So...
I just got in from riding my bike home from work. It's about 6.5 miles each way and mostly level, so even a sedentary old fart like me can make it without too much difficulty. Anyway, I'd just crested the last high spot and was cruising along the downhill side at a pretty good clip when...
All of a sudden...
Smack!
A freakin' bee exploded on my lower lip! For about one second, I thought it was just an "ordinary" insect as I spat out the yellow glop of goop (complete with cartoony "blech!" noises) that had previously been its innards. But the one second elapsed pretty quickly and I was then confronted with PAIN. Seems the little bastage did a bit of a Moby Dick/Wrath of Khan "I stab at thee" parting shot on me with his stinger.
Now my lip is all totally McSwollen and I look like I have half a pouch of Beech Nut in my face.
Happy Friday, everybody!
Showing posts with label rambling rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rambling rant. Show all posts
Friday, July 11, 2014
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
In and out list
What's in? What's out? What's hot? What snot?
IN: The two grandkids' birthdays are only a couple days apart. Since they can't tell time or read a calendar, we can get by with only one birthday party.
OUT: Since the live with me, it is reasonable to expect some of my smarts to rub off on them, and they'll (eventually) learn how to read a calendar.
IN: Having said birthday party at the OTHER grandparents' house.
OUT: The grandbrats come home with YET MORE noisy toys.
IN: Little wavy red lines under typo errors.
OUT: Typing "calenday" and seeing the little wavy red lines twice already in this blog post
IN: Fisher-Price still makes the corn popper push toy.
OUT: They're just as obnoxious as they were 40 years ago.
IN: At least it doesn't use batteries.
IN: Hardwood floors so the wheels of corn popper push toy slide instead of roll, resulting in no popping noises.
OUT: Grandbrat gets mad at lack of poppage and makes more noise than the toy.
IN: Hilarity of watching Grandbrat the Elder try (and fail, miserably) to vacuum a leaf off the floor using corn popper push toy as if it were a Hoover Upright.
OUT: She doesn't have the same enthusiasm for running the real vacuum.
IN: Grandbrat the Younger's walking record so far: 9 steps before flopping buttwise on the floor.
OUT: Her nine steps looked just like those of the very drunk driver in that episode of COPS who couldn't pass a field sobriety test.
OUT: There's a drunk guy who can't pass a field sobriety test in pretty much every episode of COPS.
OUT: Watching COPS.
IN: Years ago, that Saudi guy who used to be my neighbor vigorously explaining how COPS is the #1 show in Saudi Arabia, complete with his staccato "Badda boy, badda boy, what you go to do? What you go to do when come for you" rendition of the theme song.
OUT: That I used to have a crazy Saudi neighbor.
OUT: Watching COPS
IN: The music made by Fisher-Price toys is much improved over the lame plink-plink music box kind of sound they had when I was a kid. The sax sounds very real, and the guitar sounds just like an old hollow-body electric.
OUT: Out of all the buttons on the dang thing, they only ones the grandbrat will push are Rockin' Robin and If You're Happy and You Know It.
IN: Being not happy and knowing it.
IN: The two grandkids' birthdays are only a couple days apart. Since they can't tell time or read a calendar, we can get by with only one birthday party.
OUT: Since the live with me, it is reasonable to expect some of my smarts to rub off on them, and they'll (eventually) learn how to read a calendar.
IN: Having said birthday party at the OTHER grandparents' house.
OUT: The grandbrats come home with YET MORE noisy toys.
IN: Little wavy red lines under typo errors.
OUT: Typing "calenday" and seeing the little wavy red lines twice already in this blog post
IN: Fisher-Price still makes the corn popper push toy.
OUT: They're just as obnoxious as they were 40 years ago.
IN: At least it doesn't use batteries.
IN: Hardwood floors so the wheels of corn popper push toy slide instead of roll, resulting in no popping noises.
OUT: Grandbrat gets mad at lack of poppage and makes more noise than the toy.
IN: Hilarity of watching Grandbrat the Elder try (and fail, miserably) to vacuum a leaf off the floor using corn popper push toy as if it were a Hoover Upright.
OUT: She doesn't have the same enthusiasm for running the real vacuum.
IN: Grandbrat the Younger's walking record so far: 9 steps before flopping buttwise on the floor.
OUT: Her nine steps looked just like those of the very drunk driver in that episode of COPS who couldn't pass a field sobriety test.
OUT: There's a drunk guy who can't pass a field sobriety test in pretty much every episode of COPS.
OUT: Watching COPS.
IN: Years ago, that Saudi guy who used to be my neighbor vigorously explaining how COPS is the #1 show in Saudi Arabia, complete with his staccato "Badda boy, badda boy, what you go to do? What you go to do when come for you" rendition of the theme song.
OUT: That I used to have a crazy Saudi neighbor.
OUT: Watching COPS
IN: The music made by Fisher-Price toys is much improved over the lame plink-plink music box kind of sound they had when I was a kid. The sax sounds very real, and the guitar sounds just like an old hollow-body electric.
OUT: Out of all the buttons on the dang thing, they only ones the grandbrat will push are Rockin' Robin and If You're Happy and You Know It.
IN: Being not happy and knowing it.
Friday, January 25, 2013
+3 Meandering Blogpost of Doom
This engraving project made me think of Harvey (thank you for your service, bro!). The anchor is about 17" high and not quite 11" wide. Since the brass is all reflecty and stuff, it's a little hard to read.
USS Enterprise (CVN-65) is presently undergoing decommissioning. One one hand, it's kind of sad that Big E ist kaput, but on the other hand we're decommissioning stuff that other countries wish they could even begin to build.
-----------------------------------------------------
Speaking of which, the Russians have one (1) carrier, the Admiral Kuznetsov, which looks like it has been punched in the nose and they barely have enough functional Su-whatevers to fill the flight deck. The UK, France, Spain, etc, have a carrier or two apiece. But they're baby helicopter carriers that probably would sink if you tried to land a Harrier on one. The Chinese have one (1) carrier, which was just commissioned a few months ago. They're still working on mastering carrier-based flight operations - which we had pretty well figured out, like, 75 years ago. We have 10, I think, supercarriers, plus 9 or so smaller ones for Harriers and helicopters. It is stuff like this that makes me look down my nose at the lesser countries of the world. Which would be all of them.
---------------------------------------
Recently finished another, um, "interesting" project: Vehicle magnets for the State of Oregon Governor's Mounted Guard.
Really? Governor Kidslobber needs a mounted guard? Just seems like pretentiousness to me. And how do they get the magnets to stick to the horses?
------------------------------------------------------
I have never posted or retweeted anything on my twitter account, yet I have three followers. That must be some kind of a record.
-------------------------------------------------
Oh. Maybe they mean one of the other definitions of "mounted." With these weirdos, it's hard to know.
-----------------------------------------------
Finished yet another, um, "interesting" project: Window/door graphics at the Hilton Garden Inn. Floor-to-ceiling two-tone stylized beanstalks. I guess that's what passes as "garden-y". They call it a "reed motif" but... no. It's beanstalks, man. Beanstalks that kind of resemble jail bars. I guess that's what stupid people think is cool after they've smoked a lot of beanstalks. While we were working, just about every passer-by said something complimentary. Genuinely complimentary, not that faux-friendly smalltalk crap that people barf out while they're standing there waiting for the airport shuttle. Scares me that so many people, who otherwise appeared normal, would actually like this design. Ugh. Worse yet, if people actually do like them, it might attract a little more business... Which would mean better numbers for the Hilton Corp... Which would mean... a little more money in Paris' purse.
Gack!
--------------------------------------------
I haven't weighed in on the Manti Te'o issue yet. It is just so bizarre. Personally, I think *SHUT UP ABOUT MANTI TE'O ALREADY!*
 | |
| Prior to engraving |
 | |
| Dunno who Don Strickland is. |
 |
| Following the compound curves was kinda tricky but it turned out well. |
-----------------------------------------------------
Speaking of which, the Russians have one (1) carrier, the Admiral Kuznetsov, which looks like it has been punched in the nose and they barely have enough functional Su-whatevers to fill the flight deck. The UK, France, Spain, etc, have a carrier or two apiece. But they're baby helicopter carriers that probably would sink if you tried to land a Harrier on one. The Chinese have one (1) carrier, which was just commissioned a few months ago. They're still working on mastering carrier-based flight operations - which we had pretty well figured out, like, 75 years ago. We have 10, I think, supercarriers, plus 9 or so smaller ones for Harriers and helicopters. It is stuff like this that makes me look down my nose at the lesser countries of the world. Which would be all of them.
---------------------------------------
Recently finished another, um, "interesting" project: Vehicle magnets for the State of Oregon Governor's Mounted Guard.
Really? Governor Kidslobber needs a mounted guard? Just seems like pretentiousness to me. And how do they get the magnets to stick to the horses?
------------------------------------------------------
I have never posted or retweeted anything on my twitter account, yet I have three followers. That must be some kind of a record.
-------------------------------------------------
Oh. Maybe they mean one of the other definitions of "mounted." With these weirdos, it's hard to know.
-----------------------------------------------
Finished yet another, um, "interesting" project: Window/door graphics at the Hilton Garden Inn. Floor-to-ceiling two-tone stylized beanstalks. I guess that's what passes as "garden-y". They call it a "reed motif" but... no. It's beanstalks, man. Beanstalks that kind of resemble jail bars. I guess that's what stupid people think is cool after they've smoked a lot of beanstalks. While we were working, just about every passer-by said something complimentary. Genuinely complimentary, not that faux-friendly smalltalk crap that people barf out while they're standing there waiting for the airport shuttle. Scares me that so many people, who otherwise appeared normal, would actually like this design. Ugh. Worse yet, if people actually do like them, it might attract a little more business... Which would mean better numbers for the Hilton Corp... Which would mean... a little more money in Paris' purse.
Gack!
--------------------------------------------
I haven't weighed in on the Manti Te'o issue yet. It is just so bizarre. Personally, I think *SHUT UP ABOUT MANTI TE'O ALREADY!*
Sunday, December 30, 2012
The Airing of Grievances
Can't wait for this rotten year to be over. Dunno what it is about even-numbered years, but they SUCK. If there's gonna be a death in the family, a major financial reversal, relationship problems, etc... it'll happen in an even-numbered year. Clockwork. Automatic. Every time.
In less than a week, though, everything will be awesome and I'll have nothing to complain about. The Sands of Time for me are running low, so I better hurry up and get on with the complaining!
