Internal Editor is Loud

I tried taking to heart the sage advice of Garth. Honestly, I did. The painful process of typing out this post has me thinking specifically of this:

If you pay the Internal Editor any attention you are almost guaranteeing that you are going to self-combust before you hit 10,000 words.

Indeed, it is so very true. My story goes something along the lines of me banging out 1500-2500 word chunks that were completely disparate, relating in only the loosest of ways. Goddamn depressing, but swallowing my bitter pill will at least allow me to return focus to a previous project. Hell, my starting on NaNo was more likely only an excuse to stop plugging away at that to begin with.

(It's here that all I can think about is Homer eating flowers...."Oh! My secret shame!")

Consider me self-combusted, at least for now. It is with no small amount of shame that I must remove my participant banner.

It Has Begun

I find it completely impossible to think of anything but Mortal Kombat when I look at that title.

Indeed, it has begun. NaNoWriMo-the masochist ritual practiced by thousands.

Join me. You know you want to.

I skipped last year for a variety of reasons, none of which are worth going on about here. I achieved the goal of 50K the year before that, but did not finish the project, which I may or may not still have due to a fit of self-loathing that caused me to delete the work (or, what I'm hoping was just one of many copies scattered about, but I'm too afraid to look. If it is truly gone I'll have to beat myself up, perhaps literally this time.)

The idea has finally begun to take some real shape, but any attempts to make me genre-ize it will be met with swift and terrible rebuttal. Trying to make me give it a label and fit in a pen....how dare you, sir!

Excerpt to come shortly. I'm excited about this one.

(and seriously, join me. The more to people to act as whips, the better)

Absolute Poker breach

This has probably already made the rounds, but hell, just in case.

This is, after all, a poker blog.

Heh.

'Geek’ blamed for online poker cheating - Security - MSNBC.com

“(He) can see the cards, and you can put my name on that,” said Roy Cooke, who was head of security at the pioneering poker site Planetpoker.com for six years.

“When people are doing things out of character and consistently doing it right, there’s a reason for it,” he said. “When they’re always playing the hand that has value in a situation and then folding a great hand when it has value, they can see the cards.”

My Special Powers

It's true. It must be.

At elevation 4800 with winter approaching we've been getting "weather". However, it tends to come in fits and starts. Some rain here, a cold wind there, then out comes the sun--for 6 minutes, and then we begin again.

Finally I decided to open my pie hole and hold forth about the weather conditions and how it would be nice if they were a little more consistent. "If it's gonna rain, I wish it would just rain" was the exact comment, I believe.

Evidently, Jesus heard me and gave a call to Shiva the Destroyer. The wheels of the deity-sponsored I-Didn't-Realize-I-Made-A-Wish Foundation turned quickly and beginning with snow yesterday morning, it has been precipitating in one form or another (mostly cold rain, hard and fast) for the last 36 hours straight.

(Hard and fast. I just made myself giggle laugh. I am ridiculously juvenile.)

There is another theory, however, given that the above just doesn't hold water* (and apparently, neither does the yard, anymore). Much more plausible is the theory that I may have as yet undiscovered special powers--specifically powers of calling forth things from the sky. Nothing so fancy as Elijah calling down fire from the heavens to devour the Ba'al worshipers, but still, potentially impressive.

*Because Shiva isn't real. Unlike the Lord of Hosts, you filthy pagan.

The only thing left to do is find out where the connection lies between my comments and the spicy pork dish of two days ago which led to a never before seen poo dance, which I think may have been an ancient and (up to now) long forgotten Precipitation Dance of some sort.

If it starts raining bacon next week, you'll know I figured it out.

You'll also know who to thank.

(this post has been brought to you by the twins boredom and frustration, aka politics and ActionScript)

Compliance

The ground hurts my feet.
These new shoes be sweet.
Just until I can get to my seat.
People bleat. Time to eat.

Everyone must Pay
We’re on the way.
Is my show on today?
People bleat. And then they pray.

What’s on your iPod?
Can’t hear you. Smile and nod.
It can’t be fraud. Feet, ears, and eyes are shod.
People bleat. It must be God.

Credible knowledge floods print.
A handy brain stint.
Arriving places. Where we went?
People bleat. They’re being sent.

