Magnetic Ribbons #1

Psychic Bullshit

We entered the creepy crystal store and in search of a gift for a kook friend. The store was crowed and noisy, as they were hosting some event. A long-grey-haired and sandaled woman greeted us and asked, “Are you here for the psychic fair?”

“You tell me”, I said.

She had no idea, clearly her sixth sense of psychic perception was on the fritz. Should you ever even have to advertise a psychic fair?

It comes to mind that psychics are full of shit, yet they are always happy to remind us how full of shit they aren't. It is a good time for us to note how all of those good police psychics are nowhere to be found on the Natalie Holloway disappearance in Aruba. Somehow they always seem to get their man, except in most cases. Of course, after the police find her remains at least 100 psychics will emerge to confirm that the finds meshed precisely with their predictions. It is easy to predict things that already happened.

Just keep this in mind-- there are no psychics coming forward with the information at this point. You won't hear from them until after the body is found, if it is found. Otherwise, please don't fail to notice the silence.

The lovely Roxanne has also given treatment to this topic in one of her quarterly blog contributions. You can read it here.

God Hates Scouts

Over the last few years there has been a lot of discussion about some boys not being allowed to join the Boy Scouts because they did not believe in a higher power. This week several scouts were reminded that a higher power does exist... And it's name is Voltage.

"Be Prepared" is the motto of the scouts, yet somehow someone forgot to pack the insulated pliers and the weather radio. In two separate annual "Jamborees" scouts have been killed via electrocution.

Heat stroke has affected many more. So poor were the weather conditions that our great president blew them off. In a continuing pattern Bush knew the situation would be uncomfortable so he didn't show up to hang with a large group of males in olive green clothes. This is a bad idea, because you want to recruit the kids that crave a structured paramilitary regimen as early as possible.

X24 points out adequately that there's not an eagle scout he ever met that he could not kick the crap out of. I concur. I picked up ol' Marty Nochowitz by the scarf and shoved him into a locker when he was trying to show off his "Gloria Dei" badge. He's still probably picking out that wedgie! What a loser!

Admittedly, I was a Cub Scout and thought it was cool. Then as I turned 11-12 years old I heard rumors about my scoutmaster's van. Then I heard that I'd be graduating from Cub Scouts to Webelos. Say that ten times fast and tell me if you think it is as thinly veiled as I do.

Let's face it, any time you put a bunch of guys into an organization with secret handshakes, merit badges and solemn oaths it is a recipe for disaster. Put the whole thing at an event called a "Jamboree" and it's like the Klan has gone gay.

Perhaps all the discussion about the scouts and their exclusionary, homophobic practices can be revived now that the Almighty has spoken. Clearly He's using His tools to remind the scouts that they aren't doing something right.

All scouts surviving Jamboree 2005 were awarded a new merit badge.

Make It a Consumable on a Stick

My wife gravitates to cleaning supplies like a moth to a light bulb. A trip to the grocery store finds her pulled into a cosmic force field, led helplessly to the cleansers, abducted by Mr. Clean. This is good, as I am helplessly attracted to muck, oil and scum.

To battle my affectation for the unclean she has identified a new suite of products aimed at the cleansing consumer. Essentially, all of the cheap cleaning products we have always used (paper towels, sponges, etc) are available in a box, presoaked in soap, then attached to a stick. The paper towel on a stick is known as "Swiffer Wet" and a variety of other names. The other day we spent about $40 on refills-- for the stick!

How American. Find a way to take something that is almost free and give it a 100x price point by eliminating the troublesome step of putting it in water. Now mops, toilet brushes and paper towels come dripping with caustic chemistry for convenience, and as convenience breeds typically breeds waste, there is a ton of plastic sticks and packaging that now needs to be disposed of.

Another fixture of the New World Odor.

Watch Your Back, Pooh!

Sometimes coincidence is a little to frightening that it turns a rational mind like mine to consider another level of intervention. Few weeks ago Paul Winchell, the voice of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh, died. Less than 24 hours later the death of John Fiedler was announced.

He was the voice of Piglet.

I shit you negative. I sense a conspiracy or an orchestrated murder ring. If the voice of Eyore or Christopher Robbins takes the dirt nap I'll be even more suspicious.

I sense these deaths are no coincidence, likely perpetrated by someone that shares my anger. When I was a kid the word "poo" still meant something. You could yell "poo" on a street corner and people would look at you like you were nuts. Those were the days...

Then the social engineering puritanical christian supremiscists invented "Winnie the Pooh", the story of the ill-adventures of a greedy, gluttonous bear cub. They tacked an "H" on the end of the most offensive word you could get away with saying on the air. It was a silent "H" and it forever changed the impact of the word, "Poo".

They robbed us of a form of expression. Luckily their assault on the First Amendment ended there and their efforts to forward campaigns of "Davie the Fahrt" and "Dicky Fuchwad" never really had traction.

In a related note, the death of Winchell has reminded me that he, like Edgar Bergen, was a ventriloquist, but a ventriloquist ON THE RADIO!