--------------
I don't think we even own this one. (Yet). I just glommed the pic from google image search. But we have every one of its diabolical cousins. "What did Santa bring you?" "Another @#$%^& noisy toy that devours batteries and I never play with except when you're tired and/or have a headache! Thanks, Santa!" Holy crap, whatever happened to toys that weren't so "interactive"? Is it such a crime to give a little kid a toy truck? That doesn't have a functional horn? One of these @#$%^&* things even talks when it isn't being used. After it sits idle for about 10 minutes, it says "Bye, bye! Let's play again soon!" and powers itself down. Startles the crap out of me every time. Even the !@#$%^&* stuffed animals have noisemakers in them. And batteries. So when the brat bangs it on the table, instead of a nearly inaudible "poof" there's a big "WHAM" from its hard plastic guts hitting the hardwood. Evil. And when the brat barfs on that stuffed animal, I have to do a noise-mech-ectomy on the barfy thing before we can throw it in the washing machine. I swear the modern toy industry exists only to drive sound-minded people so completely, clinically, insane, that they'll fail the background check at the gun store.
---------------------------
I have an earache. Seriously. Dude. I hadn't had one in over 30 years. What next? I remember reading somewhere that antibiotics don't really help an earache that much, so I think I'll try to tough it out without seeing a doc. Or maybe that was strep throat. Whatever. If I lose the hearing in that ear and my whole brain becomes infected I don't think it'll affect me much, except the quality of my blog posts might improve a bit.
---------------------------
My Beavs looked like they had the Alamo Bowl well in hand. Then suddenly the Texas QB pulled his head out of his Ash and started making plays. Also, blocking Okafor must have been an elective class that none of our O-line bothered to enroll in. The Longhorns came roaring back in the 2nd half and won. Gack.
---------------------------
On the bright side, the local buzz is that the Quackheads about an hour south of me are going to have a very unhappy new year. Sounds like the Ducks' recruiting violations are gonna cost them a couple years of Bowl eligibility. Look for Coach Kelly to jump to the NFL about 3 milliseconds after the Fiesta Bowl is over.
---------------------------
I bought my wife a(nother) digital camera for Christmas. I told the chick at the camera counter "I don't care about megapixels. I don't care about optical zoom. I don't care about the capacity of the memory card. I want a camera that won't #$%^&* explode into a million pieces the first time it is dropped, which, coincidentally, is usually the first time it is used." She suggested some model of Fuji Finepix. I took her suggestion. So far, so good. [looks for wood to knock on]
---------------------------
What's with sippy cups? Would it be that hard to standardize them? I have a drawer full of sippy lids and a cupboard full of sippy cups, but @#$%^&* if I can ever get a lid to match up with a cup. Even the #$%^&* Dora The Explorer lids won't fit on the Dora The Ex-whore-a cups. And they're all vacuum-formed with little "grippy" areas. Yeah, right. The brat will still manage to drop the cup and the ill-fitting lid will pop off and then comes the mess. All the grippy area is good for is to create little crevices inside that can in no way be cleaned. Even with a bottle brush. So I stick 'em in the dishwasher and set the machine to "hope this works!" It makes me want to go to work and print a bumper sticker that reads "My grandkid has a more robust immune system than your honor student."
In less than a week, though, everything will be awesome and I'll have nothing to complain about. The Sands of Time for me are running low, so I better hurry up and get on with the complaining!
--------------
 |
| Pictured: Stealth Gun Control |
I don't think we even own this one. (Yet). I just glommed the pic from google image search. But we have every one of its diabolical cousins. "What did Santa bring you?" "Another @#$%^& noisy toy that devours batteries and I never play with except when you're tired and/or have a headache! Thanks, Santa!" Holy crap, whatever happened to toys that weren't so "interactive"? Is it such a crime to give a little kid a toy truck? That doesn't have a functional horn? One of these @#$%^&* things even talks when it isn't being used. After it sits idle for about 10 minutes, it says "Bye, bye! Let's play again soon!" and powers itself down. Startles the crap out of me every time. Even the !@#$%^&* stuffed animals have noisemakers in them. And batteries. So when the brat bangs it on the table, instead of a nearly inaudible "poof" there's a big "WHAM" from its hard plastic guts hitting the hardwood. Evil. And when the brat barfs on that stuffed animal, I have to do a noise-mech-ectomy on the barfy thing before we can throw it in the washing machine. I swear the modern toy industry exists only to drive sound-minded people so completely, clinically, insane, that they'll fail the background check at the gun store.
---------------------------
I have an earache. Seriously. Dude. I hadn't had one in over 30 years. What next? I remember reading somewhere that antibiotics don't really help an earache that much, so I think I'll try to tough it out without seeing a doc. Or maybe that was strep throat. Whatever. If I lose the hearing in that ear and my whole brain becomes infected I don't think it'll affect me much, except the quality of my blog posts might improve a bit.
---------------------------
My Beavs looked like they had the Alamo Bowl well in hand. Then suddenly the Texas QB pulled his head out of his Ash and started making plays. Also, blocking Okafor must have been an elective class that none of our O-line bothered to enroll in. The Longhorns came roaring back in the 2nd half and won. Gack.
---------------------------
On the bright side, the local buzz is that the Quackheads about an hour south of me are going to have a very unhappy new year. Sounds like the Ducks' recruiting violations are gonna cost them a couple years of Bowl eligibility. Look for Coach Kelly to jump to the NFL about 3 milliseconds after the Fiesta Bowl is over.
---------------------------
I bought my wife a(nother) digital camera for Christmas. I told the chick at the camera counter "I don't care about megapixels. I don't care about optical zoom. I don't care about the capacity of the memory card. I want a camera that won't #$%^&* explode into a million pieces the first time it is dropped, which, coincidentally, is usually the first time it is used." She suggested some model of Fuji Finepix. I took her suggestion. So far, so good. [looks for wood to knock on]
---------------------------
What's with sippy cups? Would it be that hard to standardize them? I have a drawer full of sippy lids and a cupboard full of sippy cups, but @#$%^&* if I can ever get a lid to match up with a cup. Even the #$%^&* Dora The Explorer lids won't fit on the Dora The Ex-whore-a cups. And they're all vacuum-formed with little "grippy" areas. Yeah, right. The brat will still manage to drop the cup and the ill-fitting lid will pop off and then comes the mess. All the grippy area is good for is to create little crevices inside that can in no way be cleaned. Even with a bottle brush. So I stick 'em in the dishwasher and set the machine to "hope this works!" It makes me want to go to work and print a bumper sticker that reads "My grandkid has a more robust immune system than your honor student."
Friday, August 17, 2012
Hey inno, where ya been?
Where've I been? Mostly in the car. The AC in the car works way better than the AC in the house. So I've mostly been in the car. It's been 100-ish for several days now. AccuWeather says the "Real Feel" has been around 106 and even up to 114 once. Nasty. So I've mostly been in the car. And the poking-through-the-window AC unit at home is acting up. It isn't draining properly. After about 48 hours of use, there's enough condensation inside to hit the fan. Yes, the ________ is hitting the fan and spraying around the room. So I've mostly been in the car. All I can do is yank the AC, take out the filter, hold the whole thing upside down and shake the water out - like a baby that won't be quiet. (Kidding! Sheesh! You people are so sensitive!) Repeat as necessary, most likely in a day or two.
So I've mostly been in the car.
I don't have internet access in the car. Mostly because I don't have WiFi. I like cables. I like wires. When ya encounter a total flaming moron who desperately needs to be strangled, CAT-5e cable works a lot better than, um, air. So wired internet only for this guy. Also, I don't have a laptop. I suppose I could, you know, take my desktop PC out to the car and run some of that yummy CAT-5e cable out to it, but it is a HUNDRED FREAKIN' DEGREES outside! Like I'm gonna go through all that exertion just to satisfy you people! Yoish, y'all can be soooo demanding!
Tomorrow is supposed to drop back down into the 80s. Maybe I'll be in a better mood then.
-------------------------------------
Just thinking about current events puts me in a better mood, actually. The way the campaign has turned is awesome. It is even more awesome than a red-white-n-blue blown '41 Willys sideways on fire driven by a hot chick in a bikini running over zombie Mao and zombie Stalin kissing at a kiss-in in front of a Dik-fil-A while Hendrix plays the National Anthem and the rhythm section is the 30mm cannon on an A-10.
OK, maybe not that awesome. But at least this awesome:
Sorry, Buck. Couldn't find any clips of the Thunderbirds doing similar.
Let's face it: Paul Ryan is basically Ted Nugent minus the pottymouth and a couple pounds of hair. The libs don't know what to do about him. Nancy Pelosi is getting visits from the Ghosts of Feminists Past. Biden makes this chick look like the valedictorian of Smartville High, and Palin basically dares barry to give Joey the boot. O'Bumble's campaign co-chair from '08 is now working for Romney. Romney has TONS of general-election campaign cash he can't spend until he's officially nominated at the Convention. At which time the BARRAGE of ads will hit, and the get-out-the-vote efforts will take off. The slaughter will be... wait. "Epic" is so painfully overused these days. The slaughter will be "whatever word arises to take the place of the overused 'epic'." To paraphrase Bull Halsey: "The Democrat language will only be spoken in the narrow confines of a university or two."
-----------------------------------
The Cold Stone Creamery "Store of the Quarter" for the Mountain West Region is store #20145 in American Fork, Utah. I would know, because I just made the award. In my line of work, I get all the big news scoops. Notice, that it wasn't store #666 in Commie Flats, Connecticut. See? The tide is indeed turning our way!!1!
----------------------------------
Snooping the online ed of the local paper, and I get a pop-up "You have viewed 15 articles of premium content in the last 15 days. To continue reading, you'll need to subscribe" yadda yadda. Premium content? AP wire stories printed word-for-word, plus an occasional local-interest blurb about "Bertha's begonia garden" or somesuch? That counts as premium content? Subscribe to that? No. But I will go delete your stupid cookie, which resets me back to zero "premium" views. And to think I've actually linked to these losers...
So I've mostly been in the car.
I don't have internet access in the car. Mostly because I don't have WiFi. I like cables. I like wires. When ya encounter a total flaming moron who desperately needs to be strangled, CAT-5e cable works a lot better than, um, air. So wired internet only for this guy. Also, I don't have a laptop. I suppose I could, you know, take my desktop PC out to the car and run some of that yummy CAT-5e cable out to it, but it is a HUNDRED FREAKIN' DEGREES outside! Like I'm gonna go through all that exertion just to satisfy you people! Yoish, y'all can be soooo demanding!
Tomorrow is supposed to drop back down into the 80s. Maybe I'll be in a better mood then.
-------------------------------------
Just thinking about current events puts me in a better mood, actually. The way the campaign has turned is awesome. It is even more awesome than a red-white-n-blue blown '41 Willys sideways on fire driven by a hot chick in a bikini running over zombie Mao and zombie Stalin kissing at a kiss-in in front of a Dik-fil-A while Hendrix plays the National Anthem and the rhythm section is the 30mm cannon on an A-10.
OK, maybe not that awesome. But at least this awesome:
Sorry, Buck. Couldn't find any clips of the Thunderbirds doing similar.
