Sketchy Santas

Merry Christmas, everybody! Here are some hilarious pictures of sketchy Santas. *shudder*

Jenny Gets Gold!

My buddy Jeff and I attended the Special Olympics equestrian event today to cheer on his sister Jenny. It was wonderful to see her face light up when she saw Jeff. I think it's really cool that she always greets me with a big smile and a bright "Hi Donnie!"

Jenny was very proud of her gold and silver medals. Me too.

Aquifer

I recently used the word "aquifer" in a conversation. The person with whom I was speaking stopped me mid-sentence and accused me of making up a word. I was honestly puzzled, so much so that I had absolutely no idea about which word I was being accused of creating.

Aquifer.

Be honest, please. Consider this a scientific study. Do you know what aquifer means, and if not then do you think I'm an asshole for using it in polite discourse?

Life Is Short

Mortality has always been a fascination for me. My good friend Jeff's unexpected passing is yet another kick in the ass.

Y'see, my dad died at a relatively young age of 54. I had seen him just two weeks before he died. Interestingly, I beat him at a game of chess for the first time of my life that day. It was such a monumental occasion that we took a picture of it. A "Master" (not a grand master although close in the rankings), he made me play at least once a week since I was old enough to speak. My parents were divorced when I was seven years old, but the chess bug was well situated in my system. I've given it to my sons too.

I was with my mom as she died a couple of years ago. My grandfather and namesake, Don Sr., died when I was 14. I took care of my Nana as she died a slow and horrible death from cancer, colostomy bags and morphine and all that shit. I never knew my biological grandmother on my father's side. And I just can't talk about Papa. People who know me will give me a pass on this. He was for all intents and purposes my dad.

There's nobody left on the totem pole higher than me. With Jeff's passing I'm left without a person from whom I can seek sage wisdom and guidance. That's it. It's just me now. It's scary.

Getting back to my friend Jeff. I just spoke with him a few days ago. Things were well. He was kicking ass and taking names, starting up yet another non-profit organization. He bragged about his son Jarrod and how well he was doing in school. Business as usual with Jeff. He asked me to write a LinkedIn recommendation and of course I did so. All was right with the world.

Then he's gone in the blink of an eye at 48.

This blog post is wavering off point. Yes, mortality. It's always been fascinating to me. Here it is. We're all blips on the scene of history, and it makes me chuckle about those with whom I interact with an ego. Listen, I've been fortunate enough to meet lots and lots of celebrities, actors, athletes, and politicians. None of them will be remembered in 50 years.

Guys like Jeff won't be remembered either. Nor will my dad. Nor will I. And that's okay, it really is. My point is that we're all here for a short time, and nobody really gives a shit unless they love you.

So here's my unsolicited advice. Tackle your kid(s) and smother them with kisses until the pee their pants while trying breathlessly to beg for mercy. Donate blood. Let somebody merge ahead of you even though they're driving a BMW and being a prick by nudging forward. Have a drink at 11:00 in the morning just 'cause you want to have a drink. Look at the trees sway in the breeze and feel peace. Go to Punta Cana. Learn how to ride a motorcycle. Tell your co-worker that you appreciate what they do for the company. Engage in a conversation with somebody at Dunkin' Donuts this morning. Tell them that they look nice today and wish them a good day at work.

I already miss Jeff. A lot. Of course not as much as his wife and son miss him, but I'm talking about me. I'm being selfish here.

We're here for a very short time. Make it count.

Enough preaching.

An Everyday Hero of Whom You've Never Heard

Yesterday I received news that my friend, mentor, and a hero to countless others across the country passed away. Whether Jeff was launching yet another non-profit organization to help people in need, drumming up support for a cause with me by poking his finger into the chest of a corporate bigwig, asking his son Jarrod about the lessons learned in school that day, or letting loose with me for some well-deserved fun in Las Vegas or at an Ohio State football game amongst a throng of a hundred thousand college students ... Jeff did everything at 110%. Everything. That was Jeff in a nutshell. He was either sleeping or was full speed ahead.

He and I had many adventures together both in business and regular life. I miss him already. Godspeed, friend.

Jeff Hay
1961 - 2009

Arguing

I never fight with anybody. Ever. Ask anybody. It's the polar opposite of my nature. I tend to listen, say "okay," and then absorb it.

