There Are Some Things In Life I Don't Understand

Like this:

"Meatless" MEATballs?  What's the point?  Not to flog dead draft animals or anything, but I'll bet what are in those bags are really tasty.  (/sarc)

Aiiieee Redux

From the study window at 1045 hrs:

I'm SO not ready for this: snow for the second time in the last three days.  The damned leaves haven't even fallen from the trees yet... and to think it was 66 degrees yesterday.

Get OFF my frickin' lawn!

Lemmings

"We have too much stuff," sez one guy.  What an incredible bunch of uninformed, gullible, and likely unwashed people.  And they call people like me "deniers."  What chutzpah.

From Reason's web site.

Yeah, That'll Do It

The comments on this twit-pic are pretty interesting.

In other news... we're still waiting for the other shoe to drop when it comes to the current physical affliction.  I spent nearly the entire day yesterday on the couch but did manage to find an hour to knock back a couple o' beers in the late afternoon.  The back pain seems to be receding (we felt fine when we rolled out this morning, back-wise) but the sore throat is still there.  I'm simply hoping against hope that this is NOT the flu, which could be life threatening... and I do NOT exaggerate a whit... given my COPD.

A Couple o' Things From Yesterday

Ramirez, first.

The man has a point.  And then there's this:

Hockey soda?  Really?  And what does "pro STYLE" really mean?... not to mention the eye-rolling "functional lifestyle beverage."  MY functional lifestyle beverage is whiskey, thankyaverymuch.

And finally... We're gratified to see the adults in the room prevailed in the Scottish independence referendum.  The United Kingdom is still united, thank The Deity At Hand.

Pro-union supporters celebrated in Glasgow as the result became clearer.  (photo from the Beeb, more here)

My New Coffee Pot. Again.

So, the Keurig.  When I went to brew my first cup this morning it made several interesting and non-standard noises and then just fuckin' quit.  We made three more attempts to cajole something, anything out of the machine and then WE fuckin' quit.  With no coffee.  No nuthin'.  So we got in the Dowager Tart, drove to Mickie Dee's and bought two large mochas for SEVEN freakin' Yankee Dollars.  And ten cents.  The general public was unaware there was a non-caffeinated gentleman piloting nearly two tons of automobile on the public streets but no one was harmed during that excursion, thank The Deity At Hand.

So, later in the day... after we were fully caffeinated and capable of making (sorta) wise decisions... we hied our old ass off to Wally-World and bought this:

Which was the ONLY Bunn machine Wally had in stock.

And what of the Keurig?  In the dumpster, where it belongs.  Now I have a mini-project to attend to sometime in the near future: cutting open 32 little K-cups and dumping the coffee into a bag.  One last insult.

Sometimes It Bees That Way

The post title is a quote from a former co-worker and friend whom I respected.  Whenever this woman encountered an unpleasant situation or something that was beyond her control the lady would shrug her shoulders, smile, and say "sometimes it bees that way."  I found myself sayin' that a lot yesterday. 

Explanations are in order.  These photos will help:

My Buddy John, standing in the kitchen of my house in Rochester, NY.  New Years Eve, 1998 - 99.

Close-up of the fridge behind John.  The arrow is pointing to "8-19."

Yesterday was an anniversary of sorts, a black-letter day, in that it was 16 years ago to the day that The Second Mrs. Pennington walked out the door, changing my life and the way I use personal pronouns forever.  "We," "us," and "ours" became "me," "I," and "mine."  That was the least of the changes, to put it mildly.  But let's not go there.

Back to yesterday.  I don't usually remember "8/19" and the date is not a day I would celebrate (heh) even if I did.  I stumbled upon the pic you see above quite by accident yesterday morning while searching the archives for something entirely different.  It's said you "can't un-see something once it's been seen" and that was the case with this pic.  Brain cells were jogged, synapses fired and linked, very unpleasant scenes from the past began a gory B-movie re-run, and I've seen THAT gotdamned movie too many times.  To quote Dylan: "I know every scene by heart."  My day was pretty much toast right then and there but we continued to continue, having little or no choice in the matter.

And then... in the afternoon we got an e-mail from TSMP and had a short call-and-response conversation on a health insurance issue with SN3.  I rarely hear from the woman... maybe once or twice a year, on average... and yesterday was most definitely NOT the day for her to barge into my life unannounced.  Another log on the fire, which went from a few stray flames to something pretty toasty.  And so we continued to continue, with an extra-long outdoor After Dinner Whiskey Hour while listening to NPR (in lieu of any sort of music that would make things worse).  Not a bad evening, all told.