Shepherds watch the flock at night.
Waging the War on Fright.
But the accommodations are tight.
People bleat. And say goodnight.

Going places hurts the pockets.
Look, he’s got a private rocket.
Don’t even get me started on the sockets.
People bleat. They won’t stop it.

Who will be bought when all are sold.
Where’s the gold?
Do what you’re told.
People bleat. Few are bold.

More Loss is More Gain.
Use this! to get that stain.
Diagnosis, insane.
People bleat. Ignore the pain.

Sick in the heart.
Don’t upset the cart.
Pay attention to the chart.
People bleat. Don’t get smart.

The Dulling of the Sheen.
It’s your fault. Live Green.
Check out the new brand, it’s Tween.
People bleat. End scene.

Mislead. Not a lie.
The anti-drug gets us high.
Don’t be pessimistic. Don’t cry.
People bleat. Then they die.

It's a girl! **Boo** **Hiss**

Kidding, kidding.

Except for the "It's a girl" part. I'm so screwed (not kidding).

There was a flash of disappointment when the technician blurted out the verdict. The velvet shell of my hopes that a massive package would blot out all else on the sonogram machine were crushed by tiny white lines and then dashed to pieces on estrogen shoals.

I may be overstating a bit.

The disappointment tried to keep speaking. "Now you won't be able to do all of those cool things that Dads are supposed to do--like tossing around the old pigskin, fighting, finding the best deal on a quality hooker, gambling, and/or being awesome in general. You know, GUY STUFF.


[insert sound of vinyl coming to a screeching halt, ala anti-drug PSA--Just Say NO, kids] What!?

Disappointment is an idiot. I never "toss pigskins" (unless, of course, I'm in the mood to embarrass myself).

As for as the other stuff....

Having a girl that can fight may be even cooler. They'll never see her coming. I won't have to threaten and intimidate prospective young men, I'll just have to make sure she's well versed in eye-gouging, tearing out thoraxes and hearts with a mighty Eagles Claw*, and testicular maiming. But I think I will go ahead with the threats, intimidation, and outright violence of my own, just because it will be a good stress reliever**.

*We'll likely start with the Wu-Tang style. Because it ain't nuttin' ta fuck with.

**Tip of the hat to BG for the naming suggestion, "Abstinence Bildergerg"--Awesome

Finding quality hookers? Ummm, Nein. If hookers get anywhere into this mix it will mean that something has gone horribly awry.

Gambling? She will terrorize poker tables, that felted land where the thoughtful and tenacious female can clean house. Thoughtful and tenacious are obviously the key things here and would apply to either sex, but more so when applied to the fairer of the two, I think.

Being Awesome, in general. I don't see that this will be too difficult. The likelihood that I'll be declaring it constantly is pretty high. At least, it will be up until the screaming and crapping everywhere begins its downward pressure on the sanity of the household (which happens pretty quickly, I hear) .

Things are as they should be, I figure. After all, I don't so much toss around pigskins. I cook and clean and hell, who am I kidding? I'm a walking talking Home Ec. class (do schools still have that? I doubt it, you know, now that sexism has been eliminated along with racism and the great many other -isms we are now At War with). There's not a damn thing wrong with knowing the importance of a good crease and why 'I Can't Believe It's Not Butter' should be met at all times with scorn and derision.

It's not what I desired, to be sure. Even so, being informed that she is healthy, with ten fingers and ten toes, I'm sure that it will be all I could ever want.

(Yes, I know. And then some.)

(Also, for the record: When I paint a beard on the baby, it does not mean that I am pining for a boy and am unable to get over it. It's because drawing beards on babies is fun and awesome, in general.)

Naming the Canteloupe

Four more days and, assuming the child is not feeling modest on Monday, the girl/boy question will be answered. Following this, Naming Talks Negotiations will begin in earnest. There's been some trouble settling on any serious contenders.

I blame celebrities and other various idiots.

It's the naming incompetence of these nimrods that keeps me tied down. I can't stop talking about potential names I would never actually bestow. Like an idea I had a while back....

"Hey, let's name the kid Tupac."
"Because you're black?"
"Yeah. And the middle name should rhyme."
"........."
"How about Tupac The Rock?"
"That's awful, we can't do that."
"You're right, but consider that if we did, every time the child poops (shits? defacates? makes messies?) we can inquire of anyone present, "Can you smell what The Rock is cookin'?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I suppose."