Let's face it: Paul Ryan is basically Ted Nugent minus the pottymouth and a couple pounds of hair. The libs don't know what to do about him. Nancy Pelosi is getting visits from the Ghosts of Feminists Past. Biden makes this chick look like the valedictorian of Smartville High, and Palin basically dares barry to give Joey the boot. O'Bumble's campaign co-chair from '08 is now working for Romney. Romney has TONS of general-election campaign cash he can't spend until he's officially nominated at the Convention. At which time the BARRAGE of ads will hit, and the get-out-the-vote efforts will take off. The slaughter will be... wait. "Epic" is so painfully overused these days. The slaughter will be "whatever word arises to take the place of the overused 'epic'." To paraphrase Bull Halsey: "The Democrat language will only be spoken in the narrow confines of a university or two."
-----------------------------------
The Cold Stone Creamery "Store of the Quarter" for the Mountain West Region is store #20145 in American Fork, Utah. I would know, because I just made the award. In my line of work, I get all the big news scoops. Notice, that it wasn't store #666 in Commie Flats, Connecticut. See? The tide is indeed turning our way!!1!
----------------------------------
Snooping the online ed of the local paper, and I get a pop-up "You have viewed 15 articles of premium content in the last 15 days. To continue reading, you'll need to subscribe" yadda yadda. Premium content? AP wire stories printed word-for-word, plus an occasional local-interest blurb about "Bertha's begonia garden" or somesuch? That counts as premium content? Subscribe to that? No. But I will go delete your stupid cookie, which resets me back to zero "premium" views. And to think I've actually linked to these losers...
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Ranting is theraputic
The other day, I'm standing there doing the dishes (in a most manly way, of course) when I note that the floor is getting REALLY wet under my feet. Thought to myself no big deal, the granddaughter spilled something. Again. Then, during a break in the action, I could hear the tinkle of running water. No big deal, these grandkids tinkle anywhere any time. Finally I had to stop and investigate. Turns out the metal housing of the garbage disposal was broken, and yucky funkwater was streaming out of it - looking very much like some kind of swamp robot pissing on my floor.
Landlord brought over a new unit and I handled the install. Old one out and new one in - took only a few minutes. "You're pretty handy" says the landlord. "Drove finicky old cars as a teenager" I explained. "A lot of the time it was either 'be handy' or 'walk home' so I got pretty good at fixing things." Landlord went on to tell me about a fixer-upper house they'd bought years ago, and they made it a family project for one summer to get it into shape. He said that he had a son-in-law who was in his 20s at the time, who had NEVER USED A HAMMER. (I was bending nails in my dad's new deck when I was 3). OK... Here's the deal: if you're 20-something years old and can't use a hammer, you simply aren't worthy of being numbered among my countrymen. Please, just, just... move far the heck away. Maybe a country that is tolerant of those who have, um, "expressive wrists" should be at the top of your list.
Anyway.
New disposal unit has half again as much power and is much quieter. It sounds like one chainsaw instead of a chorus of chainsaws. All is well, right? The next day I note that the dishwasher has barfed all over the floor. Upon opening it, I find that is hasn't drained out any if its wastewater. Chalking it up to a fluke, I ran the cycle again. More barfage. Tore into the dishwasher (there I go being 'handy' again) but couldn't find and clogs or mechanical problems.
"Hmmmm..." Thinks I... "This problem must somehow be related to the new disposal, 'cuz having two appliances crap out on consecutive days is just too weird..."
Both sides of the sink were draining fine, so I couldn't blame it on a downstream clog... Disconnect the dishwasher drain hose and turn it on for a split second... Funkwater streams out the drain hose normally. Wow, this is getting strange... Reconnect the drain hose. No flow. Inspect fitting. It is blocked by a knock-out.
"Are you even freaking serious??!?" yells my brain, inwardly. "Why the bloody hell should that fitting be blocked off?!" Thought about it briefly, and concluded that the fitting comes blocked for people that don't have dishwashers. For Reals? Is there really a caveman out there somewhere who has a disposal but no dishwasher? He rinses his gristle down the drain and then, what, lugs his dishes down to the river? Scratches the dried lasagna off with a stick and rinses them in the stream? WTH??
Alright, whatever. Now everything works. OK, not everything. The bottom shelf in my fridge broke. Yeah, the one that supports the crisper drawer. No biggie. The crisper now just hangs a little lower and interferes with the door closing. Just close it FIRMLY and all is cool. Except toddler granddaughter doesn't close it firmly enough. So the contents of the fridge get warm. And the fridge tries to keep things cool by running and running and running until an adult eventually notices that things are awry. So my milk and my coke and my gatorade are warm now, and the ice cream up in the freezer is frozen SO @#(*&^%ing SOLID that I could use it to cut glass and/or chip my teeth.
Hey, inno, are you done yet? HELZ NO!
The light switch in the hallway bathroom is acting up. It won't stay off. Seriously. As soon as you let it go, it springs back into the 'on' position. Unless you point it down in the off position and jiggle it just right. Thankfully, I have many years of experience with the "point it down and jiggle it just right" process. So I can turn it off. Seems I'm the only one capable in my household. Which means most of my free time is spent getting up and turning the light switch off. I know I can get a new switch for about a buck and a half. But then I gotta install it, and the wiring in my house is STUPID. None of the single-pole breakers turn off what they say they do no their labels. So I gotta systematically flip breakers until I happen upon the right one. In the meantime, everything else in the house has its power interrupted. So it's a blinking everywhere I look. Grrrah! Either that or work on the switch hot. 120V doesn't hurt that bad. More startling than painful. But still.
But wait, there's more! Now that it's finally warming up around here, the ceiling fans are seeing some use. Two of them work like champs. Two of them are more wobbly than a drunken Michael "Our Lady of Guacamole" Moore in-line skating down a tin roof. On one of 'em, I tried to tape a quarter to the fan blade to help the balance. No go. No matter which blade, still wobbles. And launches quarters when the tape fails. And now it clicks like a metronome from time to time. Yay.
By now, I bet you're thinking "Wow, inno, your house sounds like a real dive. Maybe it should be condemned" and you'd be right. But I LIKE it that way. A run-down foreboding house in a state of ill-repute-repair discourages visitors. I don't like visitors. I don't like people. I don't like YOU! If you drop by, I'll punch you in the gut with an old disposal wrapped in barbed wire! Bwaaahaahaahaa!
Landlord brought over a new unit and I handled the install. Old one out and new one in - took only a few minutes. "You're pretty handy" says the landlord. "Drove finicky old cars as a teenager" I explained. "A lot of the time it was either 'be handy' or 'walk home' so I got pretty good at fixing things." Landlord went on to tell me about a fixer-upper house they'd bought years ago, and they made it a family project for one summer to get it into shape. He said that he had a son-in-law who was in his 20s at the time, who had NEVER USED A HAMMER. (I was bending nails in my dad's new deck when I was 3). OK... Here's the deal: if you're 20-something years old and can't use a hammer, you simply aren't worthy of being numbered among my countrymen. Please, just, just... move far the heck away. Maybe a country that is tolerant of those who have, um, "expressive wrists" should be at the top of your list.
Anyway.
New disposal unit has half again as much power and is much quieter. It sounds like one chainsaw instead of a chorus of chainsaws. All is well, right? The next day I note that the dishwasher has barfed all over the floor. Upon opening it, I find that is hasn't drained out any if its wastewater. Chalking it up to a fluke, I ran the cycle again. More barfage. Tore into the dishwasher (there I go being 'handy' again) but couldn't find and clogs or mechanical problems.
"Hmmmm..." Thinks I... "This problem must somehow be related to the new disposal, 'cuz having two appliances crap out on consecutive days is just too weird..."
Both sides of the sink were draining fine, so I couldn't blame it on a downstream clog... Disconnect the dishwasher drain hose and turn it on for a split second... Funkwater streams out the drain hose normally. Wow, this is getting strange... Reconnect the drain hose. No flow. Inspect fitting. It is blocked by a knock-out.
"Are you even freaking serious??!?" yells my brain, inwardly. "Why the bloody hell should that fitting be blocked off?!" Thought about it briefly, and concluded that the fitting comes blocked for people that don't have dishwashers. For Reals? Is there really a caveman out there somewhere who has a disposal but no dishwasher? He rinses his gristle down the drain and then, what, lugs his dishes down to the river? Scratches the dried lasagna off with a stick and rinses them in the stream? WTH??
Alright, whatever. Now everything works. OK, not everything. The bottom shelf in my fridge broke. Yeah, the one that supports the crisper drawer. No biggie. The crisper now just hangs a little lower and interferes with the door closing. Just close it FIRMLY and all is cool. Except toddler granddaughter doesn't close it firmly enough. So the contents of the fridge get warm. And the fridge tries to keep things cool by running and running and running until an adult eventually notices that things are awry. So my milk and my coke and my gatorade are warm now, and the ice cream up in the freezer is frozen SO @#(*&^%ing SOLID that I could use it to cut glass and/or chip my teeth.
Hey, inno, are you done yet? HELZ NO!
The light switch in the hallway bathroom is acting up. It won't stay off. Seriously. As soon as you let it go, it springs back into the 'on' position. Unless you point it down in the off position and jiggle it just right. Thankfully, I have many years of experience with the "point it down and jiggle it just right" process. So I can turn it off. Seems I'm the only one capable in my household. Which means most of my free time is spent getting up and turning the light switch off. I know I can get a new switch for about a buck and a half. But then I gotta install it, and the wiring in my house is STUPID. None of the single-pole breakers turn off what they say they do no their labels. So I gotta systematically flip breakers until I happen upon the right one. In the meantime, everything else in the house has its power interrupted. So it's a blinking everywhere I look. Grrrah! Either that or work on the switch hot. 120V doesn't hurt that bad. More startling than painful. But still.
But wait, there's more! Now that it's finally warming up around here, the ceiling fans are seeing some use. Two of them work like champs. Two of them are more wobbly than a drunken Michael "Our Lady of Guacamole" Moore in-line skating down a tin roof. On one of 'em, I tried to tape a quarter to the fan blade to help the balance. No go. No matter which blade, still wobbles. And launches quarters when the tape fails. And now it clicks like a metronome from time to time. Yay.
By now, I bet you're thinking "Wow, inno, your house sounds like a real dive. Maybe it should be condemned" and you'd be right. But I LIKE it that way. A run-down foreboding house in a state of ill-
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Obama sucks and so does the weather
95 "barry good" posts later, I think I've pretty well established that our pResident is a "nice guy, just in over his head" a bumbling narcissist leftoid with a tendency towards prevarication and malice. Rather than re-hash that theme, or conjure some crazy alternate dimension where Biden is actually smart enough to not give himself 2nd degree burns from eating a fruit cup, I'm going after a more universal topic this time...