Well ... tonight I had some harsh words with someone I love. While everything ended up with the usual exchange of "I'm sorry," it left me a reeling, and I can't sleep.

Sometimes I wish I were a testosterone-laden asshole that didn't give a shit. But I think I'm a regular guy with regular feelings. And yes, I realize that saying that kicks me out of the Man Club.

The person with whom I argued tonight ended up saying that they simply were in a foul mood and struck out at me. [Olly olly oxen free . . . if the person with whom I argued tonight is reading this, then go f* yourself. This is my blog.] We talked about it after the fight, and everything is okay. It really is. I'm done with it and all's well.

Here's the point. Why do we strike out on those whom we love most? An example -- my sister and I have told each other many times that we hate each other, but don't for a second think that we are not each others' most ardent defenders in a time of need. Sometimes I hate her with a passion, but I love her with an inexplicable deepness -- unbreakable and until the day I die. I would literally take a bullet for her, but then tell her to go f* herself with my dying breath.

I believe we sometimes strike out against the ones we love because there's a big, fat, ugly zit on all of our backs. Someone we love (really love) has to be the one to squeeze it and relieve our discomfort. That's a very special person.

For those very very very few people for whom I have love, I'm happy to squeeze your big and disgusting zits.

You know who you are. All seven of you.

Abandoned Places

Long time readers of my blog (and especially my previous blog) will know that this subject fascinates me. I don't know why, but I have a deep desire to see abandoned, unpopulated, out-of-the way places across the globe.

Imagine my glee when I stumbled across this post on Unique Scoop. I can't spare the time to write more about this subject, as I have to go back to browsing.

Your Bluetooth Tattoo

Would you consider getting a bluetooth enabled sub-dermal device implanted into your arm? I think I would. Maybe. I don't know. It creeps me out a bit, but it's also supercool.

This Bluetooth device is permanently implanted beneath the skin. It is flat, flexible, silicon and silicone. Tightly rolled when it's inserted through a small incision, and then unfurled beneath the skin, it lies benignly between skin and muscle.

Through the same incision, two small tubes are attached from the implanted device to an artery and a vein. A coin sized blood fuel cell in the implant converts the blood's glucose and oxygen from the artery to the electricity required to power the device. Used blood returns through to the vein. The digital device's power source is the same as for all of the biological components in the body.

The surface of the implant that faces the underside of the skin is covered with a matrix of field producing pixels that activate a matching matrix of pixels tattooed onto the surface of the skin above the implant. The field penetrates the skin to drive the tattooed display, while the skin continues to provide its function of sealing the body from the world. The surface of the implant is also a touch screen control, pressed through the skin. Rather than ink, tiny clusters of microscopic spheres are injected, like tattoo ink, into the skin. Each sphere is filled with a field sensitive material that changes from clear to black when a field in the matrix is turned on.

This device communicates wirelessly with the world as well as with other devices implanted in the same body. It is always present, always on, but out of sight and non-obtrusive. It also continually monitors for many blood disorders, alerting the person of a health problem: A human version of the check engine light. Product styling is the latest and coolest downloaded display interface showing on any tattoo on the block. This product is waterproof and it is powered by pizza.

Mr. Perfect

Congratulations to Mark Buehrle of the Chicago White Sox. He just became only the 18th pitcher in history to throw a perfect game. No hits, no walks, no base runners. Perfection.

I guess Gabe should have hit it about five inches deeper, but I know that Buehrle will be treating DeWayne Wise to a steak dinner tonight. Wise robbed Gabe by making an awesome above-the-wall catch, robbing Gabe of a home run and saving Buehrle's perfect game.

My Big Tough Dog

A moment ago I glanced out the front door. No shit, I swear ... two rabbits, six turkeys, and a groundhog were all having a party on the lawn. Where was my local fox? Did he not get the invitation?

While the below video was taken a couple of days ago, it illustrates my dog's "toughness." Sarcasm intended and with emphasis. Based solely on Lindsay's tail wagging, I think she merely wanted to be friends with Mr. Groundhog.

