks near the pickup route. Suffice it to say that if you know what you're ordering, you will not be disappointed. The guitars are made in China and are not designed to be Les Pauls.

Eastwood was very communicative, letting me know the shipping information. To my surprise, the 'caster was shipped from England (Britland, as the kids say). It arrived in short order, with the carrier's driver conveniently hiding it next to my front steps. To his credit, he wrapped it in plastic to avoid the nearly constant precipitation. I also ordered the custom padded gig bag, which turned out to be a great addition (although getting it monogrammed was not a listed option). And let's face it - it wouldn't fit into any of my guitar cases.

Rather than taking a picture and posting it to all of the social sites (and Reddit), I'm using the Anti-Social Network to post an actual description. In the new tradition of including goodies, I got a package with a cute little cord, some picks, and something called fudge, which, according to the package, sells for 25p (that's $495.76 US). It is not fudge as we colonists know it but it was quite enjoyable. And this is, to the best of my knowledge, not a fudge review (although the absolute best vanilla fudge I get comes from a pharmacy).

Let me start off by saying this is a really cool little axe. It has some heft to it. It also had a bowed neck, which the techs at Eastwood assisted me in straightening (yes, it has a truss rod!).

MOUNTAINS TO CLIMB

As we might know, I'm a guitar player.  The first minor hurdle is learning how to play the mandolin. As reality would have it, the instrument is not tuned like a guitar. The irony here is that it is tuned the opposite of a guitar (EADG from the high string down). An online friend observed that if I chose to string it backwards (right-handed), it would be like a guitar.  As a stubborn kinda guy, I chose to play it 'normally' (GDAE, from the low string).  As a cocky kinda guitar player (of rather a lot of years), I naturally figured I could be playing in no time.

This reminds me of my aborted attempt to play the piano. I know theory so I could assmeble chords, but I quickly discovered that you cannot apply vibrato to a key, nor can you (traditionally) bend it. I felt like I was going to break a key while trying, so thus ended my piano career, quite abruptly.

Since this is 2015, I quickly downloaded a few mandolin apps to my android phone. I learned my first chord, a G major, and was off, wanking away and trying to make vaguely musical-sounding noises.  For hilarity's sake, I tried a few individual notes, trying to be the Hendrix of mandolin.  It sounded more like the Cobain of mandolin (don't send hate mail-I calls em as I sees em). It was at roughly this point that I discovered mandolins don't operate like guitars (no, really?). Aside from there being two fewer strings, you cannot bend a note in tune, due to trying to bend a pair of strings simultaneously (like a 12 string guitar).  The other minor thing is that because of the tuning, an open string is equal to the previous string's seventh fret, not the fifth, as on a guitar.

Lazy and anxious to play some actual music, I tried picking out a few things by ear, the first being St. Teresa, by Joan Osborne. BRIEF DETOUR: Listen to some Joan Osborne. She's a really good singer, who can cover almost anything and belt out her own stuff in a very musically pleasing way. It doesn't hurt that she's attractive, althouth I could do without the nose ring. I kinda want her to come sing to me.  She's one of the few that I listen to without listening for the guitar. This song has a particularly interesting bassline, provided by a fretless bass (not a fretted one, as in the video). There's also a live version, with an actual left-handed mandolinist (? and a bloody CAPO).

The next problem is that the spacing between the frets is miniscule, especially in comparison with a guitar. My poor normal sized fingers had some difficulty, especially trying to barre chords (which apparently you don't do). The chord shapes are all wrong too :P  Next up: Led Zepplin's The Battle of Evermore. It's probably wrong but it's mine by ear.

Now ask me how it sounds plugged in.
I have no idea. It's very live acoustically so I haven't plugged it in yet [check YouTube for samples]. In fact, it sustains better than some of my guitars. The first attempt will be into a Fender Mustang I, so I can distort the hell out of it at sensible volumes. What good is an old traditional instrument if you can't use it inappropriately? And for a gag, maybe I'll email Seymour Duncan to see if he has any replacement pickups for it.  JB Mandolin anyone? It has two pickups and a Strat-style blade switch, along with one volume and one tone knob.

Should you buy one?

• IF you're interested in an electric version - it won't sound the same as your traditional mandolin but it will behave better onstage.
• IF you're looking for a bit of good clean fun.
• IF six strings are too intimidating.
• IF you have the cash.
• IF it seems like a good idea at the time.
• IF you like good customer service (with a British accent, even in email).
• IF you have a thing for seafoam green (or black or sunburst).
• IF you want to impress the mandolin groupies (IF there are mandolin groupies).
• IF you're already a musician, looking to add to your resume.

I got a closeout model on sale. There are still lefty closeout models on the site, so you can save some money. Overall, I believe that being a (stringed) musician has already helped the process move along. I'd also like their semi-hollow 12 string, so I could do my Mike Nesmith (Monkees) impersonation. This might come into conflict with my desire for a Custom Shop Strat, so I'll blow up that bridge when I come to it.

Questions?

Bipolar Disorder Has Captured My Soul

See - it isn't so easy updating songs to new names for old disorders.  What I'm told is an excellent description of the disorder is rendered by Stone Temple Pilots.

