Monthly Archives: September 2011

It Was Too Late

TO GET IT DONE for the President’s campaign appearance before this week’s joint session of Congress, but I think we should work this diligently.

Get 535 digital recorders. They could be those cheapass keychain things. Don’t need super high fidelity, just enough quality to recognize a speaker’s voice. And they don’t need a record capability, just playback, and plenty of volume. Distribute them to all the Members of Congress.

And they need to be programmed to, when the Play button is pushed, reel off Teddy Kennedy’s rant from the well of the Senate in the runup to Oepration Iraqi Freedom. You know the one:


And, whenever the President says ANYthing, Just Press Play.

Maybe we don’t even need the actual recorders. Just get the meme enough mindspace and all you’ll have to do is say, “Just Press Play”, and people will know what you mean.

Funnily enough, Glenn Beck proposed something similar on his radio program Wednesday.

Nanny Bloomberg Refuses

TO PROVIDE TIME AND SPACE for Christian clerics at the ten-year-anniversary memorial services commemorating the Black Tuesday atrocities of September 11, 2001.

It’s not about religion, he says. Not any particular religion, he says.

Lemme axe ya, this, Nanny: who did the splodeydopes SAY they were attacking? Did they not say they were attacking The Crusaders? And the cross is the symbol of which religion, now?

Granted the splodeydopes are an RCH off kilter. A few chicken fingers short of the full snack pack. Missing a couple of shots from the old Long Island Iced Tea. But, doncha think, if somebody says, “I hate him; I’ma gonna kill him” and then DOES it, there might be a hate crime there? And, maybe — just maybe — a reasonable person would make room for him or his survivors at memorial services for the fallen victims of said crime?

And might those slighted be at least understood, if not excused, for their bad attitude toward the officious fuckwad sticking his nose in where it’s probably not wanted anyway?

Waitaminnit, Alger! If the memorial is an official one, and the Mayor is the boss of official, dunt he have the right and responsibility to decide?

No. Says right here, “… respecting the establishment of religion or the free exercise thereof…” and it’s long-established that that does NOT mean “just Congress,” but ANY gummint entity. Seems to me that Nanny B is breaking that rule BOTH ways, by establishing AND infringing on the right of free exercise, and ought to be told to go piss up a very long and non-absorbent rope.

A Report in Due Diligence

SOME OF YOU may remember that I made a big announcement awhile back about starting a business — the resume writing thing. WHICH has not gone away. It’s still there, idling away, waiting for better days.

As you may have heard, the jobs numbers for August were zero. No net jobs created. As far as I know, they’ve given up the BS claim of jobs saved — which we knew was stinky hot air with lots of methane and butyl mercaptin in it from the first. So: zero for Dr. Zero.

That being the case — and a fairly accurate reflection of not only the day-to-day situation, but also the imediate long-term trend — flat zero-to-negative, plus-or-minus it-doesn’t-matter — I can’t see putting a lot of effort into it. Nobody’s hiring. Nobody’s looking. Charging money for top-drawer resume services in this climate is like running the chastity pill franchise in a whorehouse. Only the government could think it was a good idea. That’s not to say I’m abandoning it, just putting it in abeyance and looking for better odds. Like… winning the lottery and other similar blue-ribbon plans.

Much thanks to all who aided in the project. We will be back. Meantime, keep your powder dry.

I Feel It Incumbent Upon Me

TO COMMENT THAT Janet Napolitano’s assertion that DHS has taken into consideration civil liberties in the implementation of infringements upon those liberties — as reported here — is pure bullbunk. The state does not get to decide reasonableness in its casting off of legal restraints on its power. In casting off those restraints, the state (and its agents) is in violation of the law. There can be no way to put the state in the right short of an immediate ceasing and desisting of the violations.

That is all. Should there be more?

How I Spent My End of Summer Vacation

I MAY NOT BE ABLE to wring much narrative out of this, but I suspect a spare listing of events will likely elicit at least a modicum of schadenfreude.

Thursday: Wednesday night at midnight, found me winding up the last bits of a project from work. I couldn’t get the customer off the dime in time to get stuff done by quitting time Wednesday, so I had to bring the work home and finish it here. Thursday, my first project up (after a visit to the doctor for a quarterly checkup, lube, and oil change) was to replace the side sprayer in the kitchen sink. I got under the sink — a claustrophobic and confusing space, where everything is too close for me to focus with both eyes, thus preventing clear binocular vision; where obstructions are too many and too large to allow free or even restricted-but-useful movement of my arms and hands, making a normal angle of attack on ANY task impossible — and managed to break the (we were to discover later) proprietary connectors between the faucet and the spray unit. After a panic and meltdown, I did some online research and discovered that Home Depot carries the replacement part. Not online. Not in any store in Cincinnati. But they do have it. Meanwhile, we don’t have a sink in the kitchen, and I cannot turn the house water on.