Can someone tell me how you get THAT gig? As X24 put it, "Wow, I can't believe you are drinking that entire glass of water!..." Only Americans would buy that stuff -- it was before television and we were easily duped by shit like that. Now we have 300 channels of empty corrupt madness to lie to us.

Watch your back Pooh. Keep searching for that Woozle.

Label Restaurant Restrooms in English

As someone that appreciates the magic of language and loves to think about and analyze the words people use to communicate, I embrace any opportunity to learn a tidbit of the verbiage released by another tongue. However, when I'm in a mad dash to download an impatient dookie I don't want to have to decode the gender of a public restroom.

Roxanne had an urge for Bantu cuisine, so we dined at our local Mozambique-themed restaurant. I had some cream of uyoga soup that didn't sit right. My insides gurgled like I ate a loaf of saltpeter and I could tell that a considerable liquefied mass was negotiating the lumen of my alimentary canal with great efficiency and would soon be evacuating my body. I excused myself from the table, bun clutched, and waddled fast toward the restrooms.

The hot grimace on my face turned to horror when I could not figure out if I was a "Binadamu" or a "Mabibi". How the fuck was I supposed to know? If there was some subtle hint on the plaque I didn't see it. Perhaps my constricting sphincters demanded blood flow to be shunted from the eyes and brain, making a choice unclear. I had to make a decision... immediately.

The one I chose was empty and was perfectly fine. Any port in a storm. The substances that departed my person defied convenient classification, but suffice it to say that it was a testament to me that there is not a God that would let it happen. It looked like someone blew up a chocolate cake with an M-80.

Minutes later I sat silently sweating in the stall, listening to a bunch of Mabibis comment on the horrible stench in the bathroom. It was remarkably clear what the actual gender of the lavatory was, and it was not the one a bindamu like me belonged in. Sometimes the ends justify the means, and better in the Mabibi can than the dining room.

Maybe it would be a good idea to make critical signage a bit more clear.

Symbol Over Substance

This morning I listened to the local right-wing radio mouthpiece spout his usual thin stupidity, while caller after agreeing caller chimed in their consistent support. Two issues were discussed. The desecration of the American flag and new issues of Homeland Security.

Opinionated callers talked about the flag, about how it is a sacred fabric that people have fought for and given their lives. They discussed how sickened they were by its desecration for political motivation.

Opinionated callers discussed the Constitution, about how it is a malleable fabric that government may freely amend to help their lives. They discussed how sickened they were with the ACLU and liberal minds that opposed flippant alteration of the Constitution for political motivation.

The host and callers agreed that the flag needs to be protected by a Constitutional act of congress, a ratified amendment to assure its safety.

The host and callers agreed that the Constitution needs to be supplemented with Patriot Act endorsement by congress, to extend police power in marginal areas of personal liberty. They parroted enthusiasm for more cameras and random searches to assure our safety.

*****

Why are the minds on the right so bent on protecting the symbol while treading on the substance? Why protect and guard the flag, when simultaneously cleansing orifices with the Constitution? Why protect the symbol of the republic with a Constitutional amendment when the Constitution can be simply changed and reshaped to suit political whimsy? Isn't this reversed? The flag is the symbol, the Constitution is the substance-- you don't need a flag if your Constitution and the rights guaranteed within are not taken seriously. You can't pledge allegiance to a flag without also pledging allegiance to the "republic for which it stands" and that only comes from holding the rights, responsibilities and framework of the Constitution sacred.

Without the Constitution the flag is a worthless piece of cloth, today manufactured in China. Nobody died for a flag, nobody defended a flag. They defended a nation, a nation established upon the signing of a document that skillfully granted an assurance of liberty and justice, a document that promised a foundation of freedom from government.

Don't they have this backwards?

Backpack Checks are Useless

Can you smell it yet? In yet another wafting armoma tentacle of the New World Odor the police now get to search your personal belongings before you can get on a train in NYC. The object is to catch potential acts of malice by ceasing bombs before they find residence within the subway system.

This is a ludicrous notion, a way to spend a lot of non-existent public money to give the illusion of security. Think about it.

20% of riders are asked to submit to a search. If you don't submit you don't ride. Therefore, if you have a backpack of TNT you need only not to consent (if you are unfortunate enough to get picked for search), leave the station, then get in line at the next one.

Repeat until malicious intentions are carried out.

Duh. The dumbfuck that thought this up should be fired and all the dumbshits that willingly let cops rummage through their stuff should be tossed from this country. These brainstems are the same dopes that slept through civics class and wouldn't know the Constitution if it showed up on American Idol. These are the people that are ignorant to history and are the same shitheads that are all behind the Patriot Act and the Bush AdministrationTM plan for world domination and corporate profit at the expense of American lives.

WAKE UP ASSHOLES!

Terrorism Here to Stay

Terrorism is here to stay. Attacks like those in England will soon spread to other countries including the United States. Two wrongs don't make a right, and three, four, five, one hundred wrongs just make dead people.

How does it stop? It will stop right after the Really Bad Thing, coming to a metropolitan area near you soon. I'll post on this tomorrow. Some sort of macroinsanity will reset our collective psyche, it might spur us to take back our country.

