And People Keep Telling Me You're a Worthless Piece Of Slime
(Ten cents to anybody who can guess who said that and in what movie. Everybody struck out on "who was that dictator" the other day so, you've got stuff to make up)
Somebody led me to a little gauge that is supposed to tell you how much you could sell your blog for. Something about adding up a bunch of components through Technorati and accumulating some kind of value with the something something.
Well, you know, I'm game for that stuff, so I put in my URL and got a result.
I'm very proud of my accomplishment too. How much is your worth?
Whoever thought this up has a really twisted sense of humor. How does this work anyways? What is being measured? How do they place a monetary value on all this hard work? Will Jane marry John? Is the dam busted? What am I bid?
Up in Alaska there was this Eagle. And it was a little ambitious and it caused a power failure. In Alaska there. But we shouldn't be too worried because the National Weather Service said conditions in Tampa were not favorable for the formation of large balls of ice. Which, you know, that's something that we need to know.
But sometimes all you have to do is read the lead. Like this one that honestly said... "A 62-year-old grandmother who prosecutors said ran drugs to support her bingo habit has been sentenced to three years in prison and a $150,000 fine."
People seem to be doing this all over the place. I, myself, never understood it. It looks like you go over to Amazon, click on a bunch of things you like and then... what? People buy the things for you and send them over? What the heck is that all about??
Seems kind of screwy to me. And, since I'm not about to give out my home address (in full anyway) to a lot of passing strangers (I know that most of you are just waiting to be my sexual predator - you can't fool me), I guess I don't actually have to worry about getting anything from this list... though a couple things do look pretty cool. And I guess I'm not alone in my tastes. Some people who had this stuff even had something to say about it!
But the thing for the dogs and cats... what do they mean "used"?
There's this person who goes by the name of Ms. Chatty. Most of the time she's a harmless person and doesn't mean anybody any harm (I can say anything I want about her, she never comes over here - PAAA HAHA!). But every Thursday she runs a little bad meme for folks over at IT2M and - like an idiot - I participate regularly. Because... did I say I was an idiot?
I never seem to have good results with these Blogthings memes. Like for example the last one we did. I won't even go into it.
Well she's been doing these a while and at one point, because I run out of ideas just like YOU do pilgrim, I even tried to make them a regular thing here. The problem is... well... my results. I can't underSTAND it. For example when it asked "Who Were You In A Past Life?" I ended up being some guy in a doorway. The "European City I Belong In" was MINSK for God's sake!
So it should come as no surprise that, eventually, I stopped this stupid, wretched little thing and moved on with my life.
But she keeps posting them!
So I went in and tried another. I figured it would be harmless. How could I get whacked trying to find out what Language I Should Learn? Should be decent, right?
Well you'd be wrong.
You Should Learn Polabian
Oh dear! Polabian is a dead language. No one has spoken it since the 1700's. It even comes up as wrong spelling when you spell check the damn thing! Yet here you are, perfect for it. That's probably because you were some guy in a doorway in a past life and need to live in Minsk like a hermit. What the hell is wrong with you??