“Why couldn’t you turn the house water on, Mark?” You ask.

Well, because the kitchen sink isn’t plumbed like a normal kitchen sink. The supply lines come in from the utility space, to the left of the sink, and terminate some 30 inches straightline from the faucet connectors. Those supply pipes — 1/2″ rigid copper — are so tight together that you can’t turn the valve to close it. So, when you disconnect the sink supply lines, they’re open. If the master inside shutoff is on, water comes out the supply lines.

And forms lakes on the kitchen floor. As you may well imagine, this is not a desirable state of affairs. Thus, we leave the house water supply turned off during these maneuvers.

Been meaning to fix that. Thursday, I bought a couple of 1/4-turn Shark Bite supply valves. We also bought a new faucet and sundry supplies. While we were at Home Depot looking for the (proprietary, we learned) replacement sprayer part. Which the nice man in Plumbing told us we could order from the manufacturer — whose customer service is second to none; two days tops to get a replacement part to you. Two days without house water. So we got the new faucet and the Shark Bite valves.

Standing and walking around in the Home Depot was so bad on my back that I had to leave it to Toni to check out while I went out and sat in the car, waiting for the spasms to die down.

That was the end of Thursday. Did a couple of odd items around the house, but nothing worth writing home about.

Friday: Got up early and got started on the kitchen sink. Lying on my back on the kitchen floor. The edge of the undersink cabinet frame hit me right across the shoulders. Left a bruise, Toni tells me. (I can’t see it, not even in a mirror.) Broke everything loose in a couple of painful hours. Cut the old valves off the supply lines and replaced them with the Shark Bites. Closed them and turned the house water on. YAY ME! Big win. Got the old faucet unhooked from the sink deck, and started reading the instructions for the new one, when I realized: I had the wrong kind of supply line. Also: not enough. I needed a total of 40″ of line for each side — hot and cold. One of them had to go from a 3/8″ fip (female iron pipe thread) at the supply valve (my brand-new Shark Bites) to a 1/2″ fip. I had 2 of those. Each 20″ long. So far so good. One problem: the fittings on the faucet lines are male. There had to be an additional 20″ in between. 1/2″ fip to 1/2″ fip. Not that that’s what I had in new lines, that’s what had been used before, with a nipple in the f-f connection. The old lines are corroded and clogged with lime. YOU got it. Back to Home Depot. AND… I ended up getting the wrong thing, and — in the final analysis — ended up using one of the old lines anyway. I would not have survived another trip to HD. So we have a couple of supply lines and a nipple to take back next time one of us goes.

Sometime right after lunch, I finally got the new faucet hooked up. You may laugh, but that was me for the day. I slept the rest of the day. Not only am I old and infirm, I’m in bad physical shape, too. Low stamina.

Saturday: haircut day. Went before breakfast. Had the girl cut it shorter than usual. Just felt like it, I guess. I might have felt justified in calling that a day, but I really wanted to get more done. So, after breakfast, I got started on the NEXT plumbing project. I took the wet shop vac upstairs and drained the toilet tank in the half-bath. (In a 4-room house, we have TWO shop vacs — one wet, one dry. We have our priorities right.) The flapper has been leaking for months and causing the fill valve to cycle. I yanked the old flapper out and left the seat to dry. I went downstairs, turned off the house water, and addressed a chronic leak in the bathtub faucets. Pulled the valves and packed them. Fixed that problem. Back upstairs, put new flapper in. Filled tank. Still running. Damn! OK. We’re going to have to find one of those leak sentry fill valves — the kind that won’t allow the float to drop unless you actually flush it. There’s a chock under the float that’s attached to the flush lever by a chain. You flush, the chain yanks the chock out, and allows the float to fall, opening the valve to fill the tank. When the float reaches fill height, the chock engages and locks the float in the up position. Apparently, leaky flappers is a big enough problem that somebody figured out a solution. In this day and age when you can’t get a 3-gallon tank any more, thank you E-fucking-P-A, that’s going to be a growth market, I’d predict.

Sunday: We were invited out to Jesse’s for pizza dinner, socializing, and a brainstorming session about some work Jesse wants to get done. On the way there, we stopped at Ace and picked up that valve. AND a can of Resolve carpet cleaning powder (great stuff: highly recommended, especially if you have cat(s)), AND a replacement outlet for the one that Earnie has screwed up unplugging the wall lamp in the living room. (Who knew you had to teach a cat to unplug electrical cords by pulling straight out on them and not to jerk them at an angle?)