I'm pretty sure it would be the most incredibly awesome thing done with a baby-as-comic-prop to date. Even though it is an awesome name, there are some practical reasons that it's just not realistic. I mean, once the child is potty-trained (see: stops shitting itself without regard to location or company), when will you get to ask The Question? Or, will it just transition over to smelly farts? Or, once the child is potty-trained, is it time for it to learn to actually cook?

Decisions, decisions.

Putting that idea on the backburner, there's always The Paltrow Method to consider. The Paltrow Method consists of the following:

Step 1: Look at fruit.
Step 2: Point at fruit.
Step 3: Name the baby.

I tried a few practice runs, but this is also on the backburner due to a niggling question about the use of a blindfold. I've emailed for clarification but have thus far received no response. I think that it might be good to add a pre-Method step bringing in the blindfold for those who may be intrigued by the idea of faith-based naming.

(regardless, leave your brain in the other room for this one. Assuming you carry it around on a regular basis, that is)

There is the similar technique involving the kitchen (the location where I assume most people put their fruit. If you are one who happens to keep fruit in, say, the bedroom, or, in the couch, well....that's just odd.). It's difficult to say whether or not this one is more widely used, given the inherent complication with the requirement of more steps (again, I believe a blindfold is optional here).

Step 1: Open kitchen cupboard.
Step 2: Point to random food or product masquerading as such.
Step 3: Read aloud and slightly change pronunciation and/or spelling.
Step 4: Name the baby

Cocoa Krisp, anyone? Lemongello? Orangello?

Yes, you read that correctly--Lemon Jello and Orange Jello. The knowledge that none of these are fictional is enough to inspire some extended weeping. That, and the fact that the entire thing is at least 25% more complicated.....

How about The Scattergories Method? Write down any store names, occupations, brand names (that aren't already store names), general products, literary and/or television characters (preferably of the sci-fi or fantasy genre), American Gladiators, saints, or emotional designations you can think of in the space of two minutes on small separate pieces of paper. Put the pieces of paper in a closed container, and if you have one of those rotating basket thingies they use at car dealerships and casinos for prize drawings (after you view a sales presentation, of course), so much the better (some people keep these with their fruit, I hear). To complete preparations, throw in a heaping handful of scrabble tiles.

(also, it bears repeating that a blindfold is again optional, but doesn't really seem to serve much more of a purpose than to make things more difficult. Each to his own, though. As an extra BONUS optional step, some may find it advisable to add pieces of garlic with the Scrabble tiles to ensure no conniving evil spirits are present in the naming process. Imagine if the following happened--You could black out and suddenly wake up holding birth certificate that reads "Pilot Inspektor". Hey, waituminute....damn you mischievous ethereal souls!)

Now, simply reach into the bag and pull out one piece of paper, which will be the first name. The middle name will be the second piece of paper. If you or your family likes to have between three and seven names preceding the last name, by all means, just keep pulling paper till you get there. Now, pull out a scrabble tile. This is the letter that must be substituted for another letter at least twice in 50% of the names pulled.

After working out satisfactory substitutions and pronunciations, partners will punch each other in the face, thus concluding the ritual and naming the baby.

How about Glass (pronounced "glaze") Baesyl (which is delicious).

See? It's a sickness. I can't stop.

2007 WBCOP

They built it, so I am coming.

I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker!

This Online Poker Tournament is a No Limit Texas Holdem event exclusive to Bloggers.

Registration code: 7447334

The Meaning of 397-16

No, it's not my DHS suspect ID. You laugh. Don't forget, there's a better than even chance that you have one too. Of course, it may be inadvertent.

No, it's the count as Congress passed their newest resolution in what is really shaping up to be quite an amazing track record of ignorance and corruption. Amazing isn't the best word for it though. Awe-inspiring may be better.

From AP--

WASHINGTON (AP) - Congress signaled its disapproval of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad with a vote Tuesday to tighten sanctions against his government and a call to designate his army a terrorist group.

The swift rebuke was a rare display of bipartisan cooperation in a Congress bitterly divided on the Iraq war. It reflected lawmakers' long-standing nervousness about Tehran's intentions in the region, particularly toward Israel—a sentiment fueled by the pro-Israeli lobby whose influence reaches across party lines in Congress.