This happens almost every day. I especially get a kick out of watching Lindsay trying to catch up to a deer that's nesting in the tall weeds next to my house. Sure, Lindsay is half greyhound, but she gets left in the dust with the lateral jig-jags that the deer do to her though the forest.

For matter of record, Lindsay does not like the local coyotes. She runs inside, tail between her legs, and whimpers whenever she hears the yip-yip-yipping of the pack.

Bizarre Craigslist Offerings

Since you're here over teh Interwebs, you already know about Craigslist. I haven't bothered to research whether or not there's an entire website devoted to bizarre advertisements, so mayhaps this is redundant. Whatever.

I'm an addict. Once in a while there are some truly amusing listings. Here's one such example:

Free mean rooster. Hi there... my friend just emailed me that her rooster is getting mean and she needs him out of there, probably only good for a slow cooker, but anybody willing to help for free... would be appreciated. thanks

Of all the weird ads I've seen, my favorite has to be the one offering 1/3 of a package of coffee filters. Sure, it's free. But then again, would you drive even a mile to pick up 18 coffee filters which cost 99¢ per hundred?

Bohemian Rhapsody (Annoying Voices Edition)

"Actor Rick Miller performs Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody as '25 of the most annoying voices in the music industry.' From the 2001 Just for Laughs Festival in Montreal."

Brilliant. Well done, sir!

Speed? Check. Instincts? Check. Smarts? Nope.

My dog Lindsay is built for speed. Her veterinarian opines that she's half lab and half greyhound.

Anybody who has met Lindsay will describe her as painfully shy, sweet, and, well, the perfect companion. She loves kids, other dogs and even cats. The only time she ever displays instinctual "hunter" behavior is when she spies a squirrel, turkey, deer, or raccoon in our back yard.

Sometimes while I'm tapping away at my computer she will abruptly stand up and cock her head to one side. We both know what this means. She's heard something outside. She then silently creeps to the always-open back door, looks out over her domain, and watches intently. Waiting for what she thinks is the perfect moment, she eventually charges like a bullet toward her quarry.

Unfortunately for Lindsay, she's not the most adept in altering her tactics mid-hunt. She'll often "tree" a squirrel in the glorified bush at the center of the back yard. Instead of paying attention to where her target has fled, she just barrels forward on an imaginary train track she has built in her mind at the point in time when she first spotted her prey.

Forgive the poor quality of the cell-phone video example below this post. You cannot see the squirrel at the base of the aforementioned glorified bush, nor that it immediately scrambled into safety of the branches instead of risking a sprint across open ground in an attempt to reach the higher canopy of the forest at the edge of the yard.

However, you can clearly see Lindsay's unbelievable acceleration and apparent lack of strategy. To her credit, at least she sort of veers to port once she realizes the squirrel is no longer where she thought it would be. Hey ... she gave herself a 50/50 chance guessing a lateral direction to charge, right?

25 Awesomely Bad Pop Culture Tattoos

I received a link from a buddy to Maxim Magazine's 25 Awesomely Bad Pop Culture Tattoos. What were these people thinking?

Shame on You

Hold onto your hats.

I can't keep it inside anymore. This started out as a two-sentence response to something I read tonight.

And now it's evolved into a tome. This post exceeds 10,000 words -- crushing any previous post -- but I hope emphasizes how strongly I feel about how badly our society has gone off track.

Someone I hold dearly posted a truly genuine and touching plea to contact politicians about the draconian cuts to a program within the Massachusetts budget, and how it will directly impact my friend's family. Aside from this friend, there are another two other people in my little universe who will be touched by this and similar cuts.

I get it. I really do. And thereby my gut reaction was one of sadness. Then after a moment of contemplation I got frustrated, disappointed and eventually angry.

While I wanted to reply in the comments section of the blog which instigated these thoughts, I feared my words would have been misconstrued as unsympathetic. But nothing could have been farther from the truth. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought "shame on you."

Yes, you. Shame on you.

It doesn't matter in which state you live, but especially Massachusetts.

It's got nothing to do with any one particular issue. None at all. In fact, you pick a subject. Go ahead. Name it. Any subject about which you care. Whatever. The environment, education, the arts, transportation, whales, green energy, cancer research, homelessness .... anything. It's not the point at all.