Monday: Worked in the study. To demonstrate the fuckedness of my weekend, this was scheduled to start Thursday or — at the latest — Friday, after the plumbing stuff was out of the way. Was it hubris for me to assume those tasks could be taken care of in a few hours? So I took down two of the five shelves on the north wall, pulled the microwave cart out, transferred the TV and cable box to the baker’s rack desk, pushed the baker’s rack against the wall. Sorted, bundled, and marked the lumber on hand for trim jobs in the office, bedroom, and downstairs bathroom. And cut the trim for the bedroom builtins and glued and nailed that up. Then Toni and I spent the afternoon sorting through all the CRAP in the study, pitching some, piling other, and putting still other “away.” (I use the term “away” advisedly. There really is no “away” until I build it. At the moment, we’re just faking it.) Toni also dusted the living room bookshelves, drew up several variations of our suggested plans for Jesse’s project, fixed a killer salad for lunch, and ran for Popeye’s chicken for dinner.

And it is now midnight, and I have to go to work in the morning, so this is going live in, like, two minutes. Maybe I can recover this week from my long weekend.

Hoffa Shoots Off His Mouth

AND EVEN HOSTILE commentators call it a gaffe. I beg to differ. This is not an accidental or freudian statement of true feelings against interest. This is deliberate and calculated incitement to violence. And I, for one, do not believe it will not be answered as though a call to action. There will be blood, and it will be on Hoffa’s hands.

But I want to remind everyone within the sound of my voice of something: this is not atypical behavior for unions or union leaders, sympathizers, or organizers. The very nature of a union is coercive and un-American. So when true American patriots challenge the unions’ corruption, of course they’re going to respond in the way that is bred into their DNA — violence and threats of violence.

This is why you should never trust unions or unionists, and you should never trust politicians who rely on unions for storm troops.

Gales of Helpless Laughter

NOT NICE TO MAKE FUN of the chemically impaired, but…

So Jane’s sutures were looking red and swollen, and Toni was concerned, so she took Jane into work today. The doctor (picture Jon’s vet from Garfield, if it helps), gave Jane one anti-inflammatory in the clinic and gave Toni a somewhat stronger painkiller for in case Jane was feeling pain. (Which would be a LOT of pain, because cats either suffer in silence or yowl their heads off — but there’s no in-between. Jane’s probably one of the in-silence type, although she’d probably guilt trip you all the while.)

And Toni goes, “Damned if my kittie’s gonna be in pain,” so she gave Jane the twice-daily dose (which is, like, a quarter of this little mouse pill), figuring (this was around Noon), if it was still bad come evening, she’d give her another quarter and still not exceed the recommended safe 24-hour dose.

At around 2-ish, we’re sitting in the living room watching a home show on HGTV-HD. I hear an unfamiliar noise coming from the kitchen.

“What are you up to in there?” I called in my very best Mommy voice.

No answer. Noise keeps up. I give a long-suffering sigh. Toni, whose hearing isn’t the best, asks me whassup. I say, “Somebody’s doing something they’re probably not supposed to be doing, but I can’t tell from the sound what or who it is.”

I get up and looked around the corner. And there’s Jane.

We have this think called a Drinkwell. It’s a recirculating water dish with a 2-liter-ish reservoir and a little pump that runs water up from the basin, through a filter, and down out a spout, which gives the cats the effect of drinking from a water fountain. They love it. They’ve also discovered that they can knock the lid off the recirculator and drink straight from the spring. Like that makes any difference, although more of them can gather around the watering hole at one time with the lid off. We’re forever finding it lying under water in the basin, and I keep wondering if there’s some way to attach it so they can’t knock it off.

But there was Jane…

She was standing under the butcher block tea cart, where the Drinkwell resides, her forepaws IN the basin, digging furiously at the water. Digging obsessively at the water. Trying her very best to figure out why the water kept flowing back into the hole she was digging in the stuff. Puddled around her back feet and the legs of the butcher block was this growing lake of water. At first, I thought she was after a piece of sliced black olive that had fallen off a pizza last night and — doubtless — one of the cats had found it and carried it away and dumped it in the water bowl.

Hell, I don’t know. It’s what they do.

So I fished it out and threw it down the InSinkErAtor. But that wasn’t it.

Jane kept standing there, scooping furiously away at the water with all the intensity of Woody Allen with a bad case of OCD. The other cats are standing around, jaws metaphorically agape, watching her do this.