"Iran faces a choice between a very big carrot and a very sharp stick," said Rep. Tom Lantos, chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee. "It is my hope that they will take the carrot. But today, we are putting the stick in place."

The House passed, by a 397-16 vote, a proposal by Lantos, D-Calif., aimed at blocking foreign investment in Iran, in particular its lucrative energy sector. The bill would specifically bar the president from waiving U.S. sanctions. [MORE]

This means that, doing the math, 96% of House members have their heads firmly planted in their asses (long story short). No wonder their job approval is hovering around 11%. That's 397 highly-paid morons who think that Ahmadinejad (representing all Iranians, of course) said that Israel should be "wiped off the map" when nothing could be further from the truth and that somehow a Shiite-dominated state is supporting the Wahabbist Al-Quaeda (who, in the real world, is the CIA's baby) and presents a graaaave threat to the region. Never mind the fact that not only have they not achieved nuclear power yet and are nowhere truly near the infinitely more difficult Nuclear Weapons Program. To 397 of them, the two things are evidently the same.

And then there's the icing on the cake, the cherry on the sundae, as it were. They're resolved to declare the armed force of another nation a terrorist organization. 397 of them have decided to neatly ignore the fact that the US is openly sponsoring terrorist organizations such as MEK to "destabilize the regime", which is simply lawyer-ese for "random bombings that kill innocent people and cause general mayhem". Doesn't this also make us a "state sponsor of terror"? Imagine the outrage that would run through our truth-filled media were such a thing to be uttered. Of course, such things must happen in order to lay the foundation for justification in using our "very sharp stick", also known as shock and awe and/or nukes of our own, as is called for by all manner hawks both on the left and the right and is part of the plan to take us down the path to oblivion, aka Secure Globalization.

But he denied the Holocaust! (Holocaust revisionist, but whatever, right?)

So. Fucking. What.

That does not mean that Ahmadinejad wants to harness Persian hordes and go Jew-slaughtering, nor does it mean that such things are true of the Iranian people. Above all things, it is certainly no justification for the use of carpet-bombing and nukes, "tactical" or otherwise, in the killing of ridiculous numbers of people.

Also, lest we forget, Israel is not exactly sitting naked on a stool out in the desert. They've got a few *smirk* elite forces of their own along with a very healthy stockpile of their own nuclear weapons. Oh, I'm sorry, we're not supposed to talk about that. Well, since I bumbled that, I may as well bumble some more and mention The Sampson Option for anyone beyond the 397 still unaware.

All of these things, still only scratching the surface of the true state of affairs.... and still the herd of cheapjacks and buffoons press forward. The meaning of 397-16 is quite clear.

Americans are going to get some more war. Perhaps a few more will wake the fuck up before it arrives. Unfortunately, if this small sampling of Austin residents is any indication, things aren't looking too good......

Bertrand Russell Excerpt

I just got my copy of the internationalist/globalist (Lord and Fellow of the Royal Society, among many other things.) Bertrand Russell's The Impact of Science on Society (1953, in excellent condition--one thing that was very cool was that the book still had the original receipt lying in the pages. It cost $1.04.). Since ridding our backs of the television monkey a great majority of my time, naturally, is spent reading.

So, I thought I'd begin sharing bits and pieces (and perhaps some accompanying thoughts) as I seem to be unable to blog effectively about the usual inane shit. Every time I try, all I can think about is how the time would be better spent. Thoughts that are only natural, I suppose, after realizing that you've spent much or all of your life wasting time and being compelled from all sides to engage in more of the same.

Within this large majority of time newly spent, I've been dwelling a great deal on this child that draws ever closer and the attendant slew of questions to be pondered and decisions to be made. It is perpetually sobering.

Here is the excerpt that caught my eye a few nights ago, in Chapter 1, Effects of Scientific Technique (all emphasis mine)--

"Physiology and psychology afford fields for scientific technique which still await development. Two great men, Pavlov and Freud, have laid the foundation. I do not accept the view that they are in any essential conflict, but what structure will be built on their foundation is still in doubt.