[dramatic musical notes to create emotional tension until topic is revealed: dun dun dunnnn]
...the weather
Geez. Crawled outta bed at oh-four-hundred this morning and stepped out the front door to head to AM grunt job... Encountered SNOW. Everywhere. The neighborhood looked like some wintertime Thomas Kincade painting. Except, hello?, it's bleeping March. It's not even early March. We've already passed most of March's milestones: the Ides**, St. Patrick's Day, barry's NCAA bracket gettin' blowed up by some minor-conference overachiever, and even the stinkin' equinox! It's pretty much LATE March now.
There was about 3/4" when I left the house. As I write this this afternoon, it has literally been snowing non-stop since before 4:00am. The accumulation topped out at about 2" before it warmed slightly, so the new snow is falling at about the replacement rate of the melting snow. Which means the whole town is now a big sloppy Slurpee. I'm sure the mountains that surround our valley are getting hammered. Depending on which weather forecaster is flappin' lip at any given moment, we're supposed to get from 2 to 5 more inches this evening and another 1 to 3 tomorrow.
Alright, this is just stupid. We rarely get meaningful amounts of snow even in the depths of winter. Never in March. So far this year we haven't hit 70o at all. Only three days in the freekin' 60s! Enough! Tell ya what's gonna happen: I'm gonna stroll right into the #occupy camp and find the tent where that lazy punk Global Warming hangs out. I'm gonna haul him out of his tent, punch him in the spleen, and say "Listen to me, Global Warming, you disgusting emo skinny-jean layabout lump of fail! Get out there and get to work, or I'll get Glee! cancelled!"
Notice, that I'm only gonna spleen-punch him once. To do so twice might make him too exuberant. That would be bad. Like, f-word bad. Because around here, unseasonable snow is usually followed by warm rain, which leads to the f-word. Flood. I ain't ready to play that game again.
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Wanna know what else ticks me off? (Actually I'm sure you don't, but I'm going all-in on the venting today.)
Morons who think they're smarter than Mother Nature. The highway between here in Corvallis and the Oregon coast is a twisty and nasty. Scenic, too, but I digress. ODOT has spent the last dozen or so years widening the road and straightening the curves. But there worst part, around Eddyville, has remained unimproved. The land around there is very unstable. It gets around 100" of rain per year. There are frequent mudslides and the occasional boulder rolling onto the roadway. So what genius plan did the ODOT braintrust come up with? "Hey, let's build a whopping bridge, many miles long, over the whole mess! Let's make parts of it over 200' high! And let's also leave it up to the contractor to figure out how to stabilize the mud under the footings. Mud that never sits still and is certain to totally spazz out during an earthquake! It'll be the biggest contract we've ever awarded! Yay for smart people!"
So the contractors started working and then noticed all the concrete they'd poured was moving around. So they told ODOT they need more dough to do more stabilizing. ODOT gave 'em more cash. Literally millions of yards of dirt have been rearranged, but the whole thing is still jello. There are magnificent concrete columns rising 200' feet in the air, but they move about 3/4" annually. May not sound like much, but concrete doesn't have a lot of "give." It is either stable or it is a pile of rubble. So there is no bridge atop the columns. Contractor said they need a LOT more scratch if they're gonna make it work. ODOT said no. So contractor said, "later, dudes!" Now everybody's lawyered up and givin' each other the stink eye. And a trip to the coast involves driving past at a bunch of really expensive giant concrete columns sticking out of the middle of nothing. They look like huge middle fingers to me.
History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of man...
---------------------------------------
** that post from 3 years ago seemed to me like a pretty funny one. But my meager readership was even more meager back then. Dunno if a single person read it the first time.
[dramatic musical notes to create emotional tension until topic is revealed: dun dun dunnnn]
...the weather
Geez. Crawled outta bed at oh-four-hundred this morning and stepped out the front door to head to AM grunt job... Encountered SNOW. Everywhere. The neighborhood looked like some wintertime Thomas Kincade painting. Except, hello?, it's bleeping March. It's not even early March. We've already passed most of March's milestones: the Ides**, St. Patrick's Day, barry's NCAA bracket gettin' blowed up by some minor-conference overachiever, and even the stinkin' equinox! It's pretty much LATE March now.
There was about 3/4" when I left the house. As I write this this afternoon, it has literally been snowing non-stop since before 4:00am. The accumulation topped out at about 2" before it warmed slightly, so the new snow is falling at about the replacement rate of the melting snow. Which means the whole town is now a big sloppy Slurpee. I'm sure the mountains that surround our valley are getting hammered. Depending on which weather forecaster is flappin' lip at any given moment, we're supposed to get from 2 to 5 more inches this evening and another 1 to 3 tomorrow.
Alright, this is just stupid. We rarely get meaningful amounts of snow even in the depths of winter. Never in March. So far this year we haven't hit 70o at all. Only three days in the freekin' 60s! Enough! Tell ya what's gonna happen: I'm gonna stroll right into the #occupy camp and find the tent where that lazy punk Global Warming hangs out. I'm gonna haul him out of his tent, punch him in the spleen, and say "Listen to me, Global Warming, you disgusting emo skinny-jean layabout lump of fail! Get out there and get to work, or I'll get Glee! cancelled!"
Notice, that I'm only gonna spleen-punch him once. To do so twice might make him too exuberant. That would be bad. Like, f-word bad. Because around here, unseasonable snow is usually followed by warm rain, which leads to the f-word. Flood. I ain't ready to play that game again.
---------------------------------------
Wanna know what else ticks me off? (Actually I'm sure you don't, but I'm going all-in on the venting today.)
Morons who think they're smarter than Mother Nature. The highway between here in Corvallis and the Oregon coast is a twisty and nasty. Scenic, too, but I digress. ODOT has spent the last dozen or so years widening the road and straightening the curves. But there worst part, around Eddyville, has remained unimproved. The land around there is very unstable. It gets around 100" of rain per year. There are frequent mudslides and the occasional boulder rolling onto the roadway. So what genius plan did the ODOT braintrust come up with? "Hey, let's build a whopping bridge, many miles long, over the whole mess! Let's make parts of it over 200' high! And let's also leave it up to the contractor to figure out how to stabilize the mud under the footings. Mud that never sits still and is certain to totally spazz out during an earthquake! It'll be the biggest contract we've ever awarded! Yay for smart people!"
So the contractors started working and then noticed all the concrete they'd poured was moving around. So they told ODOT they need more dough to do more stabilizing. ODOT gave 'em more cash. Literally millions of yards of dirt have been rearranged, but the whole thing is still jello. There are magnificent concrete columns rising 200' feet in the air, but they move about 3/4" annually. May not sound like much, but concrete doesn't have a lot of "give." It is either stable or it is a pile of rubble. So there is no bridge atop the columns. Contractor said they need a LOT more scratch if they're gonna make it work. ODOT said no. So contractor said, "later, dudes!" Now everybody's lawyered up and givin' each other the stink eye. And a trip to the coast involves driving past at a bunch of really expensive giant concrete columns sticking out of the middle of nothing. They look like huge middle fingers to me.
History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of man...
---------------------------------------
** that post from 3 years ago seemed to me like a pretty funny one. But my meager readership was even more meager back then. Dunno if a single person read it the first time.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Irritation of the day
I'm not telling you anything you haven't already heard time and again. I know that spouting all this will accomplish nothing.
But sometimes ya just gotta lance the boil... (Since this is all true, I'm keeping this vague to protect the guilty)
-------------------------------------------
There is a person in my immediate or "almost immediate" family, who works an entry-level job at or just above minimum wage. This job is not quite full-time. This person has one child out-of-wedlock. This person receives food stamps. This person receives state-subsidized daycare. This person gets OHP (Oregon's version of low-income health coverage). This person gets Section 8 housing, so this person's out-of-pocket monthly rent is about $130. By government standards, this person is living in poverty.
This person lives unmarried with a Significant Other. This SO works a similar entry-level job, and pays roughly half of the household expenses (not that there are many). This SO, however, is not listed as any kind of resident or breadwinner or contributor to the household. The State is aware of this ruse. But like a honey badger, the State just doesn't give a ****.
Haven't heard yet what the SO's taxes look like this year, but this person in my family is getting a $5600 tax "refund" this year. This person is DRIPPING WITH EXCITEMENT about how they're just days away from having a 72" HDTV, a brand new washer and dryer, and some brand new furniture. By government standards, this person is living in poverty.
Meanwhile, I work at least 55 hours a week and have none of those things. My couch is sprouting holes. The boy doggie is overdue for a vet visit, but we can't afford it right now. Keeping up with the bills has been extra challenging the last few months. By government standards, I am a fair bit above median income.
But sometimes ya just gotta lance the boil... (Since this is all true, I'm keeping this vague to protect the guilty)
-------------------------------------------
There is a person in my immediate or "almost immediate" family, who works an entry-level job at or just above minimum wage. This job is not quite full-time. This person has one child out-of-wedlock. This person receives food stamps. This person receives state-subsidized daycare. This person gets OHP (Oregon's version of low-income health coverage). This person gets Section 8 housing, so this person's out-of-pocket monthly rent is about $130. By government standards, this person is living in poverty.
This person lives unmarried with a Significant Other. This SO works a similar entry-level job, and pays roughly half of the household expenses (not that there are many). This SO, however, is not listed as any kind of resident or breadwinner or contributor to the household. The State is aware of this ruse. But like a honey badger, the State just doesn't give a ****.
Haven't heard yet what the SO's taxes look like this year, but this person in my family is getting a $5600 tax "refund" this year. This person is DRIPPING WITH EXCITEMENT about how they're just days away from having a 72" HDTV, a brand new washer and dryer, and some brand new furniture. By government standards, this person is living in poverty.
Meanwhile, I work at least 55 hours a week and have none of those things. My couch is sprouting holes. The boy doggie is overdue for a vet visit, but we can't afford it right now. Keeping up with the bills has been extra challenging the last few months. By government standards, I am a fair bit above median income.
...with liberty and justice for all.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Not a blogiversary, but getting close
No AM "grunt" job today, and it is the middle of the post-Christmas dead period at my "real" job. Boredom overload. Which leaves me too much time to wander the political blogs. Depression overload. Gingrich, Perry, and to whomever else this may apply: When you are finished curb-stomping your own dingleschnitzels, lemme know. 'Cuz I'd like a turn.
So then I started trying to write something funny about the Iranian nuke-sci guys getting themselves mysteriously blowed up. Not really coming together, unfortunately. I can hardly think of a more enjoyable topic, but it just isn't translating into good blog fodder. Dead end.
But a comment Max left in the previous thread brought to mind one of the funniest things I've seen: I was in about 5th grade, and I was with my family was on a jet-boat excursion on the Rogue River. The boats are big and fast and POWERFUL. They're about the size of a bus and have multiple big-block V8s. They have a driver and a guide who says things like "on your left you'll see an eagle snacking on a steelhead."