Sometimes I wonder, for example, just what would be the longest complete sentence in the entire history of the known world to be actually recorded somewhere in the annals of any language found in the lexicon of simple communication which humanity developed in so many shapes and sounds once he jumped out of the trees and teased the ear or taunted the eye of a hapless recipient with intelligible scribbles that could be translated through the natural synapses of the brain in its connection to the spiritual mind even though all the while we know that the reader or the listener is getting a secret, furtive enjoyment from the assault on his or her senses much like the slide of warm fingertips up a silky backside even if - on the face of it all - the recipient of the stimuli is making it seem as if that very same enjoyment looks like it is being ignored or has no measurable effect with the surety of certain deniability that even a veteran politician of arcane political machinations who was caught by a roving cameraman desperate for his Pulitzer lurking about the canyon-like catacombs of congressional hallways could manufacture to put the sniffing hounds of the workaday press off the scent of some large deal the language of which resembled a rolling, meandering shopping list of misdirection and deceit as long as your arm, twice the size of New Jersey, and strewn about the landscape of common sense like the clapboard walls and crumbled storefronts spread like mayonnaise over the bread that was the tortured countryside of Johnstown after the horrible flood of 1889 until it would take a professor of mathematics doubling as a lawyer with a doctor's degree and a working IQ of 752 to untangle the Gordian knot of mesmerizing words and voodoo subtleties only the ancient and experienced hands and minds of those who work long and feverishly at the craft of constructing oppressive laws that no one can understand without the need of a moral as well as a magnetic compass or decipher without the otherworldly aid of hard narcotics grown in the poppy fields of middle Asia, transported with stealthful care through the back alleys and mudwater tributaries of low slung shanties jutting out of some third world nightmare, only to be processed in narrow, dank spaces between ramshackle trailers in a parking lot in the wilds of Appalachia where the gates are covered by men with rifles and not even the bravest officer of the law twice decorated for bravery in the face of adverse conditions Jesus Christ Himself would avoid if He could, would go for fear of seeing the last moonrise over the mountains, wishing all it was was a harmless still making Moonshine in a copper kettle over hickory strips burning to a complex compilation of embers that remind the observer of the ornate puzzles of the very words that make the laws that confound the analysts that try to read the words and explain it for the masses so that no one can be abused by the spirit or intent of the law or be ramrodded all the way up to the Supreme Court accompanied by a flurry of obtuse verbiage the rolled and flowed and lilted from the silver tongue of a halfbaked charlatan bent on scamming the rights away from the common folk and setting up a hidden government of evil right in the midst of it all so that it was the appearance of freedom that was the single most recognizable trait of the dictatorship that would result despite the striving of good people bent on untangling the mass of words and setting them straight and parsing them out into a recognizable form that even the simplest person among us could read and hear and comprehend as easily as if it were a usual moment of natural breathing, in and out from clear lungs in a place where the air is crisp and free of the pollution men often make of language and ideas when they are determined to bend the meaning of a thing to their will and use complex phrases in intimidating context just so they can say that they, too, could run the table and clear the board of the only shred of common sense left to decent men, because it would be so interesting to actually KNOW what the longest legitimate sentence ever created was.
I'm going to fly in the face of all that is holy about the internet again.
I nudged you all once before about some good old reads, and am going all out this time.
A woman pilot's life growing up in Africa before the Second World War. A series of brutal treks through the deserts of the central Sahara to find a fabled city that seems to elude all who set out for it. Three men braving the bitter cold Antarctic seas in an open boat in an effort to find a whaling station to rescue dozens of their crew left stranded on an island of ice. A famous husband and wife team make a flight from New York to China by way of Canada in the era when radio towers were thousands of miles apart. A dubious hero making one more try at re-establishing his name in the era of musket and sail. An American original, who has just lost his last bid for the White House, takes on the exploration of an uncharted river deep in the Amazon, barely returns alive and is never the same man again. Two very different men set out to be the first to reach the South Pole; where one becomes a hero and the other never returns. An epic legend of an ocean voyage around the unknown world mere decades after man just convinced himself the world was round to begin with. And a marginalized junior officer goes into the haunting desert to foster unity amongst scattered and mistrustful Arab tribes and enlist their efforts in the war against Turkey.
They may not be as sexy as illustrated novels, and they may have the air of quaint low tech. This is old school if there ever was, and there is no doubt about it. But this was back when you couldn't google a satellite picture of a place - you had to go there to see it.
We can never have that era back, unless we project it into Space. But the books are still here.
Do yourself a favor and engage in a little time travel. These particular books are chosen because they are anything but dry non-fiction with dates and names and history with all the dust. The books listed here are exceptionally performed by their respective authors.
When they make the movie of your life, are you the lead or the loyal-black-friend who dies-in-the-end?
Thumb through your fanzines and let us know about your ridiculously inflated self-image your stand-in for this week's Roundtable at Prego's. No fair picking Bogart, I already have him and he's dead.
Now that would be something to see.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
The State Of The Other Union
You can watch the President of the United States make his State of the Union address tonight... or you can stay in cyberspace and find out what we've been doing in The Failed State of Squabash over these many months.
I've given a little hint about my dramatic turn to becoming a fascist, and even once held an impromptu poll to determine what style of dictator I should become. Oh well, anyway, I settled on this guy. A dime to anyone who can guess who he is.
It is great being a dictator. My Spin Doctors want to point out that my efforts are seen as having the country ruled by a mostly-benevolent dictator, who grants the populace the freedom to live their own lives and they don't want me to tell you the other part. So I won't.
Over the past year and a half, here are our major accomplishments...