We could win the war on terrorism with love and compassion. Instead of bombs, if we spent money on immunization, nutritious food, education, farming, and industry in the developing world, people would look to the USA as a model and beacon. The best defense is to make the world understand that they can thrive and benefit from our technology and economy. Make them want to see us succeed. Use them to help us succeed in a synergistic relationship.

Terrorism is here to stay. The victim wants to strike out, and victimization is always felt by the party on the receiving end. We now have many sets of victims set on revenge against each other. They will continue to drive acts of violence to in the name of vengeance only to escalate the magnitude of evils perpetrated.

It will end with the Really Bad Thing, or more exactly, our response to it.

Vaseline In Nose

Now that I've posted about how much this weather sucks, all of the blood vessles in my nose simultaneously ruptured and it is bleeding insanely. Luckily my blood is flowing like pancake syrup so I have little fear of bleeding to death.

Next, vaseline or ky up the schnoz.

Schmootzie in Vegas (again)

For some reason many events in my life make me go to Las Vegas. There is no place I would rather not be. Now I arrive at 1AM to 109 degree heat and take a $30 cab ride to a creepy hotel filled with displaced souls. People are walking around like zombies and I think they are in the same group that I am in. See, we're scientists, thrifty people that understand math and probability, and ne're a gambler among them. They might as well as had our technical meeting in Amish country.

I don't know who the brainstem was that thought a meeting in Vegas would be perfect for July. It is hot, and the only humidity in the air is what dissipates from your skin as you are dessicated to a pringle just by taking a short walk. Visine, chap-stick and pants are a must, as all exposed orifices dessicate quickly. Today I urinated a urea pellet.

Other funny stuff that happened:

** In the airport I sat across from a woman that I recognized from somewhere. After 20 minutes I realized that she looked exactly like Lacey Peterson, then I remembered that Lacy didn't have a head or limbs.

** Ever since my friend told me that housekeeping crews scrub their butt with your toothbrush if you leave the room messy, I've cleaned my hotel room before I let anyone clean it. Here they have envelopes to leave tips and I fear that if my gratuity is short, that my toothbrush might get a scrubbin'

** I forgot my toothpaste and went to Walgreen's to get a new tube. For some reason I caved into the whimsy of some sick sonofabitch and the associated failed focus groups and bought a giant tube of "Walgreen's Vanilla Mint Toothpaste". It is like brushing your teeth with frosting.

** I'm not into gambling, so I played the coin changer for three hours and broke even.

I still don't like Vegas.

Going Postal in a Hotel!

A few days ago I lamented on the fact that a machine has taken the place of creepy morphodites that stand on the other side of the counter in my local post office. I noted that an employee showed me how to use the machine that will eventually be his replacement.

Tonight I write from Las Vegas where a clerk just showed me how to use the mandatory check in system at the hotel. You slide a credit card, punch some buttons and you get a key card and a receipt. Simple.

The machine needs no breaks, does not call in sick, does not need paid vacations or retirement. All it has to do is repel the spilled drink from the goof that thinks its a slot machine.

I told the guy that helped me navigate it, "Do you realize that by showing me how to use this machine you're destroying your own job?"

He said, "No, they still need someone to show you how to use it."

I said, "For now, but you can now be replaced with a sign and a bucket of sand."

He didn't like that, as it was a reality check counter to the crap his bosses have been spewing about the New Vegas Jobs. In a city built on service, with no real products, no real tangible anything, getting rid of the employees is a bad idea. Service jobs are the only jobs in town, and they pay well.

No more. The robots are taking over and it will lead to the town's undoing.

Six Degrees of Zapparation

I always apprecaited Frank Zappa for his wicked wit and innovation. I apprecaited him more in the 1980's when he battled Tipper Gore and her racially-biased, censorship attacks with the PMRC. I appreciate him more now that he's gone and music has gone to hell in a handbasket full of Lumpy Gravy ever since.

I miss the guy that took a chance and did it weird when weird was totally uncool. I think Frank and I would have gotten along okay and it would have been fun to see him get more dense as he aged. A prostate the size of a softball took care of that.

******

My wife went for breakfast with a friend in Gainesville, FL in 2004, and the familiar guy in the chair turned out to be Dweezil Zappa. They were seated in the restaurant, on the other side of the glass, from a guy that carried half the chromosome load of a twisted genius I admire.

******

That's the closest I'll ever get to meeting Frank, my wife sitting on the other side of the glass from his kid.

I Hate Garage Sales

Yesterday morning I awoke to my dog having a conniption fit. Perched at the window, her violent outburst of rage was a signal of approaching evil. That bitch is an excellent judge of character and I trust her instincts. Trouble was brewing and I took appropriate action.

Then I saw the inspiration for her fury. Through the site of my deer rifle I could clearly resolve the high foreheads and greasy mullets of a tubby family waddling down my neighbor's driveway in search of crap. The inbred clan made their way into the maze of obsolete kitchenware and dangerous 1970's baby furniture in search of jeans that they could cut off into short pants or perhaps some expired medicine. My neighbors were having a garage sale.