―:☺:―

There's one skill in life I haven't learned and that skill is the ability to let bygones be bygones.  The Deity At Hand knows I've tried in many, many ways... none of which seem to work... and we won't go further than that.  The bottom line?  Yesterday was not my day.

Ah, well.  Sometimes it bees that way.

Keurig Broke. Keurig Fixed.

Well, sorta on Part II of the post title.  Last Wednesday I mentioned that my spiffy Keurig machine had apparently lost its feeble lil mind and was only brewing a third of a cup at a time.  It's gotten progressively worse since that time, bad enough for us to actually DO sumthin' about it this morning after I pushed the buttons a record FIVE times to brew a single cup o' coffee.  So we bit the bullet, dove into the manual (old USAF maxim: "When all else fails, read the tech order"), and figgered out what we had to do to get operations back up to par.  We cleaned the needles.  We descaled the machine with white vinegar.

Digression: "Descaling" the machine takes one helluva long time when you (a) fill the reservoir with vinegar, (b) push the damned buttons approximately 63 times to empty said reservoir of vinegar, i.e., run it through the machine a quarter of a cup at a time, and (c) wait FOUR HOURS (per the instructions) before running a reservoir full of water through the machine... once again: much button-pushing... to purge the vinegar.  I began at 0700 hours this morning and finished just before noon, with a short nap during the four-hour wait.

So.  Bottom line?  The machine now makes nearly a full medium-size cup o' coffee when one punches the "large" button.  I suppose that qualifies as success, but I have lingering doubts.  Those old Mr. Coffee machines are looking better and better all the time.

Coincidence? I Think Not!

Even the Occasional Gentle Reader knows I steal stuff from Shoebox... prolly a lot more than I should.  So then we see this on the Shoebox blog today...

Ahem.  Haven't we been here before?

Friday, July 25, 2014

More Idiots Among Us

It's easy to spot the grade-school dropouts in life.  They're the ones who can't... or won't... color within the lines.

And... 

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Idiots Among Us

Taken 20 minutes ago at Wally-World, wherein this person required TWO handicapped parking spaces.  I didn't realize you could get a disabled tag for being mentally handicapped.

Just sayin'.

Reefer Madness, Revisited

From The Usual Source of the political 'toons ya see here from time to time...

Everything old is new again, eh?  Today's Varvel 'toon looks a lot like this:

Graphic from an op-ed in the NYT, where the editorial page advocated ending marijuana prohibition this past Sunday.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.  I suppose it's asking way too much for us to learn from our mistakes, even if the current War On (Some) Drugs... dating back to Nixon's time and before... has failed to either reduce demand or stop anyone from using pot if they have a mind to do so.  The cat's out of the bag, at least in Colorado and Washington, with more states to follow.  I never thought I'd be able to say this, but I believe (now) that I'll see legal marijuana nationwide before I die.  The air of inevitability surrounding legal pot is unmistakable.

More Idiots Among Us

It's easy to spot the grade-school dropouts in life.  They're the ones who can't... or won't... color within the lines.

Meh

What am I missing here?



Something?  Anything?

Yet another movie I won't be seeing.  One wonders how Hollywood manages to make any money these days.

Weird Al's "Mission Statement"

Anyone who's ever had to deal with dumb-ass mission statements will appreciate this:


 
I think Al hit ALL the buzzwords.  Apropos o' not much, on one unfortunate occasion I was tapped to participate in writing a mission statement after yet another in a series of endless corporate reorganizations.  That episode was painful beyond belief, aside from being a flaming waste of time.

No, that wasn't in the Air Force.  But there's this about that:

In Full Unapologetic Ranting Cranky Old Man Mode

So, I read over at The Officers Club (ed: a defunct blog) that the USAF has a new mission statement, to wit:

The Air Force changed its mission statement yesterday. The old MS reads:

The mission of the U.S. Air Force is to is to defend the United States through control and exploitation of air and space.

The new mission reads:

The mission of the United States Air Force is to deliver sovereign options for the defense of the United States of America and its global interests -- to fly and fight in Air, Space, and Cyberspace.

I'll begin with the only good thing about the new mission statement: at least The Management incorporated the old, unofficial mission statement: "To Fly and To Fight." So much for the good stuff.

Let's begin the rant.

Just what the HELL is a "sovereign option?" A military option that's exercised by the United States as a sovereign nation? Meaning we don't have to run it by the UN or France first? There's a good idea! Or options that are above all others, e.g., "superior" or "leading," as opposed to "ill-considered" or "secondary." I certainly HOPE we'd offer the country the best air and space defense options we have, to do less is dereliction of duty. Let's not quibble about words, however, let's just come right out and say it: It's STUPID and obfuscatory. Substituting "...deliver sovereign options for the defense of..." for the previous statement's "defend" makes the USAF sound like the freaking Chicago Board of Trade.