A recent law has banned homes from having any more than one wheel. Prime real estate is devoted to wind farms and solar energy generators. Animal Liberationists are regularly jailed. The mob and the police have recently had numerous clashes in the back alleys of Squabash's cities due to the government's steadfast anti-casino stance. Rupert Bear is considered to be the most risqué TV program in Squabash.
The army's shirt ninjas are the most feared assassins in the region. School uniforms are compulsory, eight year-olds can be seen lighting up in public areas, artists are pillars of society. A spate of enforced closures has left 'Government FM' as the nation's only radio station. Nudity is frowned upon. A National Academy regulates grammar and usage. The lowest age at which one can marry has been recently lowered to 12. The government seizes all major gold finds.
Retirement homes are often fitted with luxurious suites. All-natural foods are becoming a major fad, but the mining industry is making inroads into environmentally sensitive areas. Crime -- especially youth-related -- is totally unknown, thanks to the all-pervasive police force. Squabash's national animal is the 3 Toed Magilla, which teeters on the brink of extinction due to widespread deforestation, and its currency is the stale bread crumb.
We are officially known as a "Father Knows Best State." And we are the dominant (uh... only) country on the continent of Eggs For Breakfast.
Visitors are more than welcome! Hell... they like it so much they disappear never want to leave!
Ever want to just completely shut up sometimes? I mean in the midst of a group or something, just shut it down? In a crowd, I get that way when a person is being totally unreasonable and, still, gets support from folks who are also participating. It puts me in a place where I think to myself - no point in this, just let it ride. Ever get that? I get that. I get it a lot, it seems. And I think the reason I get that a lot is that I never bothered to have a litmus test for people I associate with. I am a very lucky guy in the fact that I have friends from all backgrounds: liberal and conservative, artists and working folks, geeks and people who never did set the VCR. Lucky... but maybe not.
I probably should have a litmus test to run everybody through. I should probably run everybody through a test to make sure they believe everything I believe in, before I accept them into my company. That way I'll never have that throw-your-hands-up and sit-back-and-shutup mode I find myself going into from time to time.
The problem is whenever I try to figure out how it would go I end up thinking if I did that I'd have no friends at all. Because when I list them, it doesn't look like a lot of my views fall into a neat little box. So if I did have this litmus test people had to pass, I guess I'd never have ANY friends at all!
Gino over at Such Is Life has been an observer of this in me, at least online, for years now. Sooner or later - he will attest - I will get liberals, conservatives, and even some otherwise nonviolent moderates all worked up at me to the point where they don't want me around. I've been in scrapes where neither side would give me one little bit of peace.
Go figure...
I have never voted for him - nor could I. And I don't particularly like most of his policies or his conservative Christian friends, but I also have little patience with the kind of robots one meets who blame President Bush for everything under the sun, and six things around Mars. He's either dumb or an evil genius, people, he can't be both - and probably isn't actually either - but he's often labeled as both from the same person within three sentences made with the same breath.
I have no problem with free trade, open markets, and globalization. If people don't want to see that the result of all the trade agreements has been a net gain of jobs in the US, there's nothing I could tell them. But when I also say that free trade should be fair trade I get the same people who just cheered my last thing turning it to jeers. And once again everybody hates me. Wah.
I'm for saying it isn't any of the government's business what your sexual proclivities are unless you like to molest little kids; in which case I don't actually care if you die. Except I'm against the death penalty because I don't want the state to have that much power. If you're gay and want to get married it should be your business, not the government's. We also need to remember that sexual predators are heterosexual something like 99,999,999 out of 100,000,000 times. Think about it.
Anybody who thinks slavery wasn't followed by Jim Crow laws, lynchings and overt discrimination, or that institutional racism doesn't still exist in many places, is hiding their head in the sand. But the people who are the children of those who faced that kind of abuse need to get the idea that I didn't own them, nor did I ever own their long-distant relatives. No one is going to give them reparations for something that happened before any of us were here. We need to deal head-on with bigotry. We need to assume equality and work for equality and carry ourselves as if bigotry is an aberration, and work for justice. But there is no pendulum. You don't get to hate me just because I'm white, either. Bigotry has no color.
Quakers are supposed to keep their lives simple and do as little harm to the earth as possible. They are pacifists and I would have to say most people you will meet in a Meeting will be just the kind of Sandinista-loving, tree-hugging, anti-western ultra-lefty you could stereotype with little trouble. Just the kind of people I can't stand. And yet that's where I go every Sunday.