Anyway, as we were tooling down the river, there were a bunch of hippies skinny-dipping. One was standing on a rock, naked as a jaybird, struggling to put on his wet socks. The guide said over the PA "This is a family tour! Put some clothes on, hippie!" Rather than take the guide's suggestion, the hippie chose to elevate a finger. (Thankfully, that's all he elevated.) This made the boat driver a bit irate. He swung the boat around and mashed the gas, creating a GIANT roostertail which blasted the hippie right off the rock! I've always dreamed of seeing a hippie get nailed with a fire hose or water cannon. This was the closest I'll likely come to realizing that dream, and it was hilarious. I will cherish this memory for all of my days.
Speaking of these boats, I love 'em. I've been on their excursions a few times and look forward to doing it again. Maybe this summer. There are some spots where it gets really shallow. Especially in summer. Like maybe a foot or so deep. Here, the boats have to go really fast and stay on-plane to keep from dragging hull on the rocks below. Of course the river is twisty, so the driver has to drift sideways through the corners to keep his speed up. Lotta fun. They also do this maneuver where they do a panic-stop kind of thing and flip a quick u-turn. This causes a big wave to come over the side and "dampen" the riders. Nothing like seeing some little old tourist lady from Pasadena getting nailed in the face with river water. Below is a YouTube clip. I wasn't on this trip, and don't know any of the people on board, but it gives you a sense of what the rides are like. (skip to about :25) (video now below the fold since youtube is taking forever to load the preview)
So then I started trying to write something funny about the Iranian nuke-sci guys getting themselves mysteriously blowed up. Not really coming together, unfortunately. I can hardly think of a more enjoyable topic, but it just isn't translating into good blog fodder. Dead end.
But a comment Max left in the previous thread brought to mind one of the funniest things I've seen: I was in about 5th grade, and I was with my family was on a jet-boat excursion on the Rogue River. The boats are big and fast and POWERFUL. They're about the size of a bus and have multiple big-block V8s. They have a driver and a guide who says things like "on your left you'll see an eagle snacking on a steelhead."
Anyway, as we were tooling down the river, there were a bunch of hippies skinny-dipping. One was standing on a rock, naked as a jaybird, struggling to put on his wet socks. The guide said over the PA "This is a family tour! Put some clothes on, hippie!" Rather than take the guide's suggestion, the hippie chose to elevate a finger. (Thankfully, that's all he elevated.) This made the boat driver a bit irate. He swung the boat around and mashed the gas, creating a GIANT roostertail which blasted the hippie right off the rock! I've always dreamed of seeing a hippie get nailed with a fire hose or water cannon. This was the closest I'll likely come to realizing that dream, and it was hilarious. I will cherish this memory for all of my days.
Speaking of these boats, I love 'em. I've been on their excursions a few times and look forward to doing it again. Maybe this summer. There are some spots where it gets really shallow. Especially in summer. Like maybe a foot or so deep. Here, the boats have to go really fast and stay on-plane to keep from dragging hull on the rocks below. Of course the river is twisty, so the driver has to drift sideways through the corners to keep his speed up. Lotta fun. They also do this maneuver where they do a panic-stop kind of thing and flip a quick u-turn. This causes a big wave to come over the side and "dampen" the riders. Nothing like seeing some little old tourist lady from Pasadena getting nailed in the face with river water. Below is a YouTube clip. I wasn't on this trip, and don't know any of the people on board, but it gives you a sense of what the rides are like. (skip to about :25) (video now below the fold since youtube is taking forever to load the preview)
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Screwt Newt
Then
This mouthfart passed 'twixt his lips:
“The party that says it's the party of the family is going to adopt an immigration policy which destroys families who have been here a quarter century. I'm prepared to take the heat for saying, let's be humane in enforcing the law without giving them citizenship but by finding a way to create legality so that they are not separated from their families.”
Whoa.
A person who has entered our country illegally is ineligible for a SSN or other documentation that would allow them to be legally employed. Therefore, if said person is employed, then that person must be using fraudulent or stolen documents. If that person is not employed, then that person must be a bum who sponges off of others. What other possibility is there? The illegal is independently wealthy? Yeah, right.
So this fraud and/or bum of an illegal has been sneaky enough and cunning enough and treacherous enough to be able to perpetrate this ruse for 25 years. According to Newt, that makes this illegal a good candidate for permanent residence. Furthermore, let's say this illegal has elected to start a family here in spite of these very uncertain circumstances - Newt says *I* am being inhumane if I want this weasel out of my country.
Know what, Newt?
Get bent. This hypothetical illegal knew exactly what he was doing when he built his life on a big pile of shifting sand. This same hypothetical illegal willingly subjected his family to years of uncertainty and stress and potential loss. THAT is inhumane. THAT must not be rewarded.
And YOU do not deserve the presidency.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Pokin' my head out of the bunker
I spent a goodly bit of the weekend crawling around in the rafters of the church, running some 'lectricity to the new bathrooms. Lights and fans and stuff. Trust me, it's important that those fans get a good supply of juice. I'm not an electrician, but I know enough to hook things up safely and not burn anything down. (So far). What I lack is the experience to just whip through it. And the cool tools. Having to do everything with just a screwdriver and my teeth really slowed me down. SO DID THE HEAT. It was really, really hot up there. I was sweating like crazy. Next thing ya know, the calf muscles are trying to cramp and the back is trying to spasm. Not good. I don't get back spasms often, but the couple of times they've happened I've been pretty much immobile. Crawling out of there and getting back down the ladder could have been really bad. Thankfully the cramps never advanced past the "annoying" stage. The freekin' fiberglass insulation, though, advanced WAY past the "annoying" stage. Nothing quite as fun as a sweaty wallowing in the fiberglass. Owens? Corning? Someday... Someday, I will bump into you guys in a dark alley. And y'alls better be wearing your cups! I'm not sure how much of that junk I inhaled, but my wife said that in the middle of the night I coughed up a jet-ski hull. It was so hard to breathe that my hands were trembling like Joe Biden's hair plugs when he's amped on Strawberry Quik and Rolos. Makes it hard to get the Phillipian bit on the screw shooter to line up with the heads on the drywall screws. Oh, yeah, then there was the "after all that work is done, realize that the light fixture spec'd by the architect won't fit where it was intended to go" thing. Farkin' architects! Question for the Pharisees and Sadducees: Is cussing under one's breath more of a sin when done in a church, or is it less so 'cuz it was done while sweating for the Kingdom?
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Speaking of sin, I really shouldn't be joking about it. I'm increasingly convinced that the End is coming soon. I'm not going to throw out a date like that fool from a couple weeks ago. According to the actuarial tables, I'm about halfway through my earthly life. I'm just saying that I'll be surprised if I die of old age before Christ returns. That's about as specific as I can get. That said, come soon, Lord! At the rate I am acquiring new aches and pains, I'll be a hunched-up cane-using little Yoda type guy slightly grammar better with, by the time I am 50! Contorting around joists and insulation like the mythical RafterBoy doesn't help. I really need to just be kickin' it in a hammock. Doctor's orders or something.
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Speaking of Rolos, the Very Famous Burger Chain I do mornings at has added a Rolo item to the shake menu. I overheard one of the little snotnoses there asking another "What the hellza Rolo?" and I replied "Are you even serious?" and he was. So I sang the little jingle. "You can roll a Rolo to your friend! They're chocolate-covered caramel from end to end!" Everybody within earshot looked at me like I was on crack. Kids these days! They can text, download an iTune, and play Call of Duty. All at the same time. But they don't have even the vaguest idea what a Rolo is. We are so doomed.
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Speaking of so doomed, that's what Georgia, Creighton and Arkansas-Little Rock are. Because they had to play my Beavers in the NCAA Baseball Tournament. Wish college baseball got more attention and coverage. It is a really good flavor of baseball. Plus, it's like the only sport we're really good at. OK, I exaggerate. We're pretty good at football. Most years we end up ranked like #23 and go to a middling level bowl. We're always good at Wrestling and Gymnastics. For about 60 years we were really good at basketball but lately have sucked. But baseball... National Champs in '06 and '07. I pity the fool that gets between the Beavs and another National Championship.
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Speaking of really good flavors, I'm talking about those assorted muffins my wife puts in my lunch. One day it's blueberry. Mmmm. The next day it's chocolate chip. Mmmm. Then it's poppyseed. Mmmm. Then it's, um, like compressed sawdust. NOT a really good flavor. Ack. Ever heard of Synesthesia? It's a condition where inputs from one of a person's senses affect what is received from the other senses. The typical case involves a person who sees colors while listening to music. Most people who have it like it and are glad for it. I think I may have a mild case, as my brain assigns sounds to things I see. Not literal, audible sounds, but rather like the "voice" of me reading silently. Does that make any sense? [No. Our readers already suspect we're schizo. This isn't helping. -ed.][Shut up, you're being delusional. Again. -ed.][Fine. Whatevs. -ed.] Like when a squirrel is bounding across the street, my "mind's ear" hears a little ba-doop-ba-doop sound. Really. At least until I swerve and turn him into pavement pepperoni. [Kidding!] And when I ate that HORRID muffin, my senses got crossed up again: That muffin TASTED exactly like a wicker basket SMELLS. Couldn't even swallow the first bite. I can only imagine what the fiber count in that beast was.
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Speaking of 'that beast', Michelle Obama's favorite soft drink is Sierra Pist.
----------------------------------------
Speaking of fiber, I am reminded of a really funny bit of stand-up by the late Dennis Wolfberg. I'm sure it's in one of these links somewhere. When I get more time I'll try to find it.
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Speaking of funny white guys, I've noticed that their life expectancy ain't so hot. Dennis Wolfberg mentioned above. John Belushi. John Candy. Sam Kinison. Chris Farley. All the funny ones die way too young. S'pose that means that putz Bill Maher is pretty much immortal.
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Speaking of putzes, the Republicans are like foot fungus. Really wish they'd just go away. But they won't. They remain a lingering irritant. Democrats, however, are like a malignant tumor. A malignant tumor full of herpes viruses. A malignant tumor full of herpes viruses on fire. So, having to choose between a lingering irritant and a prolonged painful death, I've opted for the irritant. I am a Reluctant Republican. Keep in mind that "innominatus" essentially means "generic." When you see a poll that says "Obama getting whupped by Generic Repubican" you now know who they're talking about.
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Speaking of synesthesia, Tillamook makes EXCELLENT cheese. They also make VERY GOOD (but not quite excellent. Call it an A- ) ice cream. Their yogurt, however, is beyond nasty. It doesn't taste like fruit. It TASTES like air freshener SMELLS. Avoid it at all costs. You're welcome.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Not enough hours in the day
Ever wish each day was, oh, about 30 hours long? 'Cuz there are just way too many things going on that merit a good angry rant, but not enough time. An extra six hours would be perfect: 3 more hours of sleep and 3 extra hours to scream at the world. It would make me feel sooooo much better...