When tax records are requested, Al Sharpton tends to have mysterious fires. There's an old joke about convenient building fires being Jewish Lightning.  Google will not let me type this name, so let's call it Sharpton Lightning,

I've often said that a great deterrent is worth twice the punishment. Utah wants to bring back the firing squad, which is cool, but I was thinking of public flogging or the stocks.

Many of our nation's and world's problems can easily be overcome by one solution: fear. Take this fine example of how to fix the schools issue.

Because we all know that taking a power saw to a baby's neck is an unspeakable act, you will all be happy to note that, according to autopsy, the baby was already dead when the power saw was employed. 

Communist Party leaders are afraid that the Dalai Lama will not have an afterlife. Worried enough that this week, officials repeatedly warned that he must reincarnate, and on their terms. Now there is a party with some power.

Meth lab found in Walmart. Explosion in aisle 3. That certainly explains a lot.


Forensic experts in Italy said Thursday they had reconstructed the DNA of a national war hero and poet by analysing semen he left on a handkerchief given to a lover 100 years ago. The gift of semen is timeless.

Doctors perform first successful penis transplant. Note: this is not a Hillary joke.

It's springing outside. There is not only sunshine but damn near fifty-some degrees outside. This is almost bikini weather, although perhaps not for me.  Apparently spring fever has sprung, judging from the sights on the way home today.  Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's Dairy Queen, I don't know.

So there we are, parked at Dairy Queen because we decided that we couldn't live without a malt (yes, a MALT) to keep us from eating dinner til ten tonight.  There was a curious mixture of skinnies and fatties. Was it an old Supreme Court justice who said "I can't define obscenity but I can recognize it when I see it"? If he could have seen what I saw, he'd tell you he was fortunate to be dead.  This sixty-something lady, who was extremely well-endowed in the buttocks and legs, was wearing bright white yoga pants with floral patterns all over them, like a walking, misshapen drapery.

While watching the fauna, the dog, firmly standing on my lap, was watching the ice cream go by. He really likes ice cream and malts. In fact, there is a very small list of things he doesn't like. He was watching people, hoping they'd drop off a cone or shake for him. He remained horribly disappointed. Meanwhile I was taking in the occasional bit of MILFy goodness and some not-so-MILFy goodness. There was an awful lot of traffic, which turned out to be driven by free cones. The dog was pissed.

Then I saw the cherry on top of the sundae....  an approximately ten-year-old girl and her friends, all in Catholic school uniforms.  The young lady in question had the biggest thighs I have ever seen, on a ten-year-old or a forty-year old. And she was wearing a uniform that featured a moderately short skirt. It was horrifying, especially when she sat down.  When she walked, I could hear the sound of sandpaper rubbing against itself.  I grew up near a Catholic school whose graduation picture featured many students in pregnancy uniforms.  Is it presumptuous to wonder about a fat uniform? A burka, perhaps?

Sorry, I'm feeling a bit irked today.

The dog, however, got really interested while I held the two malts. He kept trying to arch his tongue to get through the little hole in the dome top of the malt.  He succeded, to the amusement of my wife. She stopped laughing when I told her the dog had eaten her whipped cream.  And when we were done, Marshall got the cup, which he spent fifteen minutes worshipping and removing the top from.

Dyslexic Typing

News from Home:

Dear Mom,
Things are fairly normal here... as normal as one could expect. Today I came home to a dog with four wet paws. I asked the wife if there was any halfway decent reason that the dog had four wet paws. She didn't know, but she found out fairly quickly: he had taken apart a trash bag. In a possible attempt to cover up the mess, he spilled a container of bleach all over the floor. I'm just waiting for him to have four blond paws.

Not to be left out, the cat walked up to the table and started munching on a piece of buttered bread. I could see this from the dog but the cat??? The vet was right - he's a big dog in a cat suit.

I have to run now: the roast is ready and I want to get it out of the oven before the dog does.

Love,
lefty

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

I have mentioned that Philly radio it the absolute worst in the nation. Poor countries with no radio at all have turned down the opportunity to listen to it. One has the choice between GONZO ZOO RADIO [canned applause], classic rock that plays the same two songs by the same six artists and NPR.  I switch stations a lot. The other morning it was NPR, as GONZO ZOO RADIO [canned applause] was running a marathon discussion of colored dresses. I have to admit that public radio turns me on to some interesting facts... facts that I am unlikely to come up with anywhere else.  This morning I learned of Afghanistan's absolute fanaticism for cricket. Who would have known?

Apparently the denizens of Afghanistan rush to bars and restaurants with televisions so they can catch up on the latest match.  As you can tell, I know as much about cricket as ballet, probably less.  I can identify ballet. Not so much cricket.  Actually I'm fibbing... everything I know about England comes from Monty Python. I remember a sketch with a bunch of guys dressed in white, throwing what looked like a billiard ball really hard at some tall wooden dowels. One was licking his lips suggestively, in slow motion.  There - my entire knowledge of cricket.