I think the subject which will be of most importance politically is mass psychology. Mass psychology is, scientifically speaking, not a very advanced study, and so far its professors have not been in universities: they have been advertisers, politicians, and, above all, dictators. This study is immensely useful to practical men, whether they wish to become rich or to acquire government. It is, of course, as a science founded upon individual psychology, but hitherto it has employed rule-of-thumb methods which were based on a kind of intuitive common sense. It's importance has been enormously increased by the growth of modern methods of propaganda. Of these, the most influential is what is called "education." Religion plays a part, though a diminishing one; the press, the cinema, and the radio play an increasing part.

What is essential in mass psychology is the art of persuasion. If you compare a speech of Hitler's with a speech of (say) Edmund Burke, you will see what strides have been made in the art since the eighteenth century. What went wrong formerly was that people had read in books that man is a rational animal, and framed their arguments on this hypothesis. We now know that limelight and a brass band do more to persuade than can be done by the most elegant train of syllogisms. It may be hoped that in time anybody will be able to persuade anyone of anything if he can catch the patient young and is provided by the State with money and equipment."

Remember, this was published in 1953. Go ahead, I'll wait while you read through it again. (Also, if one is so inclined, more can be learned about Bertrand Russell and just who he was through many of Alan Watt's podcasts).

The last highlighted section is of particular importance. Speaking of a brass bands and limelight being more effective than rationality, he "hopes" that the young can be caught and that the State will provide the money and equipment to persuade them of "anything". It gives a great window into the thinking of this man. Excepting a higher "class" of men, brought about by science or otherwise, the person that speaks in this manner views men as animals and advocates (to greater or lesser, but always some degree) their manipulation as such. The possibility is not even brought up (at least, thus far in my reading) that perhaps this propaganda in which so many of his "hopes" lie serves to further and further suppress the "rational" man. In his praising of Pavlov, it doesn't seem to dawn on his Lordship for even a moment that, while man may be animalistic at his base, he has the potential and opportunity to be otherwise, unless he doesn't, due in large part to ceaseless, all-encompassing, and ever more effective propaganda techniques coupled with high technology.

In his adherence to Darwinistic principles, he advocates the manipulation of man, "hopefully" through the influential tool of "education. " There is little humanity present in this underlying theme. Indeed some men, a great many in fact, may not be rational and may never be. But the fact that a great many more could be or would be is never discussed nor is it necessarily a worthy goal in circles of men like these.

One of my larger considerations of late has been education. My own lack of it ("it" being real education/knowledge that promotes true understanding, as opposed to being trained to follow instructions), and what it will be for the child. It should require little more than a cursory look at the state of education (and just as well to be said here, Education by the State), both its past and its present, to make any parent immediately loathe the idea of sending their child to a public school. And it may be to a slightly lesser extent, but the same goes with private schooling, as well, particularly a great many of the "Christian" schools who, like the state, blanch at the idea of teaching a child to think and rather expend all efforts teaching them to conform.

Which inevitably leads to more crucial questions. Namely, will I be able to make the unpleasant choices and deal with the inevitable consequences (which are surely becoming more dire in this system) of choosing a different direction than that laid out by the "experts" who now do all of that for us? It's not a question of desire or willingness anymore--that has been considered and the choice has been made. Rather, the question has become, will I be able to actually DO IT, not in terms of intellectual capability, but in dealing with the practicalities and externalities that will surely be brought to bear sooner or later given our seemingly unmovable societal course.

Such considerations may seem on the surface to be depressing, but further reflection gives cause for hopefulness and opportunity. I think anyone would be hard pressed to find a parent who does not wish for their child a better life than they had. Unfortunately, through all of the "education", this tends (more often than not) to mean "better" in the context of material wealth, the beginning and end of our current existence. There lies the hope and the opportunity that, saved from such wretched indoctrination, there might develop a person with real humanity and real knowledge. One who is not raised as an animal to be taught the prevailing tricks of the day, but someone who is enough of a thinking individual to know what "a better life" truly means and create it for their self.

Such a course is the only option, really. The alternative is a horror show, where they will be told what to do and they will do it because they know nothing else (just like their parents) They will be told that their life is better and they will believe it, simply because they have been told. Just like animals.

Purgatory involving a chair.

That post title seems infinitely more appropriate for something else. An obscene art piece, perhaps.