Starting to get the picture here? I can't possibly run a litmus test. So I think I won't.
But, if by chance I don't pass yours... c'est la vie. Then get lost.
Been a while since we added to our series. Based on the premise that just showing up to a "food-as-theatre" restaurant with the bossy nature of all your new money isn't enough, this series tries to persuade the reader to be at their best when amongst the public in order to obtain the maximum amount of enjoyment from what is, as we believe, one of the three or four top things to do in the world; going out to eat with friends.
We've touched on everything from the check, to doing the wine, to the proper care and treatment of servers. We've even touched a few times on behavior, mostly because I can't stress enough that life's what you make it.
And to that end I give you #13.
Reject the idea of expressing your bile to the company. If one's displeasure about an incident or a thing comes up during the course of the conversation it is perfectly acceptable to cover the subject with the use of wit. But at all possible times one should refrain from mentioning anyone personally known to the group in a negative or spiteful or hurtful way. In the first place one never knows if words get back to people, and in the second place you may not realize that someone present has a fondness for that person for their own reasons. Of course public figures are fair game, but we are talking about personal acquaintances.
And, finally, it is a classless act. Speaking of someone not present is not a problem if the subject is treated with affection, or compassion, or - once again - some measure of wit.
But remember, "wit" is supposed to be funny. It isn't supposed to just barely conceal a livid, unfading visceral hatred. That's kind of... um... hard to hide, shall we say?
Do this; in the course of the evening whenever - if ever - you feel the urge to fire a ballistic missile at someone everyone knows who is not "at table", conjure up the image of Rosie O'Donnell.
Now I ask you - is that what you'd want to look like? I didn't think so.
After several years of stomping my feet and crying lobbying for it, my company is finally arriving into the modern world. For eight years I have labored as the only sales guy in the place. We started as a $4mil company and are now close to $10mil, but with the housing market stagnant in most parts of the country and us making a HUGE move to a 143,000 square ft. facility (40 miles from my house), we hit a bump in the road this past year and even though I increased my input from 2005's 32% of sales to 2006's 37%, we sold less, as a company, in 2006 than we did in 2005.
The thing of it is that I travelled every other week for a while there. And on weeks I wasn't shooting all over creation in an airplane I was in the office at the behest of our General Manager; picking up calls, tracking orders, and taking on the lion's share of the customer service department's work because when people realized I was there they ASKED for me. After all, I'm the guy who fed them steak and handled their supply problem and helped their business with our stuff. They've met me. OF COURSE they'd want to talk to me instead of the customer service people (who are boring anyway) they've never met. So as long as I'm in the office, I would be sucked into the customer service vacuum. And guess what - less company sales (even though I increased my share). Ho hum.
Well - as those of you who own your own business will attest - the fact is that if your salesman isn't out selling / he is selling you out. I would explain why I have to get out there but the answer was always "we need you here in the office." I would explain how having one salesman take the whole country and do everything from the cold calling to the wining and dining top level customers has its limits. But they didn't see it. I would explain how, if I'm tracking the progress of people's orders and helping with freight issues I'm. not. selling. But it never seemed to sink in.
Until we got whacked by the house-building bubble.
Now all of a sudden we need another sales guy. We need to get RW out of the office. We need people out there. Let the office staff handle the office stuff. GET OUT THERE GOD DAMMIT! Oh! Uh... OK!
So Monday I start my new deal. I work from home. I get a company vehicle (a RAV4). I get an expense account. I make my own rules. My salary goes to 100% commission. That's exactly what I told them I wanted four years ago. Now - since it is their idea...... see what I'm saying?
I know I know... I don't normally inflict this kind of thing on my readers. RW is all jokes and fine dining and is his usual suave, debonair self. A jaunty, kicky, devil-may-care type of person. So I'm sorry for the lapse. But what the hell are blogs FOR if not for this kind of thing?
I will hit the ground running. I'm going to bring the company vehicle [(did I tell you it was a RAV4?) - PLEH! It's not a MINI (<--- click that, soldier) -] home tomorrow and Monday I see two people and Tuesday I see four and Wednesday I see three and then I drive to Missouri and then I get a plane trip and then I drive... I don't know. Anyway I'm now able to call my own shots.