Think of the possibilities: game postponements because they have to clear the field of opium poppies. Game postponements because they have to clear the field of body parts. More game postponements because they have to rebuild the field after the latest round of freedom exportation via drones. The players must have nerves of steel because the cars in the parking lot keep exploding. And you never know which of the little Taleban/ISIS/ISIL/CIA children in the stands is a suicide bomber.  They start all cuddly but the end isn't pretty. Basically they have to have a squad dedicated entirely to rebuilding the field (wait - I remember - it's called a PITCH!) between bombings. It's odd but thus far, no one has thought of moving the action and excitement indoors (on Sunday Sunday SUNDAY!).  I hear Halliburton is going to get the no-bid contract to build the bomb-proof indoor stadium, at the bargain price of four hundred million dollars. Don't tell anyone you heard it here.

Meanwhile, excited to prove to the world how modern they are, the Afghanis have put together a women's cricket league.  Unfortuntately, through no fault of their own, the league has stopped playing for a few seasons, until they can get a few small issues under control. Between the bloody noses because the women can't see the balls, the hand-chopping-off for touching balls and the odd beheading, the games tend to run short (and bloody). Then there's the unfortunate bit about beheading the audience because women aren't allowed to watch sports.


You know, all this talk about blowing stuff up reminds me of something I might have heard on NPR: Congress has just passed a bill encouraging themselves to dress as suicide bombers for Halloween. This is the kind of legislation we can all get behind. Far behind.


Things are about to get (more) interesting at airports. As if rectal probes of eighty-year-old wheelchair-bound ladies weren't enough, there are now bomb-sniffing elephants. I suppose the TSA likes them because they work for peanuts (ouch) and are significantly more accurate than the minimum wage previous bag checkers normally hired by the agency. Frequent cries of "Get your trunk out of my trunk" ensue. I kid, though... the TSA isn't using them - the army is. If this ever goes wrong, the cleanup will be immense. Do you suppose they will get vests?


Lastly, scientific proof behind people driving expensive cars being asshats.

Why Does it Hurt When I Pee?

Ok, credit for the title goes to the great Frank Zappa.
But have you ever seriously asked yourself what does the color of my pee mean? The Cleveland Clinic has your answer.

Along similar lines, what do we do about too much poo on Mt Everest? Further proving that we all don't know shit.

One must also wonder if humans are getting cleverer. One must also wonder if cleverer is a proper word. Perhaps if you know the answer, you're clever(er). Regardless, we're still a nation of morons.

NFL Champions to Donate Their Brains to Science. This begs the question of how they find their brains.

Britland asks Nigerian asylum-seeker to prove that she's gay. Will this involve Birkenstocks? Joan Jett concerts?  LL Bean catalogs?

It will all come out in the wash (no wonder abortion is such a contentious subject).

Some people go with the flow. Some against the flow. Some are free-thinkers. Some, well, some think on their toes, like my friend Bob. After the recent Charlie Heado bombings, Bob quickly got online and ordered some cheap airline tickets to France. For some reason, the fares had gone down drastically.

We are facing a silent epidemic. It's slipping under the radar and I wanted to do my best to get the news out to the public. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm talking about people driving or leaving their vehicles on train tracks and walking off, causing their vehicles to become compact cars (and much harder to drive).  I direct your attention to the most recent incident, wherein fifty people were injured. I have absolutely no idea why the fellow decided to park his truck on the tracks but he was picked up and charged for hit and run(?), after being found walking along the tracks, talking on his cell phone.  Ah, cell phone - that might explain things. The tracks probably interrupted his texting, so he left the truck there.  After the train hit the vehicle, he probably took a few selfies and posted them to Faceyspaces, then walked away, calling a few friends to tell them the news. Oh yeah, there might have been Certain Substances involved too, but that's just my speculation.  Let's face it, it was either drugs or the guy was that stupid. Or both. 

The fellow's attorney (you knew there had to be an attorney involved) stated 'that  his client had been confused and mistakenly turned onto the tracks instead of a nearby street'.  Tell me, dear readers - do you leave your car on the median when you mistakenly make a wrong turn?  If you make a mistake and wind up in the really bad part of town, do you get out of your car and walk away, talking on your cell phone?
If this guy drove into a building, he'd leave the car hanging out of a window and climb down before taking his selfies. Incidentally, the crash  flipped over three double-decker Metrolink rail cars and derailed two others. He must have walked away out of concern.
This lady, in Australia, got hit so badly that the car got thrown 170 meters (that's 47.3 American miles).  No idea why she was on the tracks but she lived.
In St. Louis, this car was hit by a train. There were no injuries!
This vehicle 'was attempting to stop at the tracks and slid'.  Looks like it failed.
Didn't their parents teach them not to play on train tracks? With matches? While running with scissors?


And in closing, the Chinese restaurant across from work no longer sells Chinese food.

Radio Shack Pro-652 Scanner Review

Dear normal blog readers (all 5 of you): this entry is for the radio scanner geeks. I won't be upset if you totally neglect to read this.

BACKGROUND

I applied my Smart Shopper Skills during the rash of Radio Shack closings to purchase a scanner (and a metric shit-ton of parts for projects).  I wanted a P25 capable unit so my choice was between the Pro-651 handheld and the Pro-652 portable/mobile. I was going for the 651 due to its format but I didn't like the way the box sounded when I shook it, so I purchased the 652 at a pretty steep discount.