The other day a car parked next to mine had a dead battery. The morons left the parking light on for a couple hours and pffft. First of all, what kind of gutless turd are you driving if it is dead after only a couple hours of parking lights? And second of all, how dare you ask me for a jump when your carload of morons is covered neck-to-toe in OREGON DUCK sweats? I was REALLY tempted to cross the jumpers and blow the diodes out of their alternator but they did enoughbowing like Obama groveling that I was nice and got their car started. Plus, my car is also a gutless turd and I probably would have blown my own diodes. (Insert crass, off-color joke here)
Then I'm inside and ready for a snack. The little pastry thingies looked like they'd taste better warmed up, so I gave 'em a few seconds of nuke treatment. Bite, yumm. 'Nother bite, yumm. Another bite. OWWCH! One little bit of it was hotter thanfuc Fukushima Reactor #2 in July. Burned my tongue and everything. Makes me wish for the good 'ol days when ya had to actually put something in the oven and wait half an hour for it to get warm. That way, it was all burned beyond recognition (like a strawman in an Obama speech) and ya KNEW it was going to burn your tongue so it wasn't such a brutal surprise.
Then the wife gets an infection in her left big toe. It went several days without getting any better so we went to the doc yesterday. They had to remove the toenail to get all the yuck out. The pain is making her miserable so if you're the praying type** and can spare a sec to pray for a quick healing, I'd appreciate it.
Then John Bo(eh)ner comes out with this budget agreement that cuts $38 billion or maybe $15 billion, or maybe $350 million or so, or maybe even costs us a couple extra bill - all depending on who ya ask. I thought elections were supposed to have consequences. I guess...
OK, I'm all ranted out. Time for a nap.
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** Only if you're a Christian or a Jew. If you are neither, I'd rather your false little-g god didn't get involved.
The other day a car parked next to mine had a dead battery. The morons left the parking light on for a couple hours and pffft. First of all, what kind of gutless turd are you driving if it is dead after only a couple hours of parking lights? And second of all, how dare you ask me for a jump when your carload of morons is covered neck-to-toe in OREGON DUCK sweats? I was REALLY tempted to cross the jumpers and blow the diodes out of their alternator but they did enough
Then I'm inside and ready for a snack. The little pastry thingies looked like they'd taste better warmed up, so I gave 'em a few seconds of nuke treatment. Bite, yumm. 'Nother bite, yumm. Another bite. OWWCH! One little bit of it was hotter than
Then the wife gets an infection in her left big toe. It went several days without getting any better so we went to the doc yesterday. They had to remove the toenail to get all the yuck out. The pain is making her miserable so if you're the praying type** and can spare a sec to pray for a quick healing, I'd appreciate it.
Then John Bo(eh)ner comes out with this budget agreement that cuts $38 billion or maybe $15 billion, or maybe $350 million or so, or maybe even costs us a couple extra bill - all depending on who ya ask. I thought elections were supposed to have consequences. I guess...
OK, I'm all ranted out. Time for a nap.
---------------
** Only if you're a Christian or a Jew. If you are neither, I'd rather your false little-g god didn't get involved.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Ranting: It's theraputic!
Still haven't totally kicked this bug. I keep having my sleep interrupted by heartburn and spastic fits of coughing. That leaves me a little bit sleep deprived, and just a little tenser the next day. Which leads to more heartburn and more sleep deprivation... What he have here is "unsustainable" if I can borrow that phrase. (Actually, hippie, shut up. I'll steal your buzzwords any time I feel like it.) Each day is like a couple more ounces on the trigger. And the sear is starting to get fidgety. I might just go off. I may even totally lose all self control and post a long rambling rant on a blog that nobody reads! Take that, cruel world!!
So, the weatherman's been hyping everybody up about snow and cold. Yesterday the snow finally showed up. About 4", which is pretty good for around here. Wet snow, which quickly compacts to ice. I actually like driving in it. No sarcasm, really. I dunno if it is my Manly Sense of Invulnerability or what, but I think it is fun. Like, what fun would it be if every single time you fired, you put it right in the middle of the X-ring? The challenge of making the bullet go where you want is most of the fun. Likewise with cars. The car doing exactly what you want at all times gets kinda old. I like sliding around on ice. Like Brian Boitano without all the ghey costumes. It's pretty awesome.
'Cept most everybody else in town is a moron. They can't drive. Fortunately(?), they're aware of their moron status and refuse to do any dang thing when there is a slight chance of snow or ice anywhere. Which brings the whole town to a grinding halt. More road for me, but c'mon. Last night the University and many other public entities declared a preemptive "ice day" and told everybody to wait at least two hours before coming to work. Well, the snow and ice were all long gone by yesterday afternoon. But the ice fatwa had already been decreed and there's no turning back now.
Which means most of my biggest customers are ordering a whole lot of nothing and it is slow as heck in the shop. That means I can no longer justify procrastinating on a job I really don't want to do... There's a high-falutin' private school here with a "donor tree" where people get their names engraved on an anodized green aluminum "leaf" when the make their donations. Yay. Anodizing a sheet of aluminum gives it color, and also produces a gemstone-hard layer on the aluminum that's only a few molecules thick. Engraving on it sucks. It takes a fair bit of pressure to get the diamond bit through the anodizing but the aluminum underneath is way stinking soft so once the diamond "breaks through" it wants to go too deep. Like trying to engrave a @*#^$ hardboiled egg. Annoying. But wait, there's more! They're running out of blank leaves and need a bunch more.
A guy with a die cutter could make them in a couple minutes. I don't have a die cutter. And even if I did, it's pretty darned unlikely that I'd have a 1.625" x 3.5" elliptical die. So I have to mill them out on the engraving machine.
But I don't have one of those.
I have a little engraver that kind of thinks it is a milling machine. It's way slower and doesn't have the liquid coolant. Nor much for chip collection. So now I'm flecked in little aluminum fragments and look like friggin' Ziggy Stardust. It there is any truth to that rumor that aluminum contributes to Alzheimer's, I'm in big troub
Whoa! What just happened? And why am I standing in the parking lot?
Anyway. The anodized aluminum doesn't mill worth crap. Have you ever tried to precisely bisect... an Oreo... with a Sawz-All? That's what I've been up against. Hard shell and gooey middle and lots of hand filing to clean up the edges.
All so that some Lexus-driving putz can congratulate himself every time he sees his name engraved on a fake leaf.
So, the weatherman's been hyping everybody up about snow and cold. Yesterday the snow finally showed up. About 4", which is pretty good for around here. Wet snow, which quickly compacts to ice. I actually like driving in it. No sarcasm, really. I dunno if it is my Manly Sense of Invulnerability or what, but I think it is fun. Like, what fun would it be if every single time you fired, you put it right in the middle of the X-ring? The challenge of making the bullet go where you want is most of the fun. Likewise with cars. The car doing exactly what you want at all times gets kinda old. I like sliding around on ice. Like Brian Boitano without all the ghey costumes. It's pretty awesome.
'Cept most everybody else in town is a moron. They can't drive. Fortunately(?), they're aware of their moron status and refuse to do any dang thing when there is a slight chance of snow or ice anywhere. Which brings the whole town to a grinding halt. More road for me, but c'mon. Last night the University and many other public entities declared a preemptive "ice day" and told everybody to wait at least two hours before coming to work. Well, the snow and ice were all long gone by yesterday afternoon. But the ice fatwa had already been decreed and there's no turning back now.
Which means most of my biggest customers are ordering a whole lot of nothing and it is slow as heck in the shop. That means I can no longer justify procrastinating on a job I really don't want to do... There's a high-falutin' private school here with a "donor tree" where people get their names engraved on an anodized green aluminum "leaf" when the make their donations. Yay. Anodizing a sheet of aluminum gives it color, and also produces a gemstone-hard layer on the aluminum that's only a few molecules thick. Engraving on it sucks. It takes a fair bit of pressure to get the diamond bit through the anodizing but the aluminum underneath is way stinking soft so once the diamond "breaks through" it wants to go too deep. Like trying to engrave a @*#^$ hardboiled egg. Annoying. But wait, there's more! They're running out of blank leaves and need a bunch more.
A guy with a die cutter could make them in a couple minutes. I don't have a die cutter. And even if I did, it's pretty darned unlikely that I'd have a 1.625" x 3.5" elliptical die. So I have to mill them out on the engraving machine.
Real milling machine at work
But I don't have one of those.
I have a little engraver that kind of thinks it is a milling machine. It's way slower and doesn't have the liquid coolant. Nor much for chip collection. So now I'm flecked in little aluminum fragments and look like friggin' Ziggy Stardust. It there is any truth to that rumor that aluminum contributes to Alzheimer's, I'm in big troub
Whoa! What just happened? And why am I standing in the parking lot?
Anyway. The anodized aluminum doesn't mill worth crap. Have you ever tried to precisely bisect... an Oreo... with a Sawz-All? That's what I've been up against. Hard shell and gooey middle and lots of hand filing to clean up the edges.
All so that some Lexus-driving putz can congratulate himself every time he sees his name engraved on a fake leaf.
Monday, December 27, 2010
New Grandparent's Guide to Surviving the Holidays
First of all, if you're old enough to have grandkids, you're also old enough to remember back to when Saturday morning cartoons didn't suck. Remember the one where the main character was facing a moral dilemma, and was receiving contradictory advice from a little angel and a little devil? When the little devil on your shoulder says "Make a point of staying off the internet. Don't post anything to your blog. Don't comment on your friends' blogs. Stay off the computer and spend time with friends and family" keep in mind that he is a lying little punk bent on ruining your holidays. Heed none of his words. Instead, grab a quart of 'nog and a box of twinkies and hole up in the closet with your computer until after the first of the year.
When it comes to gift selection, keep things age-appropriate. No matter how much you spend on the coolest and neatest toys, a small toddler will find the box much more entertaining than the actual toy. So, have Christmas on the 26th. Remember, the kid can look right at the blinking on the microwave and still not know what time it is, so how is she going to know that Christmas is a day late? So go over to your neighbor's house in the middle of the night and steal the brightly colored box from their kid's Tickle Me Elmo Flying Trapeze with Extra Sharp Edges out of the recycle bin and let your grandbaby play with that. The kid will appreciate it more than the toy, and the hippies will thank you for re-purposing the box.
Once a kid grows up enough to walk and know a few words, he becomes a real hazard. Especially if Santa gives him a toy guitar which can be used to whack his younger cousin. So ask him what Santa gives to bad kids. If he replies "coal" it is time to go off. It works best if you can get a good rant voice going, like Mel Gibson after a fifth of Southern Comfort. "NO! Coal emits CO2 which melts the ice at the North Pole where Santa lives. Do you think he wants his house melted!? When Santa's heartburn is acting up in the middle of the night and he goes to the bathroom for some Tums, do you think he wants to paddle there in a canoe? He does NOT GIVE OUT COAL. He comes down the chimney and stabs bad kids in the eye with his Magic Icicle! So quit hitting your cousin!!"