I told the owner to go get himself a bucket to catch all this in.
And the second salesman comes in at the start of February. Good bye all you customers in the Northwest and Dixie (except for Virginia and Florida). Hello California-to-Texas and the Great Northeast!
One side note: The guy we're bringing on worked as a limited Rep. for us at one time a few years back. I remember he stopped by the mill one day and I asked him how things were going. he said "Oh, OK but, you've already talked to pretty near everybody there is. I don't see how I'm supposed to get anything new in here."
I remember nodding. "Yeah," I raised my eyebrows. "I wish you'd tell my GM that..."
So anyway... if this doesn't work out... anybody out there need a sales guy?
Art Buchwald - October 20, 1925 - January 17, 2007.
"Dying is easy. Parking is impossible."
"The best things in life aren't things."
"If you attack the establishment long enough and hard enough, they will make you a member of it."
"Have you ever seen a candidate talking to a rich person on television?"
"We seem to be going through a period of nostalgia, and everyone seems to think yesterday was better than today. I don't think it was, and I would advise you not to wait ten years before admitting today was great. If you're hung up on nostalgia, pretend today is yesterday and just go out and have one hell of a time."
"An economist is a man who knows a hundred ways of making love but doesn't know any women."
Arthur "Art" Buchwald (October 20, 1925 - January 17, 2007) was an American humorist best known for his long-running column in The Washington Post newspaper, which focused on political satire and commentary. He received the Pulitzer Prize for Outstanding Commentary in 1982 and in 1986 was elected to the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters.
Buchwald was also known for the Buchwald v. Paramount lawsuit, which he and partner Alain Bernheim filed against Paramount Pictures in 1988 in a controversy over the Eddie Murphy motion picture Coming to America. Buchwald claimed Paramount had stolen his script treatment. He won, was awarded damages, and then accepted a settlement from Paramount. read the rest...
Joe Wack, in full Hairshirt regalia, is parsing out the quintessential moments of popular culture. Music. Movies. Cake in the rain... wait a minute, that wasn't Joe.
What ARE these people talking about every Thursday? Well we don't parade around naked and we don't have fuzzy things we like. We're cool like that. And you know - you could host a Roundtable too, and get thousands upon thousands of extra hits every week. But you have to let us KNOW you want to join up. Except for reciprocity the rules are pretty loose. So let us know ok?
Take it on faith that it is no fun driving 40 miles to work in the morning and then 40 miles back. I know there's people who drive farther distances than that but we're talking two-lane road 5/6 of the way and there's salt, snow, ice, spray, drift and more ice. And more drift across the road. To make matters worse this was the week I was supposed to start working from home, but the company cars haven't arrived yet and the people who run the office seem to be having trouble cutting the string or something. "Don't start working from home until you get your car!" Okay so in the meantime I go into the office and get sucked into doing customer service like we're trying to get me AWAY from in the first place. How does this make sense? I think our General Manager has trust issues. Doesn't matter I've put 37% of the business on the table, if I get too independent I might screw off or something. Ooooo hooo hoo hooo hooo!
Crikey. Anyway where was I? Oh... ice and snow. Ice and snow and 40 miles one way and 40 miles back.
Most people I know really don't like to talk about their own death. I have to admit, though, that this is something that has simply never bothered me. The thought of my own death holds no threat to me. I am completely untroubled by it. After all, I already know that I am going to live to be 96. In fact, on the day I die, I am going to be 26 days away from my 97th birthday. That would be Tuesday September 27, 2050. 2050 is 43 years from now, and that is complete life-expectancy in some parts of the world. So how can I complain? In 43 years my grand-daughter will be 46 and there is a long-shot chance she will have a grandchild by that time. It's a slim chance, but not an altogether impossible one. I've known people who were grandparents in their 40's. Who knows? 43 years is a long time.
Since I am going to live to 96, and if my grand-daughter is a grandparent by then, that would mean that her grandchild would be my great-great grandchild. But even if that doesn't happen there's a pretty good chance, at least, that I will know my great-grandchild (my grand-daughter's child) fairly well. All things considered that person could at least be grown into adulthood by the time I'm 96. That would be pretty cool, anyway.