Today caught me noticing in a big way that I seemed to have developed an annoying habit. More accurately stated, that would be another annoying habit, as I'm sure the list is longer than I would be comfortable being consciously aware of. I'm aware of the farting around the house issue, the unintentional scratching/adjustment of "equipment" in public, being easily and disproportionately annoyed by a lot of little things, but beyond that I don't look too hard. It might have the consequence of making me paranoid--god forbid.

After finishing some daily sort-of-required pseudo-job related activities, I decided to make the commitment to not move from this chair (save for bladder or nicotine-related issues) until I wrote something, anything.

Goddamnit, the neighbor kids just rang the doorbell. This means that the retard terriers we so foolishly purchased 4 and 5 years ago, respectively, begin going apeshit, which completely fucks my line of thought. Nothing works in shutting them up. Coercion, beatings, begging, none of it. We've largely given up, on the conclusion that learning to sit and lay down took up what little brainspace was available and there's just none left to be had for things like Remembering Who People Are or Realizing That Small Children Are Not Vampires From Space Here To Assasinate You.

Okay, they're gone. Back to the business at hand. The Work.

With the internal commitment made, I set to work about my duties confident that whatever it was I would write would come to me after spending some time in the waters of what is largely mindless work. Or perhaps something would come to me while I was trying to wade through the ridiculous pile of shit that's touted as news to find something at least resembling the remotely relevant while trying to search and better fill the gaps I'm ever painfully aware of in my knowledge of various subjects. Still nothing

Here's the newest annoyance: I'd guess that largely due my being painfully aware of just how much I still don't know well, over the last four months or so I've been trying to read and listen to certain podcasts (Alan Watt's podcast being the most prevalent) while trying to engage in meaningful reading. Thing is, this isn't just mindless music, this stuff. It requires thought--something not effectively done while trying to read and think about other things at the same time. So here's how that's been going. Read, listen, read, ohwaitwhatdidhejustsay, rewind, listen, read, ad infinitum.

After realizing I wanted to punch myself in the face, it dawned.

When you start annoying yourself, time to reevaluate. Trying to cram everything in left little to gain entrance and take up permanent residence. The available space is large but the way in, evidently, isn't ready to accommodate hydrant-drinking, as it were, so I guess I'll stop doing that.

I'm also going to stop sitting in this chair because, quite frankly, my ass hurts.

(What can I say. It's something, anything.)

Annoyed House on the Barely Connected Prairie

Five weeks. It seems that a much greater amount of time has passed since the move, and the realization that it hasn't been is an exceedingly strange but certainly not unexplainable state of affairs. Regardless, it's high time some hands were put to keyboard in the pursuit of something, anything.

Funny, we moved from a place where you felt like you were on fire all of the time to a place that is actually on fire. Everywhere. While there have been a fair amount of clear days up here in the mountains, most of them are permeated with a nice smoky wildfire haze and the smell to go with it. Imagine going through the day with your nose telling you, "Hey, BBQ....oh, wait". Truthfully, it doesn't smell very much like BBQ at all, but try telling my nose that. Like a dogged Republican or Democrat adherent, it lives its life in a constant state of denial--I'm hoping it will come around eventually.

And further on the subject of BBQ, I haven't been able to yet. Building any sort of fire is strictly verboten (for good reason, of course) which is causing my ribeye gland no small amount of stress and has me searching the Interwebs high and low for any sort of arcane Indian snow dance to dampen everything enough so that I might feast in a manner befitting less civilized folk. Of course, relieving my rib-eye gland will only transfer the pain to my pocketbook gland.....a subject for more in-depth pissing and moaning at a later time, I suppose.

Lest you feel too sorry for me and compelled to send me large crates of aged meats (and feel free), I should let everyone know that I've been consuming large quantities of bacon and should pull through till the fire ban is lifted.

Moving on....

Let's talk about my brand spankin' new Interwebs connection. See, I was going to put a post up late last week after spending some time catching up on all of the news I missed (I wouldn't exactly say I was missing it after hearing from the in-laws that the administration, in their infinite wisdom, is declaring the armed forces of another sovereign nation a terrorist organization--again, more on that in upcoming posts). However, post-telco shenanigans, the rude reality that my connection is a "screaming" 1 Mbps (I was informed I would get 3 Mbps--the salesperson was a dirty liar. Shocking, I know.) led to slightly extended pout which brings us to the present where I have finally made the requisite mental adjustments and realized "What the hell did I expect given the remote location?"