What is the point of wasting an entire Saturday to make $31? Well, 31 bucks is 31 bucks, but when you consider that you have to place signs, drag all the shit outside, sit there in the sun and then drag the 70% that didn't sell back in, there is no value. Worse yet, you have to invite smelly strangers to your house and let them see your cool suff. Even worse, you have to haggle with some dillhole over a nickel for a working dustbuster!

You may have noticed that I seem to be well versed in garage sales. In college I bought everything for my apartment in garage and yard sales, leaving cash for drinking and chica chasing. Most of my distain came from watching my dad run a garage sale. He'd take a day off of work and we'd lug useless shit from the cellar and arrange it in the driveway. We'd sell the stuff that my dad deemed disposable, which is pretty much nothing. There'd be a broken faucet, a rusty pliers, a non-working electric toothbrush, a half bottle of vitamins. Nothing got a price tag.

People would walk up and say, "How much for this troll doll with the chewed leg?" and my dad would get up from his chair, pull at his belt, and wander over to tell the story about where the troll doll came from, how the leg got chewed, and why it is a rare item. Then he'd say, "ten dollars".

After the troll doll with the chewed leg was back in the box of crap where it had resided for 15 years with the exception of an annual Saturday in the sun, my dad would walk back to the garage, beaming with pride that he didn't get ripped off. "That sonofabitch wasn't going to walk with that thing cheap"...

The same scene was repeated over and over again. Dad spoke, eyes rolled back in heads and at the end of the day we'd count the zero dollars we took in and move everything back into the basement for another year.

One year he actually lost money because I was selling a 12" black and white TV for $5. He was so upset that I'd "give it away" that he bought it from me. It sits to this day on a shelf in the garage.

When I became a homeowner the wife talked me into a garage sale. I refused at first, but ended up doing it. The sale was to begin at 9 AM, but at 7 AM I awoke to a bunch of fat women in sleeveless shirts banging on my door to start shopping. I didn't even have the stuff in the garage yet! They insisted on seeing the items and proceeded to rummage through all of the boxes of stuff to be sold. It was insane. Later, a guy offered me a dime for a can of oil that was not for sale. I told him that I'd give him a quarter if I could shove it up his ass!

That day netted my wife $77, after giving away really cool shoes and clothes for 50 cents each. I took the leftovers, things that didn't sell, and put them on ebay and made $400.

The creepy family that sparked my dog's interest returned to thier truck with the Bush-Cheney '04 stickers with pudgy armloads of trinkets, gadgets and junk. I guess its just recycling. Still, a better alternative is to drop the box of stuff at the Salvation Army and take the tax write off. You don't have to waste a Saturday, you don't have to haggle with a creep, and you don't have to have some idiot treat you like an idiot.

Going Postal

Although recent training in customer care (or maybe advances in pharmaceuticals) have made the US Post Office more pleasant, it still is a drag to go there. Due to their limited hours, the only time I can use the facility is early on Saturday morning. I arrive to find it understaffed, crowded, and smelly. I used to wait an hour to mail a small package.

Now they have the APS. I don't know what it stands for but I was directed to it by Larry, a 40 year-old tatoo canvas that with a foot in the grave, a finger on the trigger, and the smell of Vick's Vapor Rub.

The APS kiosk allows one to navigate a series of screens to pay for postage and print an apporpriate stamp, elminating interaction with a surly dude that's pissed off about getting paid a lot to work on Saturday. After the quick transaction I left the long lines of the computer unsaavy and went off to work. Ahhh.

Does Larry realize that by introducing me to APS that he is accelerating his disposal? Soon grumpy workers will be replaced with happy kiosks. I guess APS stands for Alternative Postage Satisfaction.

Mike "the Indian" Burn Rants on the Subversion of America

Venerable retired rock god Mike "The Indian" Burn is remembered fondly for two major music contributions. First, Mike wore the assless fur pants as the bass player for Insane War Tomatoes and also pushed 4 strings for Dangling Units and a number of other projects with me in the 1980s. Mike also would go down in history as the body double for Filipe Rose, "the Indian" in the Village People. His services were needed for a love scene in the original large-screen adaptation of "Dukes of Hazard". The film was shot, but they decided it sucked and it never was distributed, even for TV.

Too bad they don't have such scruples these days. I digress.

When Mike drops me an email (maybe a few times a year) I read it immediately, as it always makes me laugh, think or expell body gases. Here's what he sent yesterday, printed with his permission:

(Dear Schmootzie) -

I’m swell, it’s our country that’s going to hell. Does it ever freak you out that every Dead Kennedy lyric and punk rock prophecy from 20 years ago is coming true? And when does it end? Can they keep getting re-elected as long as they can create more terrorist attacks – which should be simple to do since all they ever do is piss off everyone in the whole fucking world.

First, does it matter which guy is actually president as long as the Fourth Reich is in power? It’s bad enough that the Anti-Christ is our vice president, but we can’t even label the current CEO Faust because he’s too stupid to know that when you sell your soul to Mephistopheles, you’re supposed to get magical powers in return.

Let’s assume that it doesn’t matter, and that President Bush = President Rice = President Rove = President Frist because addition is commutative. As long as there are talking heads that are willing to read off the same cheat sheet in return for being allowed to dip one small finger into the Pie of Ultimate Power™, they can continue to kill brown people and frighten soccer moms in Ohio.