The other thing about that is that, by the time I actually die, I will have gotten to know people who - at some point of their lives - lived in the 19th, 20th, 21st and maybe even 22nd century. Anybody born by 2040, when I'll still be a young 87, has a pretty good chance of living until the calendar turns over to the year 2101; the first year of the 22nd century. Think of it! I knew someone who was alive when Russia was still run by Czars, and may know someone who will be alive when The Confederation of Central Asian States (CCAS LLC) is ruled by the Lothnian Star Chamber.
I may even get to see those damn flying cars they promised me but never delivered on. The bastards.
But anyway - live long and prosper! That's my motto.
And just in case you too would like to know how long you're going to live, just check in with the Death Clock yourself. Let us know how you're doing, k?
I'd say this calls for a nice Bailey's Original on ice. G'night, all.
It has been a very mild winter up to now. But the temperature has turned down in the last 24 hours.
My assistant really shouldn't be following me around with his camera. Naughty fellow.
(By request:"When I was a boy I was told the Lord fashioned us in his own image. That's when I decided to manufacture mirrors."
"Security, tranquility, a well deserved rest.... All the aims I have pursued will soon be realized."
"Life...................... is a state of mind.")
Friday, January 12, 2007
My 373rd Post...
...and I can't think of a thing. I want to sip my whiskey and ice and anticipate Mrs RW coming home from her work at the hospital, and then we can go get something to eat.
She called just now to say we should do it in the way of a celebration. She means that - finally - my company is going to get into the 21st century. I will be working from home when not on the road, hooked up via cell phone and God knows what. A company car and nearly unlimited capacity for travel plans.
Also a second salesman is (finally) being added. Up until this time I have had the entire country. Now just half remains - and even though I'm going to be donating half the customer base I created to the new guy I actually couldn't be happier. I've advocated for some help all this time as well.
So I have a glass of whiskey and ice and await my wife so we can go to dinner.
Now... wouldn't it be hilarious if Vincenzo was back there again?
Hmm....... I wonder why she suggested that place...
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Person Of The Year
Stephen thought that TIME was talking about him, and asks the musical question - why not you?
Um. I don't know... I thought it was me. I'm so confused...
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Looking Over At The Neighbors
Just... weird.
About a week before Christmas I looked out the front window one evening and saw three squad cars across the street. There weren't any lights flashing but the first one in the driveway looked like it got there fast before it stopped. Sort of sitting in the driveway on an angle, kind of. The other two were parked by the curb. Up at the top of the driveway two police officers were talking to - I believe - the young woman of the house while another officer was talking to a guy and his wife who had come by to visit earlier. I remember I saw them park in front of the house that afternoon - just... you know... coming over for a visit.
Now, I need to tell you that the guy who lives there - a young Polish immigrant guy, is a little bit odd from time to time. I remember when they moved in I went across the street and introduced myself and got a cursory grunt from him and his father (who I guess lives there as well), and in the two or three years since then I don't even get a glance.
This fall he went to trim back the tree in his front yard and made it look like a twisted fork with all kinds of open stubs pointing up and sideways. But the thing is he also cut off the top of his post lamp... or a limb hit it and broke it off... and there's been this post sort of just sticking up in the air with these wires coming out and stuff where his lamp light used to be.
And I remember the time we both drove off from our houses at the same time one morning and he rode three inches behind me then broke quick to his left and roared down the street - even in a neighborhood full of kids. One of them his. Now I'm kind of used to that... lots of people want to showboat when they see a MINI. No worries. But the kids and all!
So anyway there's all these police cars and people standing around in the cold talking, somewhat animatedly; palms up and out, shoulders scrunching, heads shaking back and forth. And I can't see the guy who lives there anyplace.
In fact I haven't seen him, or his racecar, since. I see what I suppose is his wife leaving in the morning putting their kid in the car and driving away from an otherwise empty garage, and I see her pulling back in in the evening. But no guy. No guy, no father of the guy, and an occasional older woman who looks like what I guess is the wife's mother.
I can put a couple of stories together but all I keep thinking is that he went nuts on his friends and his wife that night and they took him away, but it is odd that his car is gone ever since as well.
But, oh well I suppose. There you go. See what happens when you disrespect my car? Kharma debts, folks. Kharma debts...
All I can say is it is about time the UN was good for something.
AFRICAN UNION IN CONJUNCTION WITH THE UNITED NATIONS ORGANISATION WORLD BANK FACT-FINDING & SPECIAL DUTIES OFFICE
Office of The Director Special duties. London, United Kingdom TEL: + 447024037680 FAX: + 44 7092879832 Email: africanuniona@excite.com
Attention.