So here's a snippet of the conversation with "tech support" in my efforts to confirm that 1 Mbps was the maximum speed I could have provisioned.....

HH: The tech just told me that 1Mbps was the max I could get out here. The salesperson said I had "DSL Max" (a moniker that should lead to, at the very least, the firing, if not outright execution of the whizbang marketeer who decided that would be a good term to use) which was 3 Mbps. Which is it? Is my provisioning wrong?

Customer Service "Expert": Ummmmm.......can you hold?

[4 minutes of Christina Aguilera. Again, add the person who thought that was a good idea to the list of people to be fired and/or shot]

CSE: Thanks for holding, sir. It looks like 1 Mbps is the max you can get out there.

HH: Really. So, the salesperson was either stupid or lying? Is that what I'm hearing?

CSE: Well, no--

HH: Oh, I'm sorry, misinformed or unintentionally misled me...

CSE: Umm, I'm not really sure. If you want more speed you could look into upgrading to our Business Class...

HH: Why would I do that? Didn't you just tell me that 1 Mbps is the max I can get here?

CSE: Huh?

HH: You just told me that 1Mbps is the max I can get. Now your telling me that I need to upgrade to Business Class for more speed. Which is it? What are you trying to tell me? I'm at my max, unless I fork over more money?

CSE: Well, 1Mbps is the max you can get out there-

HH: Then why did you bring up this Business Class business?

CSE: Huh?

HH: ***sigh*** Just answer me this last question. Do you have any access to anything, a prespective schedule, anything, that might give some indication if or when my area may be provisioned in the future for more bandwidth? (Internal: Say "huh?" one more time motherfucker. I dare you. I double dare you....They speak English in "Huh?"?)

CSE: Can you hold again?

[more Christina]

And that's where I hung up-lest I scream at the illiterate and damage his self-image.

Perhaps being barely connected is still too connected.

The Heads Have Landed

Indeed we have arrived at the next stop on what seems to be the thus far never-ending nomadic tour.

Trying to settle things in the midst of ridiculous disarray, but the sense of peace from the relocation is palpable having finally escaped the cesspool that is Phoenix. Access to teh Interwebs is a bit problematic for now given our remote location, but that should be solved in the next week, or if we're lucky, less than that (NOTE: Lucky has never been a descriptor when it comes to my acquiring needed services).

Being so forcibly disconnected (albeit temporarily) up in the mountains is a good thing, though, and not as tough as all that. After not being able to keep current with any of the goings on in the world for the last couple of weeks, it begins to come to the fore that while keeping up, if you're not careful, you can end up missing a lot.

And so much for all that. We're headed back to the mountains tomorrow to continue enjoying the silence. I haven't heard a single helicopter in at least three days--life is good.

Exhale, baby

The light has reached the end of the tunnel, guess what was there?

More fucking tunnel.

Escrow closed, recorded, and funded. By the hair of our chinny chin chins....the albatross is gone.

Escape from Phoenix (aka Get Me Out of This Fucking City, aka Breaking Free From Satan's Asshole) has now reached critical mass and is moving inexorably forward.

Holy fuckme, what load off.

More later, I'm beat all to hell from the last two days of nerves and moving to temp digs....

Indeed.

Flight of the Conchords Rap

I'm loathe in principle to helping HBO for various reasons, but this gets an exception.

Enjoy.

New Book Dump

It's been a bit since the last book dump, so here's the latest (which is about a month old now) for anyone interested.

Party over here.

David Rockefeller, Memoirs

Zbigniew Brzezinski, The Grand Chessboard: American Primacy and Its Geostrategic Imperatives

Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in America : The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist

Milton Mayer, They Thought They Were Free: The Germans, 1933-45

Greg Palast, Armed Madhouse: From Baghdad to New Orleans--Sordid Secrets and Strange Tales of a White House Gone Wild

I'm digging this HST selection, as it is a collection of his personal correspondence. Wicked good reading, providing a glimpse of the man that is very worthwhile. Brzezinski and Mayer are my main thrusts right now, and I'm picking up the Palast when lighter fare is needed.

Christ, I still need to get Glenn Greenwald's book ordered.....perhaps on the next purchasing round. I had planned to pick it up on pre-order but I need to finish this current round before I can stock up on more (that, and the fact that I really need to erect some proper bookshelves at this point).