So the question, then, is can they continue to get away with lying and discrediting the truth and acting like bullies and ruining the country in perpetuity, or is enough of the country smart enough to eventually say, “Hey, wait a minute, you guys are constantly lying and using sham tactics and Jedi mind tricks to cover up the fact that you’re all thieves and murderers”?

How many times can you pull the ball away before Charlie Brown finally realizes what time it is?

The Indian
**********

'Nuff Said.

NEW Hurricane Names

Hurricanes are a pain in the ass. As mentioned before, such weather disturbances remind one what it is like to be a bowling pin. You see it coming, you know you are going to get hit, yet there is nothing you can do except laugh when it goes somewhere else.

The only people disappointed with Hurricane Dennis' half-baked money shot were the losers at the Weather Channel that had their weather weiners out for the climatic circle jerk. Luckily, Dennis had little impact because it followed the path of Ivan which already destroyed everything in its path. Dennis just rearranged the rubble.

The idea of personifying a storm is pretty lame. They used to just name them after women, then in the 80's started naming them for men when womens' group became outraged at the sexist hurricane lingo.

I suggest a naming system that more aptly descibes the storm and the expense, headaches and destruction they bring. Read the first few, I have to go to work, so help me out!

(Thanks to Isabella for the comment that filled in the blanks -- in CAPS)

Anus
Bitch
Coochie
Dickweed
Englebert Humperdink
Flatulence
Goon
Homewrecker
Jag
Killdozer
LAP DANCE
Makeamess
NADS
OhShit!
Poopypants
QUACK!
ROVE
SALAMI
TROJAN
URANUS
VENEREAL WARTS Van der Sloot
WalMart
XENU
YIKES!
Zzzzzzzzzz...

Dave Matthews, Lite Beer and Wonder Bread

This is a story of a couple that straddled the apex of the statistical mean. They were average, encompassing the mode, median and all measures of central tendency. It is a story of Jen and her husband. His name escapes me because he lacked any definition that would lead my brain to link him and an associated moniker.

I remember that I knew them but I don't remember anything about them or what they looked like. I just remember that they existed. They befriended me during a transient career stop. We'd get a few beers now and then and bullshit about boring stuff, like the pictures in their cubicles or "We carry an intermediate amount of liability car insurance", etc.. Still, they didn't call me an idiot within the first few sessions so it was a major social integration for me.

However, after about the third or forth time we did something together I realized how boring they were. Their boringness came from their intense drive to endeavor in all that was easy, non-threatening and acceptable. Thinking was a challenge and they would constantly employ a similar panel of boring white middle-class friends to make decisions for them. Any hint of deviance from the center of the road was met with resistance. They sought, found, and reveled in Freedom from Choice.

They were huge Jimmy Buffet fans, drank exclusively Miller Lite, drove a sensible beige car, and dressed like they fell out of a Dockers commercial. They didn't like things even the slightest bit spicy, food choices were predominantly beige. They were in the wake of the Joneses, floating helplessly in the slipstream of obsolescence just behind the cutting edge of societal evolution.

They were the embodyment of Peoria, IL, the statistical center, a telemarker's dream. They took umbrage to any suggestion of variance from simple thoughts and simple solutions. Hence, their politics were slightly to the right of center, they liked George W. Bush, but not for his ideas, rather for his simple, doofus approach. They nuzzled into the thin bosom of his non-challenging, comfy dullness that failed to challenge.

Joel! His name was Joel. A very median name.

They consistently picked the middle. Their tortured existence led them to buy mid-grade gasoline and they never ordered the small or large size. They had no opinions, and all potential decisions had to be first validated by a consensus of ordinarians, like, "Do you guys like Icehouse?" or "Should we buy the Nora Jones CD?". Middle. The only thing unusual about them was their extreme tendency to stick to the norm with amazing precision.

It became annoying. I'm exactly the opposite, out of the box, the anti-norm. It was only a few weeks of endless plays of Dave Matthews over cheese-sauce-covered nachos and Miller Lite that our oil-and-water friendship started to erode. I questioned why they felt "Blew out a flip-flop, stepped on a pop top" was the best lyric ever penned. They started to criticize my wild tendencies, my use of rational thought, my decision to not accept the status quo, my atypical career choice and nails-on-the-chalkboard lifestyle.

It ended when I gave them the finger, appropriately, the middle one.

Gateway Laptop Notebook Computer Complaint

I understand computers. I like computers. I fear no box full of chips. Until now.

If you are contemplating the purchase of a Gateway laptop or notebook computer, please reconsider. I bought a Gateway 6020ZX laptop and left it with my most competent computer support people to erase the crap promotional software from its brain. They proposed a whole re-format and re-install of a better operating system. Cool.

I got the call to bring by the Recover CDs to install drivers. Turns out, they are not included, they are sent ON THE HARD DRIVE! Apparently you need to make the recovery CDs on startup. The brainstems at Gateway installed the recovery CDs on a hard-drive partition!