I've been scanning for years and really like the Bearcat 780s. They're sensitive, have 500 memory slots and take well to computer control, so that's my baseline.  I purchased a Pro-96 to listen to P25 traffic but one day someone let the smoke out of it and I never got around to having it repaired.

The unit uses something called Object Oriented Programming, which, consequently, is a computer software term.  As best I understand it, you input all of your frequencies and add them to scan lists, as opposed to segregating by bands, location, or memory limits (the old way that we all know and love). You can put each frequency into as many scan lists as you like.  Same for searches, where you define a search (or pick from the built-in services) and assign it to as many scan lists as you like.


FIRE 1                   SCAN 1.....
FIRE 2                   SCAN 1.....
POLICE 1              SCAN 1.....
POLICE 2              SCAN 1.....
ARMY 1                SCAN 2.....
ARMY 2                SCAN 2.....
AIRPORT               SCAN 12.....
MUNICIPAL          SCAN .2....

In the above example, the left side has individual frequencies. On the right are the assignments for the scan lists. There are several thousand slots for frequencies, so you won't run short. FIRE 1 comes up in scan list 1. ARMY 1 is in SCAN 2. AIRPORT is in SCAN 1 and SCAN 2.  When you turn on the scanner, it goes right into SCAN mode and you punch in the scan lists you want to hear. For instance, if you only want to hear fire, hit the 1 button. If you want to hear everything, hit 1 and 2. If you have more scan lists, you can toggle them on and off. By default, each frequency goes into SCAN 1 so you can listen to everything by just using SCAN 1. You can change this if you like. In fact, you can change an awful lot of things, which brings us to:


COMPUTER CONTROL

When I brought my new toy home, I had no software. This meant either I had to let it sit in its box or program it by hand.  Seriously, which would you do?  Can you say Repetitive Stress Injury? I knew you could.  Programming manually is a combination of knowledge, dexterity, and the ability to work through the pain. I say dexterity because the flippin' volume knob is situated right next to the number pad, rendering it in the way half of the time.

I broke down two days later and purchased the RS kit with the scanner cable and trialware scanner control software (Butel). The cable is stereo 1/8" (like a headphone plug) to USB and plugs into the front of the box, right above the headphone jack (yes, a dedicated headphone jack). I was pretty disappointed that RS chose to include trial software, especially at the marked price of $24.95. I only purchased it because it was 90% off.

There isn't a lot of software available for the 652, at least via searches (use duckduckgo.com, which doesn't track you, unlike the major search engine). I fired up the Butel ARC500 software and (shock of shocks) it was not made for the 652.  I chose the Pro-197 because I remember reading that the 652 was its successor. It actually worked, which surprised me. I have a version of their software for some other scanners and like it. There is no apparent way to tell how much this is going to cost because when you push the PURCHASE button, it takes you to radioreference.com , allows you to download a newer copy of the software, and wants you to sign up for an account before it tells you anything. This is crappy business, Butel.  Radioreference is the place to go to for scanner information and frequencies for your area. You don't need an account to browse but you do need an account to enable features like downloading pre-programmed banks of local frequencies for your scanner. The Butel website has information on the software and gives the cost as US $39.95.  They offer a free option but it requires signing up for some service that looks like it wants all of your information and your puppies. They do mention that it will operate the 651/652.

Ok, having downloaded the newer ARC500 version, it came up quickly and imported everything from the scanner upon the click of the mouse. There is also a Pro version, which goes for $69.95. On the comparison chart, it states that the regular version does not do logging but the Pro version does. In addition, the demo is time-limited to ten minutes.  I'm sorry but with a device of this complexity, ten minutes is not long enough. Coupled with the lack of logging, I'm going to conveniently forget about this software.

The only option, as suggested by several discussion boards, is WIN500, by Starsoft. The downloadable version runs for thirty days, with no limit on the amount of use (Butel). Should you decide to purchase, the cost is $30, which is more than reasonable for what you get (including logging, Butel). The logging is very valuable, as it can tell you what the scanner received, in case you didn't notice it during the search or scan. There is also a recording function but it requires an additional 1/8" to 1/8" stereo cable and setup within Windows.

Before we go any further, let's talk about the MANUAL. As with most scanner manuals, it's less than clear and coherent (so if you're not coherent, don't try reading it).  In fact, it's so hard to understand that there's a page for people who had a problem with the official manual. Go to Mark's Scanners and see the huge list of less-daunting manuals.

In spite of the work Mark did, I was still having some difficulty with trunking. The RS manual had actually disappeared into the post-nuclear blast that is my house (and good riddance).  After starting WIN500, I got the trunking working in no time flat, without instructions. I now have three trunking systems set up and available by scan list. It is very important to mention that in both softwares, you can change the startup screen wording on the scanner. Of course we'll be tempted to use dirty words or advertise our favorite adult website, but I went for "This thing is pissing me off and making my brain hurt". The dog was amused. The wife didn't notice.

This is not a commercial for Starrsoft so I won't go through every function but if the scanner can do it manually, so can the software.  And let's face it - if you're programming in hundreds or more frequencies, it's much easier to type them into your computer and upload them to the scanner. The Monitor mode brings up a display just like the scanner's, so you don't have to have the scanner right in front of you (provided you get a long enough cable).