Let's pick a nit: how does one fly in "cyberspace?" Or, for that matter, how exactly do we fight in cyberspace? Networked video games? You can say we engage in space flight, but cyberspace-flight? Who are we trying to kid with this word? Including "cyberspace" in the mission statement isn't cutting edge, guys, it looks like what it is: a failed attempt at being cool. I can just hear it in the E-ring: "Air power is just SO passe on its own, we need something more au courant, something that sings! Let's work 21st century technology into the statement somewhere, OK? Get back to me." And so they did, by using a buzz word from the '90s. Shame on you.

And then there's this: Economy of Expression. Whenever you add 12 words to a sentence to express the same idea, you've taken a GIANT step backward. I personally think the old statement's 23 words was too verbose. 35 freaking words is beyond verbose, it's language-crime.

My last point. Anyone want to hazard a guess how many colonels and generals were tasked with writing the new statement? How much time was spent "staffing" the language and briefing it to the boss? I've played in some of these exercises, albeit at a much lower level, and I can tell you with some certainty the answer is: A LOT.

I could think of lots of better ways to burn cycles. Most of 'em have to do with winning the freaking war. Another good use of time would be convincing the doubters (senior DoD guys, congress) we absolutely need the F/A-22, in the numbers we've asked for. I use "we" because it's still MY Air Force, too.

/rant

And then there's this:

How did I miss this?  Specifically, "New Mexico Department of Workforce Solutions," mentioned in the post immediately below.  "DWS" prolly has sumthin' to do with employment statistics, job opportunities, and the like but one cannot rightly tell from the pompous title.  I was thinkin' any organization with a title like "Workforce Solutions" just had to be ate up with the dumb-ass.  And I was right.  Witness:

The New Mexico Department of Workforce Solutions is a World-Class, market-driven workforce delivery system that prepares New Mexico job seekers to meet current and emerging needs of New Mexico businesses; and ensures that every New Mexico citizen who needs a job will have one; and every business who needs an employee will find one with the necessary skills and work readiness to allow New Mexico businesses to compete in a global economy.

That's their "vision statement," and they also have a mission statement, of course:

Enhance productivity and competitiveness of New Mexico business and industry by improving the quality and availability of the New Mexico workforce. We will accomplish this through a system that offers universal access to lifelong learning based on relevant local and regional labor market needs, via integrated, customer-focused accountable service partnerships. 

We ALL know any gub'mint org and most Fortune 500 companies need vision and mission statements chock-a-bloc with the latest and greatest in biz-school buzz words.  It's just too damned bad those things don't SAY or MEAN any-gotdamned-thing.  I can recall MANY painful hours working in ad hoc task forces chartered to develop such "statements" from my days with Ross Perot's Excellent Data Company... AFTER Mr. Perot left, of course.

"Mission Statements" might just be one o' my biggest hot buttons. 

BS

I tried that this very morning... it doesn't work.  I'm still old.  But I DID manage to get out of bed... so much for the day's first obstacle.

Get OFF My Freakin' Lawn!

OK, Google... we get it: you're eclectic, diverse, and multi-culti to a fuckin' fault.  But just STOP with these soccer doodles... it's not like this is the Stanley Cup Final or anything. 

One o' Life's Minor Irritants

It's the first o' the month... aka "Mother's Day," as in "pay this mother, pay that mother"... so we spent some time today goin' through a couple o' weeks' worth of unopened mail.  This was the end result:

Actionable mail (i.e., file or respond) is on the left, garbage mail (that I neither want nor asked for) is on the right. I omitted all the various credit card applications from the right hand pile as those go directly to the shredder.  The pile would have been somewhat higher had I included those unsolicited letters.

Some folks think I'm strange when I mention I only check my snail mail about once a week or less.  **I** think it's strange that people check their mail every day, given there's hardly ever anything of real significance in there.  I do have one exception, however, and that's when the periodic cigar shipment arrives.  But there's this about that: I always know when the cigars are coming.  As for the rest of it?  Get OFF my lawn! 

O, My Aching Ass

Yup.  Just what every Zuckerberg wannabe needs, at a Zuckerberg price.

Everything Old Is New Again

Well, that's true as far as EIP goes today.  Shorter: it's a re-run for you, Sparky.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Irresponsible...