The computer people here are good and I imagine them clicking “no” on all the pop-up windows for AOL, dick enlargement and phony prescriptions. They went right to the usual and customary job of formatting the drive.

Gateway does not post the drivers on the web. The “Customer Service” people offered to sell me a disk of drivers that would not be to me for 3-5 days. Are they kidding me? A recovery disk is something you put away somewhere safe. The web is the best source of drivers. Does it defeat the purpose to have a laptop that requires a set of 5 CDs along with it? What happens if you need to do a recovery in Japan?

Customer support via phone is useless. They are polite, but the tow the company line with no deviation from policy. IF you like autoresponders you'll LOVE Gateway's email reply system! No help at all. They gave me every BS answer that would work fine if I had the damn drivers!

I resolved the problem by going to a local Best Buy and making a set off of their machine when they were really busy. Now someone else gets screwed, but my computer works.

Screw Gateway. I buy 5-10 computers a year and I will NEVER consider that company again, and you shouldn't either. They could have FedEx'd me, or emailed me the drivers and I would have been thrilled, but they had to fight me.

Don’t buy their products and get back to me if you have questions.

Do the Sharks Know Something?

CRAP! HE SAYS! Hurricane Dennis is coming my way, so I'm going to post my stuff for Saturday and Sunday now. It actually is July 8th, so go read that one now. Read the 9th on the 9th and today's on the 10th. Get it? Make sure you come back for today's. It's pretty good.

******READ ONLY ON/AFTER JULY 10! *********

My leaking tequila-dulled synapses completely forgot that I accurately anticipated a terror attack based on recent "chatter". The "chatter" of which I speak was not the intercepted communications of Islamic fundamentalists. Instead it was the chatter of human bones amongst the spiny dentition of sharks in the Gulf of Mexico. Chatter chatter. Yes, the Gulf of Mexico is the place where hurricane Dennis just went through earlier today.

As I posted here on June 28, 2005, we should anticipate a terror attack because of the high prevalence of human-shark interaction. It proved to be true!

In an Art Bellian sort of way I wonder if a shark has a primitive monitor, a sixth sense that anticipates evil and then fixes to resolve it by eating it, only since it can't get out of the water and identify the potential evildoer it attacks the first ass it sees. Accusing a shark of sharp senses with poor discrimination would be biologically on target.

The correlation is pretty solid and stands only to be further tested as we march forward into a twisted world where war begets war and senseless slaughter brings more of the same.

Another Damn Hurricane.

Pardon the preemptive blogging. It is actually Friday, July 8, but I will post stuff for Saturday and Sunday. As my Weather Channel addiction reveals, a massive evil hurricane lies only a day away, and my guess is that the Big Top will be without power for a few days. Please read Friday's offering and stop reading HERE until Saturday. Gottcha! See you went too far. You still are reading. Bastard.

Living in Florida during a hurricane gives one appreciation of what it is like to be a bowling pin. You see it coming, you will be spanked, and there is nothing you can do about it. I'm lamenting the fact that this is the first hurricane-oriented blog entry since I have started the NWodor. Perennially hurricane season sucks ass, but now global warming has brought the Gulf to new temperatures that fuel psychotic megastorms bent on pissing me off. Last year I got my ass kicked by Charlie, Frances and Jeanne. That sounds so gay.

I just cut my grass in anticipation of floods and rain associated with Dennis. With his kind hand the Creator has spawned an evil-low-pressure center of doom and it looks like we're going to get a good soaking and probably a tornado or two. Florida tornadoes are pretty lame. Being from the midwest, a tornado is something to fear. Here they are simply trailer tippers. Good thing, there are no basements in Florida.

A hurricane is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you are going to get. Flash flood, power out, lightning strikes, trees falling... it is like baby Jesus dun busted open a pinata of climatic events. All of the geeks on the Weather Channel have storm boners and local weenies track the storm on maps. The stores are packed and the only gas for miles is in my decending colon.

In the meantime, I'll pass time by calling insurance companies. I tell them I live in Pensacola on beachfront property and am interested in buying homeowners insurance. I have fun timing how long it takes to hear the "click".

I promise to sharpen a pencil and prepare for Amish Blogging, the results of which will appear here on Monday if I still have a house. The fun part is that all of the Southern fried tough guys like to "hunker down in the trailer and guard the homestead against the colored people". These are the same people that spell "ancestry" with an "I".

Rock on folks! Check your trees for misplaced clowns! See you in Oz!

What Makes Us Tick.

Blogosphere sage Great White Bear posed a challenge to readers. The request was to list what we believe, and why. Read his post here . He posted the following:

We all pretty much know what we believe. But ever ask yourself why you believe what you do? Did you have an epiphany? Ever think about who might have influenced your thought process? Do you believe the things you do simply because it's what your parents believed? My challenge to you.... Tell me who you are, what you believe, why. Who influenced you, who you admire. Post it on your blog or in my comments (let me know if you blog it).

Here's my reply!