One thing I found really interesting is a search I did between 30 and 46MHz. The band came BOOMING through, oblivious to squelch. It would stop on 31MHz. The next time, it would stop at 31.05. The next time it would stop at 32 and so on. I'm not saying this is the fault of the software - I just found it interesting.


SPECS

I have no idea what the damn specs are - look them up yourself. I barely understand them anyway. Suffice it to say that the Pro-652 is a really good scanner.  It's sensitive, holds thousands of objects, and is fast as hell. The fast part is the most useful part to me. I can scan and search at the same time without a serious performance hit. Regular old scanning is like lightning. It handles 700MHz, so rebanding shouldn't be an issue. Works just fine on P25. It will search for the type of modulation (AM, FM, NFM) and tones (CTCSS, DCS, NAC)  by itself. There is no WFM option, which pisses me off.

It has a Signal Stalker function, which sounds borderline illegal. Each key has multiple functions, operated by the FUNCtion key. Scans and searches are fast. Setup is fast, unless you can't type. The volume control should have used a different taper pot, as the difference between listenable and TURN THAT THING DOWN is small and around 9:00. I haven't checked out how loud it will go because I like my hearing. It's pretty cool to have the software up while doing something else on the computer.

If I find more interesting stuff this unit can do, I'll update this.

IN THE END

If you're looking for a high performance scanner and want it NOW, buy a Pro-651 or 652 and purchase WIN500 to run it. Sorry that I didn't include cute pictures of my cat unboxing the scanner but I figured I'd actually concentrate on the functions, not the appearance. It's the kind of guy I am.


ATTENTION LINUX PEOPLE

Starrsoft gives some tips on using WIN500 under WINE but I couldn't make it install. Therefore, I am stuck using THAT operating system in a virtual machine. I tried Win7 under Virtualbox but it refused to see the USB ports, even with guest extensions. I built an XP machine under VMplayer and it worked perfectly. Since XP is no longer safe, I recommend turning off the network card.

The selection of linux scanner control software is approximately equal to the number of Kim Kardashians that can fit into a pair of size two jeans.  I would dearly like to change this but the aforementioned dog has better programming skills than me. If anyone would like to collaborate, I would do all the Stupid Work and testing.

I have appealed to several software companies but let's face it - there's no profit in linux.

Why Do You Think It's Called a Strip Mall?

Two relative strangers met and hooked up in California.  While this no doubt happens all the time, it rarely happens in front of a strip mall.  Hey, when you gotta hump, you gotta hump, right?

Now the NSA is really in your computer.  Our good friends near DC have been caught sneaking malware into the firmware of hard drives, as discovered by Kaspersky.  This also brings up the fact that the drive manufacturers allowed this. These are some evil folks, folks.  Lady Gaga or Beyonce had better do something fast...

A Tinder app is said to enable flings at Carnival in Rio.  And let's face it... if you've gotta go down... {ahem}, Rio isn't such a bad place to do it.

Mystery Mars haze baffles scientists. Well, it's not so much haze as the Martians steam-cleaning the rovers for us.

STUDY: Dogs are smarter than people think.  Not watching tv helps.

Show-winning dog semen sells for $2,000.  Further proof that I'm in the wrong business.

Rowdy women attack man at 50 Shades.  So I'm thinking to myself that this is my golden opportunity: stand outside the theater and clean up!  Right up until we discover that the man in question asked the ladies to lower the volume a bit and got the wrong kind of head.

Woman pulls gun on man after being denied sex. Wow, I didn't know we could DO that!

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It's Snow Time in the old neighborhood. Again. This time the forecasters called for three to six inches. Within hours, it was one to three.  In an extreme slip-up, we got three to six.  What are the odds that a weather forecaster will be correct?

As a result, I worked from the couch, where I am generally headquartered.  I was treated to the somewhat altered-state neighbor shoveling early.  I strongly suspect he has some sort of noise-enhancing attachment built into his shovel. Still, this is better than last year, with the snow blower. Snow blowers, while a great concept, bother me almost as much as lawn mowers.  Let's face it - they require so much care and maintenance that they're unlikely at best to be there for you when you need them (as one could argue about a wife).

After work, I shoveled. It wasn't bad at all (especially as I didn't have to start a snow blower). Then I heard this loud noise, incredibly similar to the neighbor's amplified shovel.  This is largely because it was the neighbor's shovel, this time being powered by the 437 year old being from hell who owns the place.  In the autumn, she has some sort of laser-powered Leaf Alarm to tell her when our leaves hit the ground.  I'll bet you she also has a laser-powered Snow Detector too. As soon as it starts snowing, she forces the tenant into Snow Bondage.  Apparently his snow job was not sufficient, as she was out there again, probably cataloging and cleaning individual flakes from the tarmac.

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I thoroughly ruined someone's day today, or at least I hope I did.  

I don't get out much and I don't have anywhere near enough fun, so I have to get it where I can (kinda like sex).

There's a street on the way to work that has a 25mph speed limit and they're not kidding. I suspect half of the town's revenue comes from speeding tickets. I was warned early to obey and obey I do.

Not everybody obeys and this is where the fun starts.