And it dawned on me.

And it struck me funny.

And I started laughing like the laughing gas incident in Mary Poppins (the book). And couldn’t stop. I did, however, manage to get out, “Your cat is stoned.”

And I’m laughing my ass off, tears running, snot coming out of my nose, unable to stop or even stand up. I believe the phrase is, kicked over my giggle box.

We finally figured out she wasn’t going to stop, even after all the water in the Drinkwell — basin and reservoir both — was on the kitchen floor, so we took the thing up and set up a bowl of plain old static water in the bathtub. I moved to put the reservoir from the Drinkwell in there with it, so’s to make it easier to refill, until I realized: there’s a faucet right there. Duh!

A few minutes later, Toni got a look at Jane’s eyes and mentioned them to me: Fixed and dilated.

Jane left the kitchen and went out in the living room and stared at the shelves of vinyl record albums for a few minutes. Then she staggered across the living room and shoulder-checked the coffee table. She’s been going on in that vein for the last couple of hours.

I don’t hold with people who get their animals stoned on purpose — and, really, this incident with Jane is a perfect illustration of why. Although she took — is taking — her state with a certain amount of equanimity, it still must be a bit of terrifying not knowing what’s going on.

And the whole idea IS to spare her some pain.

But… dayum! I don’t care WHO y’are — that-there’s FUNNY!

Only Ten?

IO9 LISTS Ten Actual Mistakes That SyFy Has Made Over the Years.

My first reaction was, “Only ten?”

But then, I realized it’s not even ten. It’s only one: they don’t run science fiction.

They have 21 hours of prime-time weekly, but they run five (count ’em — FIVE) science fiction shows — and of the four currently running, three of them are on Monday night. Eureka (which has been cancelled — stupidly), Warehouse 13, and Alphas. And Haven is lost all by its lonesome out at 10 O’Clock Friday night.Sanctuary is not running right now, and the only other science fiction or fantasy show even LISTED is Neverland, which is not starting until November.

The rest of the schedule is filled with faux documentaries about really badly-faked modern-day quests, and — Great Googly Moogly! — Professional Wrestling? That earthquake last month on the East Coast? That was Hugo Gernsbach and John W. Campbell rolling over in their graves.

Somebody ought to start up a real fantasy and science fiction channel and blow these poseurs’ doors off.

The Caturday Post

BEEN A WHOLE LOTTA edumacashun goin’ on. One day last week or so, I noticed Chester was playing Doctor with his sister — Jane. He was really getting into it, too. You know how cats do that neck check thing. He was looking terribly serious; she was looking frightfully bored.

Being’s how we have ten kitties, we REALLY don’t need any more, so Chester went and got tutored.

Then, figuring Jane was probably broken, besides, we had her in to get her fixed.

So now we can’t have any (more) kittens.

And Earnie’s due to get some schooling himself in the next couple of weeks. He needs to get tutored — which, being a one-on-one thing, I guess doesn’t really count as school, although it is edumacashun.

Just remember, as Obama teaches us, more larnin’ don’t necessary make for more smarts.

Earnie’s learned a new trick. Well, considering it’s happened before and we just didn’t catch him at it, it may not be all that new.

I was sitting in the living room this afternoon, when the wall lamp flickered. Then went out. We’ve been having a lot of problems with 3-ways going out on us lately, so I sighed and made to go get another bulb. I was just getting up when I heard the sound of tiny kitten claws on the back of the couch. And allofasudden, there was Earnie, very proudly carrying the power cord for the wall lamp in his mouth. He put it down on the back of the couch and settled in to torture it — the way cats will do with their prey.

Swell. The kitten is unplugging lamps and playing with the cords. So we have to enhance vigilance to make sure he doesn’t electrocute himself. Do parents of toddlers have these problems?

Yes, it IS possible to train a cat. But it’s a long, involved process, and filled with frustration. It also annoys the cat no end. Fortunately, like a teething behavior, kittens will outgrow this kind of thing. Meantime, protecting them from their own ignorance gets to be a full-time and worrisome job. We may have to unplug that lamp for a few weeks — until Earnie forgets what a marvelous toy it is. Or gets too big to fit back there.

Maybe I’ve Missed It

OR MAYBE EVERYBODY else has, but I haven’t seen it reported or blogged…

Isn’t it kinda obvious that all of the regime’s failed green initiatives, and the trail of bankrupt companies Obama has touted but are collapsing in clouds of dust like imploded skyscrapers never were intended to work in the first place? The whole thing, from the raging imperative of the porkulus to the most recente failure of that solar panel company the other day — all of it — was nothing more than a means by which mountains of cash could be siphoned from the public coffers to Obama cronies.