Sorry if our letter comes to you as a surprise as the African Union and United Nations Organization has created this unit to monitor all financial transactions emanating from Africa as the image of this beautiful continent that has all the wonderful natural resources has been battered due to the series of fraud reports from various countries round the world.
Sequel to this development the African Union enacted a law in 2005 which is called payment monitoring act of 2005 volume 5-13 that empowers the African Union to monitor all the financial transactions from all the parts of Africa. Our primary assignment is to inspect, verify and finally process release of your fund.
You are hereby assured of all necessary assistance from the African Union and United Nations Organization (AU-UNO). Please, we are pleading to you by confirming the total due which you are expecting to receive to avoid any mistake in our approval. And to enable us complete our verification process and advice you accordingly as we have appointed bank that will be of immense assistance to carry on your fund transfer because we don’t see how your payment will be delayed till date.
Note that this is in line with the procedure agreement signed by the African Union and United Nations Organization (AU-UNO) with all the heads of states and their governments to checkmate the rising cases of fraudulent transfers and scams from Africa to the western world.
You are advised to furnish this honorable institution all the necessary details concerning your fund to enable us carry out the proper investigation as we can not carry out our duties very efficient without your total co-operation as we are looking forward to make Africa better to carry on business and the information we need are listed below:-
(A) Amount to be received. (B) Your mobile telephone number and fax. (C) Your residence or company address. (D) A copy of your international passport or driver's license. (E) Your age and occupation.
The above data will enable us verify your payment for onward instruction to our paying bank to release your fund in your favour as the beneficiary. So, you are advised to contact Mr. Rob Anthony The Director Special Duties African Union and United Nations Organization on this telephone number: 447024033224 or email: robanthony@europe.com
Your urgent attention is highly imperative. Yours Faithfully Mr. Peter Williams. Consultant, Special Duties AU/UNO.
Except for the other thing I can say which is; all the people who lost money responding to these things are probably too stupid to deserve to have had any money in the first place.
Thieves and low-life scum as the originators always are, its the victims who really need a kick in the head even more. That may strike some as a case of blaming the victim, but... except... well yeah. It is. So?
One morning Joseph Nicéphore Niépce looked out of a workroom window of his estate near Chalon-sur-Saône, France. He was ready to try something that had never been successfully done before. It took eight hours of exposure, but when he had finished he'd created the world's first known photograph.
Difficult to imagine a picture taking that long. Eight hours. But for 1826, the entire thing was unheard of - or certainly, at least, unaccomplished until that moment in time. Well that's nice RW. Isn't that interesting. A little bloggy tidbit.
But consider - in 1826 Napoleon Bonaparte had only been dead 5 years. Thomas Jefferson and John Adams died that year. Beethoven was still writing his music. And, if the image looks a little ghostly to you, you might want to know that Edgar Allen Poe was only 17 at this point. Humans were leaving one age and entering another. But, no, Al Gore didn't invent photography! He was on the trail of the internet by then though.
And speaking of ghosts, why take your old LPs out and run them backwards looking for hidden messages when you can hear the oldest recording yet discovered. Made in 1878, (click to listen) Frank Lambert's Talking Clock is very rough around the edges, but it is what it is... a voice speaking to you from the 19th century. Just like my grandpa!
There are even more voices from the past, still talking and singing whether we listen to them or not.
And then there's this guy... an icon instead of an actual guy these days. All teeth and glasses and stereotype. Teddy Roosevelt is a caricature of himself as far as we can see anymore. But he really was a guy. Why, we even know exactly what he sounded like.
We'll get back to the usual stuff in due time. My old friends know I fly off into these fancies now and again.
Go around the page running your pointer over links to other web sites. Go ahead! Pretty cool... for an old guy.
Friday, January 05, 2007
It's Here!
I don't expect a lot of help on this one gang. Just a note to say I finally got my Rosalia De Souza CD today........!
Yeah... I thought so.
Well I will make a bet that only a certain percent of the blogohexdyhrosphere knows anything about BossaNova and maybe less know about Rosalia. It would be OK... she is only now starting to get some notoriety but see... Bossa is pretty obscure and doesn't have a great following. Most think it is like background music to a dinner over at the house with friends (and that would do very well). But I think it is great driving music or just anything. Why... you could go over here and get some samplings (don't worry, even if you buy it I get zilch), or just cast around on this blog for a recently posted video.