Sometimes people don't want to do the speed limit, so they pass you in great haste. The only problem here is that it's only a two-lane road, so they cross into the wrong lane to pass you. While I have yet to see anyone ticketed (or beaten) for this, hope springs eternal.  When I drive a higher performance car, I speed up while they're trying to pass: it amuses me.

Today's idiot was a special breed.  He got right up my tailpipe from the start. When this happens, I naturally make sure I'm doing exactly 25mph, if not 24.  This did not impress Sparky, who stayed in close formation. Trick Number Two: brush the brake pedal so the brake lights come on. Sparky backed off a bit but in short order, he was trying to climb into my trunk.  Firing up the brake lights again only pissed Sparky off and he blinked his lights at me.

Imagine - he blinked his lights at me.

A brief glance at the speedometer told me I was doing 1mph over the limit, so I slowed down. Sparky backed off.  Not for long, of course, despite passing several 25mph signs.  By this point, Sparky's face was no doubt starting to turn red and veins were popping out of his head.  In fact, he got more aggressive and would not back up, even with the Brake Light Treatment.  

Finally some sense must have seeped in and he backed off. I suspect he might have seen some speed limit signs.  Oh no, he was back again, this time weaving all over his lane, as if he were going to somehow rocket past me.  I smiled and continued to do the speed limit in a nearly offensive manner.

At this point, Sparky probably had to give the steering wheel to his passenger, as he was having a Coronary Event (formerly heart attack).  He finally got around me because he had to get into the turning lane. He shot me a look.  I smiled.

I won.


And as I close this episode, I have but one wish: that both the cat and the dog stop farting.  I'm going to asphyxiate here.

Work is Weird

Yeah, like everybody doesn't know that.

My (relatively) new job is a real treat.
It's a humongous stereotype. It's laughable. And I like it a lot.

The first thing you notice is the Cube Farm.  They are particularly nice cubes, with more storage than a woman needs for shoes (as if there's any such thing).  The walls are high, so you can't see your neighbors.  This gives the false impression that you cannot hear your neighbors. Nothing could be further from the truth.  In fact, I have one neighbor who routinely coughs up a lung, another who talks very loudly and constantly to her neighbors and one who snores. I am not kidding.  Today I was serenaded by a speakerphone conference call on ligostics and purposes of pillow puffing on the executive enterprise level. It was difficult to decide whether to kill him or fall asleep.  Circumstances forced the latter.

There's another lady who sits across the large room and talks in paragraphs without breathing. This reminds me of my wife and consequently drives me MAD. Although my wife must have planted her there because she's actually worse, so I don't mind when my wife does it so much.

The organization is not particularly streamlined. Or fast. In fact, it took five weeks to get me a computer and a cube of my very own.  This is in spite of everything being ordered weeks before my start date.  One of the things that slowed operations down was my inability to fill out my forms before my start date. I am not kidding. If I had filled out the paperwork before I got hired, I would have had my computer weeks earlier. Maybe.

We're also slow.  Crawlingly, monolithically, organizationally slow.  The circus I recently left was a veritable speedway by comparison.  Even the doors are slow: I wave my I.D. badge in front of the reader, then wait a bit for it to beep at me. What seems like five minutes transpire before the door starts opening.  S-l-o-w-l-y.

Did I say I have an I.D. card?  Well, I have a temporary I.D. card.  The process to obtain a permanent I.D. card began (again) several weeks before my start date.  One coworker told me it took six months to get his. One poor soul has been there for a year and still doesn't have his paperwork in order.

I have a permanent computer too, as opposed to the temporary computer in the temporary cube.  The company takes security very seriously, as they should. They lock down the computers for safety's sake.  I am most impressed by this, right up until I discover that the only browser allowed is Internet Exploder!  Apparently security is somewhat overrated.  The other problem is that we cannot install other software. The irony here is that my software is safer than the existing stuff.  We can't even surf to many sites, which I'm ok with too. Unfortunately the fellow next to me seems oblivious to this, as he has a monitor dedicated exclusively to YouTube. Today he's been watching sneaker videos (no, really). The other day it was talk show bits (his monitor is in full view). This reminds me of the old place, where the campaign for dual monitors resulted in one being permanently assigned to Faceyspaces.

There is no cell phone signal whatsoever.  This leads to people wandering around aimlessly, staring that their phones and randomly walking into walls.  It also leads to people wandering in the general direction of the stairways, looking for that one signal bar with which to call their brokers. Or bookies.

If you're hungry, there's a cafeteria.  I'd suspect they hire people from my old job but this is different. The first time someone showed me the place, I purchased a soda (at the bargain price of two bucks). My guide let me know to stand in a certain place, let the cashier know what I purchased and how much I was handing over, as he was blind.  Ok, a blind cashier... why not?  He certainly made change a lot faster than most sighted cashiers, so good on him. I was prepared the next time but he wasn't at his post. Instead there was a lady. And saints be praised, she seemed to be looking off to nowhere also.  Ah, another blind cashier, I figured.  By the way, that was the first time that phrase has ever been spoken - I got a prize for it.  I can't wait to find out that the paraplegics are manning the loading dock and the clinically depressed are cleaning the outside windows.