Good stuff is happening, details to follow as things pans out over the next couple of weeks.

Sudden, unexpected, and altogether strange.

“Hey, you wanna come down here and beat off into a cup?”

An odd question, to be sure, especially piped in over the telephone line at 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon. It was my friend, M, who worked for a fertility clinic. At first glance it would seem like a perfectly reasonable question given the source…nope, still weird.

“Come again?” I asked.

“That’s what she said. [snicker] Oh man, that never gets old. Seriously, are you busy?”

“You really want me to just jump in the car, head up to where you work, and beat off into a cup? Do I at least get some porn?”

“I don’t think we have any. You can’t do it without porn?”

“What am I, 14?”

I might be able to round some up for you, but it’s a long shot. Remember where you are….?

“Boise. Fucking mormons.”

“Right-o. So can you?”

“Why? You haven’t even told me why.”

“We’re training one of the nurses here and we’re out of practice samples. C’mon, you’ll get tested for free. It’s actually a pretty expensive test, it might come in handy.”

“I have always wanted to contribute to medicine….”

I hung up the phone without stating outright that, upon brief reflection, I would have done it if for no other reason than it’s not often that one has the opportunity to abuse oneself with official sanction. It was almost as if the benevolent faces of the AMA board up on their cloud were looking at me, nodding, all placid and benevolent-like.

And with that, I took off towards the clinic ready to dash several million little soldiers against a cruel plastic wall in the name of progress. Not that the issues surrounding the biblical and serious “spilling of seed” was a big one for me, it just happened to cross my mind while driving. After all, to say I hadn’t launched similar initiatives for progress in strategic locations all over my apartment would be a dirty lie.

Twenty minutes later I was back home on the couch. Indeed, I have never been one to lollygag in the pursuit of official business. I was especially proud that the job had been completed successfully in spite of the complete absence of porn and/or what polite society might call “manual assistance.” Surely this was a testament to the veracity and effectiveness of previous military training. We’ve done so much with so little for so long we can now do everything with nothing….

The phone woke me from dreams where I was populating wide swaths of earth. It was M with the test results. It was only now that the question crossed my mind. Blanks? Empty Goop? Lazy soldiers? Oh boy….

“Well, my friend, looks as though you’ve got another bullet point for your resume. You’re in the top 5% in terms of, well, everything. Count, motility…If I sound a little amazed, it’s because I kind of am. We don’t see this type of thing too often.”

“SWEET”

“Okay then, I gotta go. Be careful out there…seriously.”

Most would just laugh but I knew this was a serious admonition. We were, after all, in Boise. Which is in Idaho. Which means that if you have a boner and sneeze at the same time while too close to an indigenous female you’re going to end up with a shotgun wedding and a career path of cosmetology and/or construction. There’s a reason some of these guys end up with 17 wives….

Bullet points, indeed.

********

Armed with this knowledge, I and my lady have endeavored, lo these many years, to observe a stringent Reproductive Security Plan. Many fences and barriers, both physical and chemical, have been erected and maintained—I’m sure there’s some kind of mocking diatribe having to do with right-wing nuttery and The Global War Against Islamofundist Terror in there somewhere, but now is not the time, other than to say that the news I received yesterday serves only to further reinforce the fact that there is no such thing as Total Security.

Which has little to do with anything, really, but stay with me and I’m sure I can reign in this train wreck and bring us all safely to the point. Which is, that, well….my friend M seems to have not known or simply forgot to tell me what the real results were from that long ago test.

My sperm is evidently weaponized.

“Area effect” was not taken into account.

Pregnancy has manifested. Little Head has slogged the Fallopian Trail and will be taking a well-deserved rest (8 mos, or so).

Chaos and all things strange are expected from here on out.

Here is a very rough draft of what the kid's first t-shirt may look like:

Mac vs. PC Rap=Fantastic

Could have been cut by 1/3 and been just as good, but that's nitpicking.

Enjoy.

Brown Trouts on a Muthafuckin Plane!

Way worse than snakes.



Airline apologizes for sewage on plane

"I've never felt so offended in all my life," passenger Collin Brock of Washington state told Seattle's KING-TV. "I felt like I had been physically abused and neglected. I was forced to sit next to human excrement for seven hours."