If you're lucky like me, there's a 6 year old boy who isn't really your grandkid, but still refers to you as grandpa. When that boy comes over and opens his present and gets all indignant to his mom like "Is that all? I told you we should have gone to the other grandpa's house first!" then I don't have any good advice for you. In Islamic countries where a strict form of Sharia Law is observed, the child would be beaten with an ax handle. But that is illegal here. This is the only example of Sharia being superior to our Constitutional system. Of course, only use the handle, not the ax head. Because that would be haraam. Or maybe it would be cause for celebration. I can't remember. The angry moon god is kinda fickle that way.
When one of the grandkids comes running up with that cutesy-putesy "Grandpa! Grandpa! It's Jeebus' Birfday!" do not allow this heresy to stand. Grab the kid by the scruff of the neck and haul him out to the cheesy plastic nativity scene erected in the front yard. Again, get your rant voice going, like Alec Baldwin leaving his daughter a voicemail: "Listen! See the little lambs? They're born in the springtime. By December they'd be all grown up." When he gives you that confused head tilt look, plunk him down in front of this (highly recommended, seriously) video. Unless he is a child science prodigy with understanding of retrograde motion and refraction of light, most of it will go over his head. But that's not the point. The point is that you'll have 63 minutes of him quietly watching a video instead of 63 minutes of him trying to mummify the cat in giftwrap paper.
Fartless Chili? If your new daughter-in-law gives you this, expect a bumpy ride for the rest of the holidays. For one, it kind of implies some things about the recipient. It wasn't me. It was the dog. Really. Chance the 110lb canine poot machine makes the vinyl floor in the kitchen curl with some of the ones he rips. He lets one go and the kitchen floor suddenly looks like a giant faux-ceramic fruit roll-up. But then again, is fartless chili even chili? It's like cookies without milk. Sonny without Cher. Democrats without budget deficits. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Do not accept such ill-mannered gifts from anyone.
When it comes to gift selection, keep things age-appropriate. No matter how much you spend on the coolest and neatest toys, a small toddler will find the box much more entertaining than the actual toy. So, have Christmas on the 26th. Remember, the kid can look right at the blinking on the microwave and still not know what time it is, so how is she going to know that Christmas is a day late? So go over to your neighbor's house in the middle of the night and steal the brightly colored box from their kid's Tickle Me Elmo Flying Trapeze with Extra Sharp Edges out of the recycle bin and let your grandbaby play with that. The kid will appreciate it more than the toy, and the hippies will thank you for re-purposing the box.
Once a kid grows up enough to walk and know a few words, he becomes a real hazard. Especially if Santa gives him a toy guitar which can be used to whack his younger cousin. So ask him what Santa gives to bad kids. If he replies "coal" it is time to go off. It works best if you can get a good rant voice going, like Mel Gibson after a fifth of Southern Comfort. "NO! Coal emits CO2 which melts the ice at the North Pole where Santa lives. Do you think he wants his house melted!? When Santa's heartburn is acting up in the middle of the night and he goes to the bathroom for some Tums, do you think he wants to paddle there in a canoe? He does NOT GIVE OUT COAL. He comes down the chimney and stabs bad kids in the eye with his Magic Icicle! So quit hitting your cousin!!"
If you're lucky like me, there's a 6 year old boy who isn't really your grandkid, but still refers to you as grandpa. When that boy comes over and opens his present and gets all indignant to his mom like "Is that all? I told you we should have gone to the other grandpa's house first!" then I don't have any good advice for you. In Islamic countries where a strict form of Sharia Law is observed, the child would be beaten with an ax handle. But that is illegal here. This is the only example of Sharia being superior to our Constitutional system. Of course, only use the handle, not the ax head. Because that would be haraam. Or maybe it would be cause for celebration. I can't remember. The angry moon god is kinda fickle that way.
When one of the grandkids comes running up with that cutesy-putesy "Grandpa! Grandpa! It's Jeebus' Birfday!" do not allow this heresy to stand. Grab the kid by the scruff of the neck and haul him out to the cheesy plastic nativity scene erected in the front yard. Again, get your rant voice going, like Alec Baldwin leaving his daughter a voicemail: "Listen! See the little lambs? They're born in the springtime. By December they'd be all grown up." When he gives you that confused head tilt look, plunk him down in front of this (highly recommended, seriously) video. Unless he is a child science prodigy with understanding of retrograde motion and refraction of light, most of it will go over his head. But that's not the point. The point is that you'll have 63 minutes of him quietly watching a video instead of 63 minutes of him trying to mummify the cat in giftwrap paper.
 |
| As a gift to grandpa, this is inappropriate on many levels. |
Fartless Chili? If your new daughter-in-law gives you this, expect a bumpy ride for the rest of the holidays. For one, it kind of implies some things about the recipient. It wasn't me. It was the dog. Really. Chance the 110lb canine poot machine makes the vinyl floor in the kitchen curl with some of the ones he rips. He lets one go and the kitchen floor suddenly looks like a giant faux-ceramic fruit roll-up. But then again, is fartless chili even chili? It's like cookies without milk. Sonny without Cher. Democrats without budget deficits. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Do not accept such ill-mannered gifts from anyone.
Just follow these easy steps, and enjoy a much more rewarding holiday season!!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Post Dramatic Stress Disorder
This is a guest post by innominatus' inner Grinch voice that innominatus tries to stifle but sometimes can't quite rein in. For the sake of those lacking imagination, this inner Grinch voice, if he were a physical embodiment, would look kinda like:
Now, onto the guest post:
Alright. The wife has completed her One-Woman Crusade to stimulate the economy. When you go looking at the news and some vapid infobabe says "Retail spending rose sharply in the waning days of the Christmas buying season" you'll have me to thank. At least I hope she's done. Sheesh. After this spending spree, Moody's has adjusted my bond rating to a new level just below "junk" and just above "California." And the presents - wow! You can barely see the tree. The living room looks like some Mayan pyramid of wrapped objects.
There are so many presents I can't get to the water reservoir in the tree base. Yes, the tree is now going to dry out, burst into flames, and kill everybody. Ho Ho Ho. Why a real tree? Well, it ticks off the hippies more than a fake tree. Plus, it has "that smell" which my wife insists on. I say to the wife "hey, wife! ya know I can go to Knecht's Auto Parts and get a little tree air freshener for $.89? Or about 25 of 'em for what we paid for that tree?" at which point I have to dodge a flying frying pan. So now the tree is about a week old and already lost all its smell, and is still going to kill us in a fire...
But that's not the all of it... There are all those decorative doohickies that gotta be hung from it. If we were single and petless, maybe I could be convinced. BUT WE AREN'T. We have dogs. And when the ever-wagging yellow dog's tail connects with one of them ornaments, it's like ARod doing business with a hanging curve. And I'm not talkin' modern-day skinny ARod. I mean the ARod from about 5 years ago before the drug testers took away his juicebox. Christmas Ornaments + Wagging Tail = Weapon of XMass Destruction. That ornament is going... going... going... GONE over the left field sofa cushion.
Not only have we pets, we also have GRANDKIDS. So on Christmas morning we're expecting at least four toddlers. Do you know that they ALL want? D'ohra the Explorer stuff. And they got it. And almost all of it lights up and/or makes noises and/or says things in Spanish. Like the Diego Trike that has a working horn and yells izquierda when you hit the turn signal. Yay. They're all gonna be here at the same time, probably fighting over stuff 'cuz they're too young to figure out what belongs to who, but too old not to be selfish brats.
"Hey! What are you... NO! You can't give chocolate to the dogs [aw crap!] what was that crashing sound? Whaddya mean you jumped your remote-control monster truck into the mirror? What gets blood out of carpet? We don't HAVE a chimney, so Santa comes in through the dryer vent. I don't know why! Do you really have to ask so many questions? Probably 'cuz it is warm like a chimney! Now please, quit pulling your cousin's hair! Your mom doesn't spank you much, does she? GAAAAAAH!!!!! I can't stand it!"
 |
Drama, drama, everywhere,
I cannot hardly think...
Drama, drama, everywhere,
I need to see a shrink! **
Alright. The wife has completed her One-Woman Crusade to stimulate the economy. When you go looking at the news and some vapid infobabe says "Retail spending rose sharply in the waning days of the Christmas buying season" you'll have me to thank. At least I hope she's done. Sheesh. After this spending spree, Moody's has adjusted my bond rating to a new level just below "junk" and just above "California." And the presents - wow! You can barely see the tree. The living room looks like some Mayan pyramid of wrapped objects.
 |
| Put a ribbon and a "from" note on each stone and stick a little tree on top, and it'll look just like my living room. |
There are so many presents I can't get to the water reservoir in the tree base. Yes, the tree is now going to dry out, burst into flames, and kill everybody. Ho Ho Ho. Why a real tree? Well, it ticks off the hippies more than a fake tree. Plus, it has "that smell" which my wife insists on. I say to the wife "hey, wife! ya know I can go to Knecht's Auto Parts and get a little tree air freshener for $.89? Or about 25 of 'em for what we paid for that tree?" at which point I have to dodge a flying frying pan. So now the tree is about a week old and already lost all its smell, and is still going to kill us in a fire...
But that's not the all of it... There are all those decorative doohickies that gotta be hung from it. If we were single and petless, maybe I could be convinced. BUT WE AREN'T. We have dogs. And when the ever-wagging yellow dog's tail connects with one of them ornaments, it's like ARod doing business with a hanging curve. And I'm not talkin' modern-day skinny ARod. I mean the ARod from about 5 years ago before the drug testers took away his juicebox. Christmas Ornaments + Wagging Tail = Weapon of XMass Destruction. That ornament is going... going... going... GONE over the left field sofa cushion.
Not only have we pets, we also have GRANDKIDS. So on Christmas morning we're expecting at least four toddlers. Do you know that they ALL want? D'ohra the Explorer stuff. And they got it. And almost all of it lights up and/or makes noises and/or says things in Spanish. Like the Diego Trike that has a working horn and yells izquierda when you hit the turn signal. Yay. They're all gonna be here at the same time, probably fighting over stuff 'cuz they're too young to figure out what belongs to who, but too old not to be selfish brats.
Monday, October 25, 2010
What? Impeach John Roberts???!?
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| Cong. Peter DeFazio (D-bag, OR-4) |
See, most years he runs practically unopposed. Some no-name inbred hilldweller usually appears on the ballot as an erstwhile "opponent" but the outcome is pretty much pre-ordained. This year things are different. He has a real challenger with real funding. I haven't seen any polls, but an informal poll of HOW FRACKIN' MUCH ADVERTISING ol' Petey is putting out there tells me that he's at least worried about it being close. Seriously, EVERY commercial break on the righty talk station is a Pete spot. I'm not much of a TV watcher, but trying to meet some friends and watch a Beaver game=Pete ad during every commercial break.