As suggested by a friend, my short-term goal, aside from getting paid to do my work, is to be The Guy.  You know, The Guy.  The Guy who has been there for a while but nobody knows exactly what he does. They've all seen him walking around, but no one has the slightest idea what his job function is.  He's really popular, too. But if he tells you, he'll have to kill you.  They all go home and tell work stories, including The Guy whose job nobody knows. Apparently he's pretty good at whatever he does, because he's still employed and just received a raise and a bonus.  Everyone congratulated him because they have given up trying to figure out what he does.

My boss works in a different city. This results in a lot of streaking up and down the aisles, as well as Wet T-Shirt Nights and Open Guitar Jams. I asked about a dress code and was told no t-shirts with rude settings, which wiped out about ninety-five percent of my wardrobe. I'm teaching them sarcasm now.  It will take a while but the effort will be worth it.


Unfortunately the toilet doesn't like me. I have my choice of three stalls, one of which apparently has something against me. This particular unit is equipped with Automatic Flush.  The first time I noticed this, I was waiting for the toilet to automatically flush. It occurred to me that if I waited any longer, it would be time to clock out. You know that ubiquitous handle? The one on every toilet? This one didn't have one.  In fact, it didn't have much of anything but a sensor (that apparently didn't work) and a tiny blue button.  Hazarding a guess, I pushed the tiny blue button, stepping back and hoping the firemen didn't show up too quickly. Little did I know that a tiny blue button is the international sign for FLUSH.

It was the second time I visited this particular stall that I begun to suspect something was up.  While sitting I sneezed, causing the toilet to auto-flush.  I don't know how many of you have had the opportunity to sit upon a flushing toilet but suffice it to say that it's not particularly pleasant.  When I moved to check my phone, the toilet autoflushed once again, like a puppy, perhaps excited to please his human. Let me stop, at this moment, to let you know that I hadn't actually used the toilet for its intended purpose - it's just that the toilet flushed itself a lot.

When I was finished, the toilet again autoflushed, but this time I escaped its wrath.  Or so I thought. When I pulled up my pants, they stuck to me a bit.  Is this how the French do it?

Some Stuff About Some Stuff

The pope is causing a bit of a stir, after saying that it's ok to spank children, provided they maintain their dignity.

Exactly which part of pulling down your pants and getting your ass slapped is dignified?

What he meant to say was that spanking little boys is ok, but only as foreplay.

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HANDY TIP: If you're having trouble opening a jar, use an unlubricated condom

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There's this odd intersection in the neighborhood. It's kind of an offset four-way with a steep incline (isn't that a pretty, well-illustrated picture?).  Apparently someone decided that this intersection was not safe enough, therefore it required four-way stop signs.  Mind you, the truly dangerous intersection is one block away and already had four-way stop signs.

Here's the good part: everyone ignored the stop signs. It got so bad that they installed blinking red lights on top of the stop signs so people would pay attention to them.  

If that fails, I suppose they'll put pictures of a Kardashian on top of the blinking lights.

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Something is different. I'm working on a theory - perhaps you can help me out.

In the past few days, I have been food shopping with my wife twice.  Both times in the store, a woman smiled at me.  I kept looking around for the person at whom she was smiling. Failing to find anyone else, I was forced to think that perhaps she was smiling at me.

Usually women don't smile at me until I pull down my pants, at which point they're hysterical.

This is unprecedented.  I'm not exactly a warm, cuddly or attractive person and people don't smile at me.  I know I certainly haven't changed, so it must be something else.

And then it hit me: my wife is a chick-magnet.  Ok, technically having a wife is a chick magnet.  You single guys should beg, borrow or rent a female to hang around you in public, if you want to attract other women.

I know there's nothing like standing there with a puppy to attract women.  Now it turns out that having a wife or girlfriend works too.  My theory here is that with a wife, I become the element known as Unobtainium.  There is nothing more attractive in a man than a man who's unavailable. Women who would not look at me on the street start smiling at me in the store. 

Turns out this is true in both directions. Guys won't notice a woman if she's by herself but when someone else wants her, she becomes popular.

Feel free to support or take a whack at my theory.

Perfume. There?

It was a good morning. Both of us (and the pets) were almost awake, getting ready to go to work and other places. Lunch was packed and I was suddenly face-to-face with my wife and her beautiful new purple shirt. What made it more beautiful than other shirts, purple aside, was that it showed more chest than normal (no naughty bits, in spite of this blog's theme). So I gave her a nice, romantic kiss in that general area. We were impressed but the pets went about their business, non-plussed; one appearing starved and the other waiting for the starving one's food.

Fortunately it was time to go to work. When I say fortunately, I am fortunate to have a job. I am, however, still allowed to bitch about being up in the morning. When in the car, the wife ordered me to scrape the windshield. Of course I had to scrape the windshield.. I was already in the car.  This is a metaphor for our relationship.  It's also a direct statement about the weather here.  As we know, Pennsylvania's state bird is the cloud, and this lovely display of weather did nothing to dispel that fact: it was miserable, gray, and had frozen drops all over the car.  We know the sun exists, it's just that we wonder why it doesn't come round to visit now and again.  Anyone following the news will know that the Northeast has been threatened with snow for the past month. Lucky for us the weather forecasters are always wrong and we've barely gotten any snow.  Instead we've gotten frigid temperatures and bits of precipitation, almost constantly.  Last weekend we hit forty degrees and the bikinis were out all around.  Brian Williams saw his shadow and won't be on tv for six weeks.