I am:
descended from a long line of clever problem solvers, inventors, fabricators and thinkers that were too busy earning a living to develop their gifts into value-added products. My family tree is littered with stories of half-baked inventions and brushes with greatness, yet it never seemed to manifest among my ancestors. Dads stayed at home, moms took care of the kids; it was traditional Americana. Ancestors fought in wars, great uncles died. They all were hard-core Catholics. None of them went to college. My grandfather and father was/is a potent engineer and scientist that developed their skills and applied them to practical real-world problems and honed their craft through hard work. Everyone lived modestly and saved too much crap. I like to think that I inherited their raw gifts, only I had the privilege of being the first one to attend college. I stuck around, did a masters, a PhD and 4 years of postdoc work. I’ve become un-well read with a horrible focus that permits me to remain marginally competitive in my underfunded field filled with complete geniuses and I have to compete with cleverness and hard work. I chose not to reproduce, but I have a kick-ass wonderful stunning wife that married me on Halloween in a county courthouse while she wore a latex rubber dress. Like Great White Bear I am an atheist that thinks Christ had a clue but nobody really follows his ideas, they just say that they do.

I love being a teacher and researcher and I am grateful for the opportunity to do what I do. I make a good living, but I'm thrifty, I drive a pickup truck that has not been once washed, and the Jones' can kiss my ass. I'm grateful. I'm a workaholic, I still put in a good 60 hour week and have done 60-100 hour weeks since college started in 1985. Often I can't sleep at night because I'm too excited about work. I like to rub my dog's little coconut. I can tune a musical instrument by ear with great precision. I've played guitar for 26 years and can make sounds come from it that nobody else can. This is not necessarily good. I am a contrarian, I swim against the current. I wear purple too often and prefer generic corn chips to the name brands. I buy cheap beer.

I get teary eyed when I say goodbye to the people I care about. I miss my friends and family in the Midwest, but the job here is fantastic. I am not afraid of anything, and was once arrested for beating a guy to a bloodied pulp when I found him stealing my car. One of my gifts is that I can taste any beverage and tell you what booze to add to make it a killer cocktail.

I believe:

--that people live life like it is dress rehearsal for the real thing

--it is impossible to simultaneously claim adherence to the ten commandments and support war

--That we should feel shame if one child dies of preventable disease or starvation when our nation has so much to waste.

-- that you should surround yourself with people that care about you and know CPR.

--in the philosophy of the Enlightenment and the Founding Fathers. I believe in life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In free speech. In protecting the minority from the tyranny of the majority. That you can't have freedom without democracy, but you can have democracy without freedom. (GWB said it so eloquently that I just lifted it.. [NOTE ADDED IN PROOF at 8pm: GWB=Great White Bear and not GW Bush, but you likely could have figured that out with the word "eloquently"] )

--that it is better to regret something you did than to regret something you didn’t do.

-- that NOFX "War on Errorism" is one of the most important albums of all time.

-- if it’s stupid, and it works, its not stupid.

-- if everyone sought evidence and facts over the unchallenging chloroform of beliefs the world would be a much better place.

--that ideology and blind adherence to a corrupt two-party system will destroy this nation.

--children these days remain uninspired by the natural world and the wonderful feeling of discovery.

--Too much money goes to defense, and defense is really just offense, and we should never risk a soldier’s life on offense.

-- Good food can cure a lot of problems.

--Devo was right

--If we took the money we spent to wage war and instead fed, immunized and educated people throughout the world, it would be a lot cheaper and would save lives everywhere. We’d create a world that Jesus would approve of. We'd solve war by not engaging in it and set a historical precedent our nation would be proud of into perpetuity.

-- Growing up on punk rock, the "music of delinquents", was the most mind opening experience that made me the way I am now.

-- I am your best friend or your worst enemy, you pick. I will give you my heart, soul and possessions or I can gut your family with a rusty soup spoon and not give a shit. It all depends how you treat me and those I care about.

My epiphany came:
When a lot of people close to me died in a short span. They sometimes went in horrible ways that turned my fragile belief in a higher power into a solid belief in myself and my ability to contribute to a situation. Now I’m in charge. I make problems go away. I am kind, giving and moral, but I don’t do it for an invisible man in the clouds-- I do it for those that I care about.

Thanks for making me fill out the scorecard, GWB.

Hesitant to call it Terrorism?

I woke up today at 4:50am. I turned on the news to see a breaking story, explosions on the Tube, the London subway. Apparently 6 individual "power surges" have stopped the entire system.

Bullshit. They are trying to limit hysteria here. They are under attack, these are bombs not surges.

How do I know? Clearly the placement at tube stations around the city has been designed to maximally disrupt the city's function. I know the Underground pretty well and these are all at major, pivotal stations. Several are associated with the financial district and another is the point where many transportation hubs combine. This was meant to cripple the city.

Plus, did anyone notice is was at 8:50, the same time as the terrorist attacks on 9-11?

Call me paranoid, but they better watch the systems in the US today. Move that terrorist level to ORANGE, as predicted here days ago.

Kiss Your independence Goodbye!

Enjoy the three day weekend and the BBQ people, then grab your ankles and get ready for a heapin' helpin' of Jesus and no more liberty! We will always remember July 4th, 2005, the 229th birthday of the "Land of the Free" as the acceleration of her undoing. Yes, the unexpected retirement of Sandra Day O'Connor opens the door for Bush's buddies to install an intolerant asshole into the nation's highest court, and WE LOSE. Religious kooks, big business, and those already with the power WIN.