... and proud of it. Here's what triggered the post title... something Kris left in comments to a previous post, to wit:

Wine in bottles. Bottles are glass. Glass is recyclable. We do recycling in our town.
Consumption of good quality wine = being environmentally conscious.
Al Gore will finally return my calls! ;-)

Ummm... we don't do recycling here in P-Ville. We are, apparently, unreconstructed Neanderthals in that all our waste... bottles, cans, kitchen garbage, cardboard boxes (large and small), what-have-you... goes into the dumpsters here at Beautiful La Hacienda Trailer Park and from there off to the landfill. I contrast this to previous lives, wherein we saved all our bottles and cans and hauled them off to the local grocery store on a monthly or bi-monthly basis for to redeem the nickel or dime deposits (depending on whether we were in Michigan or New York) we paid when purchasing our beer and soft drinks. There are no such deposits here in unreconstructed New Mexico, and I'm glad for it. I frickin' HATED saving all those damned cans and bottles and hauling them off every so often. But I hated the thought of losing that money even more... so I played the game. No more. I cheerfully toss all my bottles and cans into the garbage with nary a thought and most certainly without regret.

It wasn't always so and it most definitely used to be worse: I could still be living in Berkeley, where I had to sort my trash into (a) kitchen waste, (b) paper... bundled and tied according to specific instructions issued by the Powers That Be, (c) green glass, (d) brown glass and (e) clear glass... there being separate and discrete receptacles for all the aforementioned categories of refuse located in the trash area of my apartment complex (actually a four-plex of apartments) in said City of Berkeley. Failure to comply with the city's recycling requirements guaranteed you a visit from the Berkeley Trash Police... I shit thee NOT. And this was nearly ten years ago... in the Year of Our Lord 2000.

Things got better when I left Berkeley and moved out to San Ramon, where the City Fathers were less environmentally conscious... or had access to bigger landfills. Recycling in those parts of the Bay Area remained a matter of personal choice... and it might please those of you Gentle Readers who take this sort of thing seriously that I did separate my glass from the rest of the trash and put it in the conveniently-provided recycle bins.

But no more. I never even give this sort of thing a passing thought, except for when the subject rears its less-than-comely head... such as it did when Kris broached the subject. I cheerfully throw my cans and bottles away with a nary a guilt-twinge and am supremely glad for the opportunity to do so. Thank you, P-Ville and New Mexico. I love you.

Yep. Al Gore would hate me if he knew. So be it. We're known both by the company we keep and the quality of our enemies, right? If that's truly the case then I have the best of all possible enemies.

That's as true today as it was almost five years ago.  The only difference is it's a much shorter walk to the dumpster today.

In other news... we replaced our coffee pot with a Keurig machine and the manufacturer is awfully damned proud of their product.  I could have bought three Mr. Coffee machines for the price of that Keurig.  But then again, I HAVE bought three Mr. Coffee machines over the course of the last three years or so.  I guess it all works out.

Today Is NOT Going Well

Oh, Boy... do I EVER hate it when this happens...

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Saturday...

... got off to a rocky start.  I overslept, to begin with, and missed all but four minutes of the first period of the Wings' game.  So... I stumble in to the living room, switch on the teevee and go immediately to the kitchen to start the coffee, only to find my coffee pot has gone belly-up.  That's not a way to begin yer day, lemmee tell ya.  So we boiled water on the stove and carefully poured it through the grounds we'd already loaded in the pot and... Walla!  Coffee.  Finally.

So it'll be off to Wally-World later today to buy a new pot.  This one lasted 1,468 days... quite a bit longer than the 875 days of its predecessor.  (I know the exact number of days because (a) I blog stuff like this and (b) I go here and punch in the appropriate dates.

You'll note that's less than a year ago, but my coffee pot went belly up... again... this morning.  So we did that "boil and pour" thing again this morning afternoon.  My neighbor comes over just as I was pouring my first cup and asks if I have a drill he can borrow, to which I replied "Why, sure!"

So we go into the utility room and rummage around in our boxes, tool and otherwise, looking for a drill I couldn't find.  But I DID find a quart container of oil that had mysteriously ruptured and leaked about a half-quart all over the contents of one of the aforementioned boxes, leaving me with a world-class mess that has yet to be cleaned up.  I have NO ideer where my drill might be hiding and this troubles me.  I also hate to think about going into that box and wiping oil off the contents... motivation is severely lacking in that space.

I suppose Mama said there'd be days like this, but on a SUNDAY?  And Mom's Day, to boot?  Aiiieee.

Oh.  One more thing: my new coffee pot will NOT be made by Mr. Coffee.

The Mouths of Babes

Ramirez got that right. 

In other news... we're near a new "personal best" when it comes to sloth and indolence, what with pouring our first cup today at precisely 1252 hrs.  I really do hate it when this happens.