So as I was finishing up the windshield, I detected a really horrible taste developing in my mouth.  It got worse and worse until I finally realized where it came from: my wife's chest.  Apparently women put perfume there. And I inadvertently ate some of it.  Off we went to Dunkin Donuts, for some coffee to get the taste out of my mouth. Other candidates were soda, windshield cleaner and lye.

I know I'm late to the party but I was/am so sick of the Stupidbowl that I almost can't describe it. But I shall anyway. In an unearthly first, I was invited to attend a party. In an even stranger first, I accepted, largely as this was my best friend and there were likely to be football-free zones.

There were, indeed, football-free zones, sorta, but there were still too many televisions (defined as more than zero or one).  I'm kinda like Charlie Brown and Lucy (or Homer Simpson) with televisions: I look at the motion, realize it's sports, look away, then see the motion again and look....

I don't care who Brady Bellechek is and don't want to hear his name anymore as long as I live.  It's not enough that there is a game.. I have to hear about it until I'm blue in the ears. I hear about it on the news station. I hear about it on the rock station.  I even hear about it on the public radio station, which I had hoped would be free of sports, at least after the first day.  The only thing worse than this is the item, and I use the term loosely, about deflated balls. I have no real idea what's going on here but I have been bombarded by it every moment of every day, no matter whether it's television, radio or the web.  The first time I heard anything of this, it came up on my alarm in the morning. I can be excused from incredulity (and sense) when something starts talking at me before seven in the morning.  As I grew further awake, I heard something about deflated balls and just assumed this was some kind of comedy routine. It became a really popular comedy routine when I noticed that the evening news and even Sunday's edition of Shoot the Press mentioned it.  If they have so much damn trouble with their balls, why don't they ask the cheerleaders to blow them back up and get on with the event? The politicians must be up to something when this is the lead story for days. You'd think that there was a Kardashian involved, for all the press coverage.

Yesterday in England was the first Visit the Mosque day.  This was a hastily conceived bit of press, thrown together after the Charlie Hello attacks, designed to invite outsiders into mosques to prove that Muslims are not all terrorists.  One Muslim lady complained about having to apologize all the time for the actions of the terrorists.  I suspect she should be having that conference with the terrorists, not the press.  The theme of the day was We'll Blow Up that Bridge When We Come to it. Seminars were offered too: Be Nice to Christians Day, Not Murdering Your Neighbors, and Improvised Explosive Devices.  All of the usual British suspects, with all of their comical British accents, ventured out from their quaint little towns to inspect the mosques. They were declared fit and now life can continue in England (at least until something blows up there).

NOTE: be careful reading this blog, as it may be booby-trapped. And boobie-trapped. Furthermore, it may explode.

Whats All This I Hear About Moose Limbs?

I just got an email from my good friends at Live Nation Concerts. I got an email because I spent way too much money on a pair of their tickets at some point in my life. Things sure have changed while I've been going to concerts.

It was about 1974. You could not turn on a radio without hearing something from Frampton Comes Alive.  This worked out well because he was quickly becoming a hero to me.  I even got a talkbox (talking guitar effect) because of him.  All of the sudden a huge concert was announced with Frampton as the headliner. It took place at Kennedy Stadium in Philthydelphia (since demolished to make way for more taxpayer bailouts of very rich sports teams).  My mind wanders so the rest of the folks on the bill escape me, except perhaps for Steve Miller and J Geils. A whole bunch of my friends went and the tickets were about twelve dollars.  Let me say that again: twelve dollars for an all day concert featuring the hottest artist with the best-selling live album of all time and three other hit groups.

So what does Live Nation want to tell me?  They want me to know about some upcoming concerts:

• Brit Floyd: a Pink Floyd cover band. I distinctly remember specialty cover bands playing in shitty little bars. There are also Led Zeppelin and Genesis cover acts playing medium sized theaters for Big Buck ticket prices. If I'm not there by showtime, hold your breath.
• Marilyn Manson: looks a little like a cross-dressing Hitler.
• Lisa Lampanelli: Lisa is one of the funniest women I have ever performed with. We played at some little dive bar in Cover Your Ass, PA. We were in hysterics. Unfortunately she doesn't do that routine anymore and isn't near as funny.
• Nickelback:  Give 'em back.
• Foreigner: on tour without Lou Gramm, the singer on all of their hits. This actually worked out well for Judas Priest and Journey. No idea about Foreigner.
• Artie Lange: a funny guy. Catch him before he OD's.

Nowhere on the list is there a single ticket price or city in which the venue is located.  That's ok - I don't need another mortgage to see subpar acts.

In other news, I work in a pretty cool place. When I say cool, I mean it in its figurative sense. In fact, it's so hot in there, it serves as a Germ Incubator. I'm terrified of getting typhoid due to the temperature and the seven people around me hacking up a lung.

I fear they got me, though. Between screaming at recent events and a new cough (that makes my underarms itch), I sound like a cross between Clint Eastwood and a toad.

Do ya feel lucky, punk?