Rosalia's voice is soft and perfect for the style. And just quirky enough to think "Oh my God she's going to miss that note!" And then she pulls it out. Sometimes breathy, most times she sounds like she's sharing an inside joke.
And that's all well and good but, I think the person who came up with how the world packages CD's needs to have their (appropriate genitalia) sliced off.
Either that or somebody can make a FORTUNE inventing a tool that can slice open the airtight, cement-bonded, plastic containers CDs come in. I swear they are made specifically so that you break the plastic or ruin the CD in the process. Anyway they don't make it easy.
Oh well. I'm going to put the CD on and imagine I'm in Ipanema.
Adam did a meme on his blog that was one of the better ones I've seen because instead of the usual call-and-response the reader is asked his or her opinions on the person whose blog they are visiting. Their chance to give him the gas! Well... I at first thought to put it up and then I wondered if it fit and whether or not the steam was gone out of it. Some of Avitable's readers stop here once in a while and they already did one of these. So I had it up, then I took it down. Then this...
What happened to the meme? It showed up in Bloglines, but it's not here. I wanted to fill it out, too!
I was going back and forth on it. Not sure it fits. Killed it this morning. I dunno...
C'mon, put it up there. See what people have to say!
The juice may be over to the point where few answer (they did yours!), but if you say so...
So here goes...
Concerning RW... 1. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
2. Am I lovable?
3. How long have you known me?
4. When and how did you first find my blog?
5. What was your first impression?
6. Do you still think that way about my blog now?
7. If I was an ice cream flavor, which would I be and why?
8. What makes me happy?
9. What makes me sad?
10. What song (if any) reminds you of me?
11. If you could give me anything what would it be?
12. Do you consider me a friend?
13. How often do you visit my blog?
14. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn’t?
15. Would you make a move on me?
16. Describe me in one word.
17. Do you feel that you could talk to me about anything and I would listen?
18. What do you like most about me/my blog?
19. What do you dislike most about me/my blog?
Space Invaders
Sereena only allows you to get close under certain conditions. It will go better for you if you are a glass elevator rather than a pair of shoes. Unless the shoes have stickers. But no movie theatres, except maybe if you are certain cartoons.
We left work on December 21 2006 and returned today. 11 days of personal bliss. I drank a lot of champagne, Madeira, Bailey's, wine, whiskey, beer, and had a few bits of food along the way. I celebrated Oscar Levant's birthday and became a momentary celebrity on the Yahoo Discussion Boards for my contrarian views on Jones Soda. I started Hemingway's For Whom The Bell Tolls (which is a long story but my rediscovering Hemingway is the fault of Sadie and brian). I had my family all around me on Christmas Day. I made my traditional steak-and-champagne dinner for Mrs RW and myself on New Year's Eve. I was free to indulge my reading bug and my football bug. I drank a lot. I repeated myself some. I blogged. I read blogs. I won an eBay auction. I played "castle" with my granddaughter. I went faithfully to Meeting on Sunday like a good boy and gave them my donation for the coming year. And I had ham sandwiches on rye bread with LOTS of horseradish. And I reinstated my commitment and my money to the Chicago Community Loan Fund. I went to bed early and woke up early and my days off were loooooong and quiet and fun and I had a lot to drink now and then.
So when I come into the office I really don't want six people asking me all the variations on the same inane question as if this was something they just came up with that has never been asked before. "How was your New Year's?" or "How was your Christmas?" or "How was your vacation?" How the hell do you think it was, shit-for-brains??
What do you think I'm going to say...?
Oh it was like a three month old baby swung by the ankles and smashed against a post. It sucked. It was dull. I had a horrible time and while you're at it go drown yourself.
Why people persist in asking stupid questions like that is beyond me. Oh, wait, I know why they ask. They don't ask because they want to know what you did, they ask so you can ask THEM how their week off was. Then they can stand there and BORE YOU TO DEATH about this relative and that faux pas and how many whatever the hells it takes to fill a whatthefuck.
How was your New Year's?
Whatever happened to "hi"? Whatever happened to not being a freaking ROBOT and talking like you have a faulty circuit in your head once in a while and coming up with an original thought and express it?
I hate going back to work after 11 days of goofing off.