Pete has a multi-faceted reputation. He tries to come off as a genuine but non-psycho liberal - the kind of guy who would sit down and have a burger with a conservative and be pleasant the whole time. That had worked pretty well for many years. I guess there's no need to be a d*ck when one's looking at winning by 35% or so. But now that he's challenged, wow, the negative attacks are off the charts. No more Mr. Nice
Another aspect of Petey is his Joe Everybody image as the guy who lives next door and does things like go shooting and build decks in the backyard. He proves it in his TV ads by always showing him tooling around in his ugly old mid-'60s Mopar (I can't tell if it is a Dart or a Valiant). Fine. I guess it's better than gold teeth and an Escalade. But it doesn't jibe with his Captain Greeno the Ecowarrior schtick. C'mon. Everybody that has owned or just been around an old Mopar like his knows that it has a slant-6 and a 1bbl Carter carb. Old Mopar slant-6 engines are the solution to the oil shortage - they drip out 3 times as much oil on the ground than you actually put in them. Just put a bucket under an old Mopar and OPEC would be out of business. And that 1bbl carb - it's about as big around as the cardboard core at the middle of your TP roll. Doesn't seem like there's any way it could flow enough fuel to run rich. But they do. The unburnt fumes comin' out the tailpipe of an old Mopar will make your nose run and your eyes bleed. It's a fact. And it ain't very "green."
So how does Petey respond to this challenge? Well, the negativity has already been mention. But now he's talking about impeaching Chief Justice Roberts (see link above) because of the Citizens United case. Petey is challenged, and he wants to blame it on that spooky, scary outsider money pouring into his opponent's campaign, and all that spooky, scary outsider money was enabled by the Supreme Court's decision.
My advice, Pete? Take a look in the mirror instead of blaming the Supreme Court. We're getting tired of you.
PS - Pete tried to claim that the Roberts court overturns precedents for politcal reasons, which Volokh disputes. Heh. I thought that was kind of the point of a living, breathing Constitution. Right, Pete?
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Rocket on trial
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| Shown in Yankee colors instead of Red Sox so Manhattan Infidel doesn't kill me |
Brought up on charges for lying to Congress? Are you for real? ARE YOU FREAKIN' SERIOUS? You will never encounter a more wretched hive of scum and villainy than the US Congress. If I try hard enough, I can think of maybe 3 or 4 individuals in that entire body who aren't themselves deserving of long prison terms. The rest of them are chronic lying bastages whom I loathe. If they were dying of thirst, I'd deny them even the sweat from 'twixt my cheeks. Yeah, those cheeks.
Now they've got their
Y'all should be thankful that I don't have comic book superpowers, 'cuz I really want to drop a giant boulder on Congress right now. Grrr.
-------
Disclaimer: I am not a Clemens fan. Neither am I a Roger hater. It's just that he never played on any teams I give a crap about, so to me he's always just been a good pitcher. No more, no less.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
I Love Big Brother Oil
The disaster in the Gulf is rightfully a big news item. It is a legitimate disaster. Every reasonable action to halt the spill and mitigate its effects should and must be undertaken immediately.
That said, a quick gooble search reveals that there are over 4000 platforms active in the the hurricane-prone Gulf of Mexico. The reason this spill is so newsworthy is because such accidents are SO RARE! In the time I've taken to type these few words, it is almost assured that somebody somewhere has died in an auto accident. They happen all the time. Hence, they don't get much attention. Maybe a little tiny blurb in a local paper. But an airline crash? Headlines, weeping and gnashing, extensive coverage. Because they are infrequent. So it is with oil spills.
Consider the difficulty in extracting this product from deep beneath the sea. Transporting it to a refinery. Selling it to me for less than $3 a gallon and yet slightly profitable. Long miserable hours on a platform in the middle of nowhere, hoping that the next storm isn't the Big One. The efforts put forth by the oil industry are borderline heroic! They face these difficulties for very thin profit margins, and allow freedom for an ordinary guy like me to get in his car and go for a trip pretty much anytime, anywhere I want. Derivatives to oil are used to fertilize crops which feed BILLIONS of people. Life as we know it and enjoy it would NOT EVEN BE POSSIBLE without the oil industry. How many little kids' bellies are full today because of the oil industry? How many lives have been saved? How many lives have been drastically improved by easy transportation (via fossil-fueled vehicles) of people, foodstuffs, and other goods? And for all the BILLIONS of gallons that are routinely handled and processed, there are HARDLY ANY ACCIDENTS! Why are there NO MONUMENTS TO THE OIL INDUSTRY???
I love being able to drive across town. I love eating bananas that were grown in places like Chile and transported on BIG OIL-BURNING SHIPS to our ports and distributed by BIG DIESEL-BURNING TRUCKS to the local grocery store which I drive to in my little gas-burning car. I LOVE BIG OIL!!!
That said, a quick gooble search reveals that there are over 4000 platforms active in the the hurricane-prone Gulf of Mexico. The reason this spill is so newsworthy is because such accidents are SO RARE! In the time I've taken to type these few words, it is almost assured that somebody somewhere has died in an auto accident. They happen all the time. Hence, they don't get much attention. Maybe a little tiny blurb in a local paper. But an airline crash? Headlines, weeping and gnashing, extensive coverage. Because they are infrequent. So it is with oil spills.
Consider the difficulty in extracting this product from deep beneath the sea. Transporting it to a refinery. Selling it to me for less than $3 a gallon and yet slightly profitable. Long miserable hours on a platform in the middle of nowhere, hoping that the next storm isn't the Big One. The efforts put forth by the oil industry are borderline heroic! They face these difficulties for very thin profit margins, and allow freedom for an ordinary guy like me to get in his car and go for a trip pretty much anytime, anywhere I want. Derivatives to oil are used to fertilize crops which feed BILLIONS of people. Life as we know it and enjoy it would NOT EVEN BE POSSIBLE without the oil industry. How many little kids' bellies are full today because of the oil industry? How many lives have been saved? How many lives have been drastically improved by easy transportation (via fossil-fueled vehicles) of people, foodstuffs, and other goods? And for all the BILLIONS of gallons that are routinely handled and processed, there are HARDLY ANY ACCIDENTS! Why are there NO MONUMENTS TO THE OIL INDUSTRY???
I love being able to drive across town. I love eating bananas that were grown in places like Chile and transported on BIG OIL-BURNING SHIPS to our ports and distributed by BIG DIESEL-BURNING TRUCKS to the local grocery store which I drive to in my little gas-burning car. I LOVE BIG OIL!!!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Dressed in black
Black jeans, black button-up shirt. I'm in mourning for my country. The gray t-shirt w/ printed American flag is still there, but pretty well concealed.
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Barrycare MUST fail. I don't say this as some mere rallying cry. There are only two possible outcomes: genuine statesmen will soon be elected who will turn around our reckless borrowing and spending, OR the reckless borrowing and spending will continue and lead us to bankruptcy. Either way, the entitlement gravy train is headed for an end. It is our moral duty to strive for outcome #1. But if outcome #2 is inevitable, let it come TODAY. Let the wretches in DC experience the hell they hath wrought. Let the idiots who voted for the wretches in DC feel the pain for their delusions. The worst thing possible would be to push outcome #2 into the future where none of its architects are around to see the misery and our grandchildren are left with the mess that our generation voted for.
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You don't believe me? You think everything will be fine? Then you're dumber'n a Will Ferrell movie. America's debt rating is headed for a cliff like a "runaway" Prius driven by an elderly hippie. Take your foot off the gas, dumbass.
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As suggested by commenter Gordon Durand, part of vetting future candidates should include shaving their heads and doing a quick phrenological exam. Had I done so, I would have noted Peter DeFazio's vestigial horns. That might have clued me in that he's a lying POS, and I could have avoided the embarrassment of saying anything nice about him.
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I really like that "you're dumber'n Will Ferrell movie" line I came up with a couple paragraphs ago.
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Barrycare MUST fail. I don't say this as some mere rallying cry. There are only two possible outcomes: genuine statesmen will soon be elected who will turn around our reckless borrowing and spending, OR the reckless borrowing and spending will continue and lead us to bankruptcy. Either way, the entitlement gravy train is headed for an end. It is our moral duty to strive for outcome #1. But if outcome #2 is inevitable, let it come TODAY. Let the wretches in DC experience the hell they hath wrought. Let the idiots who voted for the wretches in DC feel the pain for their delusions. The worst thing possible would be to push outcome #2 into the future where none of its architects are around to see the misery and our grandchildren are left with the mess that our generation voted for.
--------------------------
You don't believe me? You think everything will be fine? Then you're dumber'n a Will Ferrell movie. America's debt rating is headed for a cliff like a "runaway" Prius driven by an elderly hippie. Take your foot off the gas, dumbass.
--------------------------
As suggested by commenter Gordon Durand, part of vetting future candidates should include shaving their heads and doing a quick phrenological exam. Had I done so, I would have noted Peter DeFazio's vestigial horns. That might have clued me in that he's a lying POS, and I could have avoided the embarrassment of saying anything nice about him.
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I really like that "you're dumber'n Will Ferrell movie" line I came up with a couple paragraphs ago.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Census PSAs
The farkin' census. Only the government could manage to turn a simple head-count into such an Epic Eventtm. And the Public Service Announcements on the radio really bring out the Italian in me - these-a ads-a really PSA me off!
The one I've been hearing lately is about buses: "If we don't know how many people live in your town, how will we know how many buses we need?" Please, Mr. Radio Announcer, just shut up. I can't stand the stupidity. If I have to abide one more kernel of government idiocy, I'll pop like that fat guy in The Meaning of Life.
Instead, how's this for hope-n-change: base the number of buses on the demand for bus service! If all the buses are crowded, get some more. If they are driving around empty, sell them off. Who cares if a bazillion people live in my town? What matters is how many of them want to ride the bus!!!!
Ah S**T!!! Now I've done it! Now that I've said that, I bet the next census forms will demand we reveal the details of our bus riding habits so our overseers in central planning can optimize the bus schedule.
The one I've been hearing lately is about buses: "If we don't know how many people live in your town, how will we know how many buses we need?" Please, Mr. Radio Announcer, just shut up. I can't stand the stupidity. If I have to abide one more kernel of government idiocy, I'll pop like that fat guy in The Meaning of Life.
Instead, how's this for hope-n-change: base the number of buses on the demand for bus service! If all the buses are crowded, get some more. If they are driving around empty, sell them off. Who cares if a bazillion people live in my town? What matters is how many of them want to ride the bus!!!!
Ah S**T!!! Now I've done it! Now that I've said that, I bet the next census forms will demand we reveal the details of our bus riding habits so our overseers in central planning can optimize the bus schedule.
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