O'Connor was no great thinker, a patronage appointed state-level justice from Arizona, brought to the bench by Ronald Reagan, if memory serves me correct which it didn't him. To their credit, some Reagan and Bush Sr. appointees have been willing to consider alternative views and legal precedent to truly test the legality of passed legislation over an ideological rubber stamp. This is what the court is supposed to do, and hard liners on both sides put party and ideology over common sense and law.

Now the Bush camp will seek the most loyal, unwavering, Jesus-believin' rubber stamp'in, business friendly, science hater they can find, a complete robotic dupe of the religious right!

You will see a melding of church and state into a Jesus machine that will tatoo the 10 commandments on every child next to the homeland security inventory number and GPS chip. CEOs will extort and walk free, reproductive liberties will go away and religious studies will replace science in the classroom.

There is nothing we can do about it. We'll see legislation from the bench and agendas forwarded for every good Bush contributor for the next 20 years.

More to come on this one. Aren't you glad some people didn't vote because they didn't think it would make a difference?

Maybe there is an upside in that the actions over the next few weeks will seed the revolution.

I've said it before-- With every day that I tear off of the calendar it gets closer to 1984.

Dear Mark Lunsford,

Thanks for not crawling into a fetal position or beer can after the savage kidnapping and murder of your daughter. Your daily presence in the media spotlight is a reminder of your suffering and the evil that has that has brough it upon you. You remind me of the real terrorists, the predators that walk among us. You remind me of their free range, their access. You remind me to keep it locked and cocked.

The recent news that the confession of Jessica's killer, John Couey, might not be admitted as evidence in his trial is sickening. Moreover, he molested your daughter in a trailer with others at home, only feet away! They claim to know nothing! Bullshit. They know and they must be prosecuted. If they are not arrested, let's solve the problem. I've got a good charge in my screwgun and I'll blot those bastards in while you firebomb the place. Maybe not. Burning their foul skin off with ignited gasoline is too good for them.

Or better yet, why don't you request that the ineffective justice system and prosecutor just release the guy. I'll meet you in front of the prison and I'll hold him down why you plant a hatchet in his skull. If they aren't going to take care of us, society and our children, we can do it ourselves and do it much more effectively. Would you consider wearing a clown suit?

The constant attacks, abductions, assaults on children are making me insane. A normally peaceful harlequin is turning into a vessle of malice, and it is time to clean the big top.

Keep changing that hat, and say "shit" a lot to Nancy Grace.


Your pal,

Schmootzie

Where's Your Savior Now, Molly?

This is a follow-up report to a post from 3-7-05, originally posted as "God Drops Ball, Clown Saves Day" . Perhaps there is cosmic justice...

To review briefly, Molly worked loosely with me, in the same building. She is a Canadian citizen and had to leave her position because of new USA policies in homeland security/immigration. She was pregnant and not pleased with her untimely dismissal. Luckily, I skillfully negotiated a new position for her, landing her a great job with excellent benefits near Detroit. It was not easy for me to talk another scientist into hiring someone based only on my recommendation, especially when she'd start work and not actually even be there. She was going to move to the area, work now and then, yet would draw a full paycheck and benefits for six months until she could arrange daycare for the new baby. The new employer had connections to resolve the immigration issues. I should be negotiating contracts for the NFL!

When I emailed her about the position and amazing arrangements, she wrote me back saying, "Yes, God works in funny ways and I owe him greatly for this gift. It has really helped us at a bad time."

After picking my jaw up off the floor, I silently stewed in anger. Molly gave no thanks to me, no damn gift basket, no bottle of Quervo, just praise to an invisible man that didn't have the capacity to fix the situation in the first place.

_________

Turn the calendar ahead to June, three months after her personal savior allegedly got it done for her. After she left her old job, bought a new place in Detroit, moved, had a baby and nestled into her new situation, the new place that hired her went through an unexpected audit and after discovery of some financial improprieties, layed off half the work force. Since she was being paid and not even physically working there yet, she was the first to go.

A new mortgage, a new baby, a new life, and no dream job. She was royally fucked. Where's your savior now, Molly?


The sick part is, instead of angrily shaking her fist at the clouds and blaming her all-controlling God for the disaster, she probably got on her knees in an empty church rubbing a fistfull of beads on a string. She's likely asking for strength and guidance. She's likely asking for help through the crisis. She's asking for a miracle.

This is the deranged, clouded thought process of someone suffering from the mental illness of religious intoxication. Schmootzie has a thick-ass Rolodex, a solid professional network, and a history of making problems go away. I solved the problem before, and only an unforeseen audit separated her from a cherry position that baby jesus somehow couldn't come up with.

So Molly, best of luck. Turn to the sky for guidance and strength, repeat ancient mantras to an almighty being that is not really there. Look to the dead guy that was nailed to a stick 2000 years ago, and ignore the wealth of people in the here and now that care about you and want to help.

Religion is a mental illness.