There is no reason to assume otherwise. And more the fool you if you do.

Too Often Businessmen Can’t Afford

TO STAND UP FOR FREEDOM They have to just grab the fish, say, “OK,” and head off into the forest to try to cut down the tree with it, no matter how batshit fucking insane — and not to mention flat-out unlawful — the demands of the government tyrants demands are that they fell a tree with a carp.

Gibson Guitar, clearly because their President (and probably a lot of their employees) support Republican candidates and causes, is being tyrannized for failure to comply with a law — the Lacey Act — that on its face is flatly unconstitutional. Where in Article I, Section 8 is there an enumerated power of Congress saying that Congress has the power to enforce foreign laws? Nowhere. If it’s not mandatory, it’s forbidden. The law is unconstitutional. Period. And the officials attempting enforcement are liable for prosecution under 18 USC 242 — as acting under color of law to deny free exercise of constitutional rights.

The CEO of Gibson is willing to fight this. This is rare. Most businesses calculate that the downside cost to fight harrassment and persecution is simply too great, and they knuckle under — thereby waiving OUR rights as well, for you know how the government loves insidious precedent. Once they’ve overstepped one time and won, they’ll do it again and again until it’s a well-established practice. They have to be slapped down and with extreme prejudice. When a businessman is willing to mix it up, we owe it to him, to ourselves, and to our posterity to give him every support we can. At the very least, go to Gibson’s Facebook page and lend a few words of support.

Funny How

LIBERALS NEVER talk about the negative externalities of government programs.

Being Sort of a Founding

MEMBER OF THE TEA PARTY (I remember that the T.E.A. Party was around in 1993, and protesting against Clinton’s Largest Tax Increase Since the Big Bang), and totally unaware of ANY funding that didn’t come out of the pockets of attendees on the moment and go into the modern day equivalent of an upturned straw hat or a mayonnaise jar with a slot in the lid, I was quite surprised at the Left’s vehement, vicious, and vituperative aspersions that the movement was/is funded by the Koch brothers. How can that have ANY basis in truth? I kept asking myself.

As the song goes, I should have known better.

It comes from the Left. Of course it’s lies.

And now, we know who the ur-liar was. And like oh-so-many of the Ellsworth Tooheys and Grima Wormtongues of the Left, he’s not a very savory character. In fact, he gives unsavory a bad name. Check him out at the link. Take your Purel. You’ll want to wash after.

(Hat tip: John Hindraker at PowerLine.)

Seems Clear to Me

THE REASON YOU’RE seeing self-named “civil rights” (i.e., racial spoils) “leaders” (i.e., community organizers, i.e. rabblerousers) rant so nonsensically against the tea party folk is that said folk threaten their (the rabblerousers’) rice bowl.

Rice bowl…?

Means of sustenance. Meal ticket.

Ah! Gravy train.

You get the sense of it.

If a Chilling Effect

MATTERS IN THE CASE of one Bill-of Right, wouldn’t it matter in the case of all ten? So, if to have a chilling effect on your right of free speech, or the right of a free press to operate without let is reprehensible and impermissable, what about your right to self defense?

And, couldn’t the revelation that you may be armed have a chilling effect on your right of self-defense? And wouldn’t that effect be created by the publication of your concealed carry license status? And wouldn’t the publication of your private carry license status in a newspaper tend to create such an effect?

And, as a newspaper is a collective effort, generally, to be assembled, written, printed, and distributed by a (rather large) corporation composed of individuals, wouldn’t a concerted and unlawful effort by a newspaper be considered a conspiracy?

And wouldn’t that make the article alluded to in the linked post a violation of 18USC 241, as a conspiracy to — at least attempt to — deny the free exercise of an enumerated constitutional right?

Now, Congress may make no law abridging the freedom of the press. Therefor, it may not act in prior restraint. However, that is not to say that there must be no consequences for intemperate abuse of the freedom granted the press.

And, even if one is unwilling to abridge the freedom of the press, perhaps one might also admit that, for the state to require a license to be issued for a citizen to lawfully carry a weapon, which license must, of necessity, become a matter of public record, itself creates a chilling effect on the free exercise of the right, and therefor be considered in and of itself unconstitutional, and therefor unlawful?

And couldn’t you just hear the moaners — who all believe that the justice ought to be administered on the basis of what they believe to be the way things should be, instead of how they really are — railing about how unjust it is that they should be “harrassed” for committing and actual — you know — crime, while the real criminals (i.e., the people exercising their God-give, constitutionally-protected rights) get away with “it”?