After reading the blog I felt a crushing disappointment about how we, collectively, as citizens of Massachusetts are about to hurt people that need, deserve, and depend on the support which our society provides.

It is your fault.

Yours.

Shame on you. It's my fault too. I haven't been as vociferous as I could have been.

It's all of us.

We continue to elect -- seemingly mindlessly and without effort nor care -- power hungry politicians that continue this spiral of shame. If we have reason to complain, then each and every one of us need to look in the mirror and accept responsibility. For some reason we have failed to force politicians to accept term limits and forgotten the Jeffersonian concept that our governmental representatives should be gentlemen farmers.

You are now reaping what you've sewn.

Let's face it. Last-minute pleas for assistance are futile and are a waste of our collective political energy. Borrowing my teenage son's words, "don't hate the player, hate the game." Get involved before your interests are on the cutting block. Use that political time to make a difference.

[Author's note ... the person giving me the creative spark to write this post has been an absolute monster about being involved and engaged on a public and governmental level. I'm talking to the rest of you who get pissed off from time to time.]

So what exactly is my point, you ask? Glad you did. My point is that I'm thinking about my experiences growing up and now raising kids in Massachusetts. The services with which we are provided today were always available (for the most part), but without the gnashing of teeth over budget woes. Massachusetts taxes are relatively in line [23rd in tax burden at just under 10%] with other states, yet today more than ever you'll hear citizens use the term "Taxachusetts."

My son wants to participate in high school soccer next year. While I am biting my tongue so hard that it's bleeding about his choice of sports, that's fine. Maybe I'll get him a tattoo and a motorcycle for his impending 17th birthday. I digress.

Here's what really pisses me off, and I'm sorry for that grammatical train wreck. It's going to cost me hundreds of dollars for him to KICK A FRICKIN' BALL AROUND ON A FIELD. Are you kidding me? Seriously? Really?

I sincerely want to know. Please tell me why this should cost me hundreds of dollars, and why this used to be an included portion of my town's educational program merely three years ago.

There are literally millions of people around the world who are, at this very exact moment, kicking anything even remotely spherical toward an ambiguously-shaped square representing a goal. For free. For the fun of it. And I have to pay $250 to watch a bunch of 17-year-old boys kick each other in the shins over a shiny new Nike soccer ball? Really? Are you f*ing kidding me? I am f*ing shocked and wicked pissed off.

Goodness gracious ... I just realized that I don't have the self-control to hold back what will surely be the Old Grumpy Man persona to which I swore I would never succumb.

Where did Massachusetts go so wrong? How did we spiral so wildly out of control? Why are paying for all these things which used to be just accepted as part of life "back in the day?"

I now pay $400 a year for garbage disposal (and that's not for curb-side pick up .... I have to f*ing bring it there myself and pretend to f*ing "recycle" under the watchful eye of the uni-brow Dump Witch). That used to be included in my taxes until a few years ago. I have to pay $300 for my kid to ride the f*ing bus to school. That used to be included until a few years ago. But what a bargain at $500 for two kids to take the bus! Yippee!

This year I'll have to pay $50 to swim in our town's lake. That is perhaps the most ridiculously infuriating slap in the face. It's a God-given right to swim in any lake you'd like, wherever you are in the world, never mind the fact it's a lake in my own damn town. Thoreau is surely rolling over in his grave. FFS ... I have to pay to let my kids splash around in a glorified septic tank?!

I'm now paying $7,000 a year in property taxes on a $350,000 house in 2009. It was $4,700 in 2003. Where is all this f*ing money going? I always vote "NO" loud and clear on spending increases. F*ing learn how to live within a budget, people!

Hey, it all adds up to only $200 a month. So what's the big deal?

But listen to me very, very carefully. Please. I beg you to keep this in mind when you step into a voting booth, answer a pollster's phone call, and for all of humanity's sake before you write to an elected public official.

$200 a month is a LOT of money to your fellow citizens. A lot. I dare venture that I should have said "most" instead of "a lot."

It's okay if you just squinched up your face and thought "Really? It's only $200!" Really, it's fine. It's not derogatory. Good for you! Really. I'm not kidding nor being sarcastic. High five. Seriously, I wish I were you.

Deval Patrick is perhaps the worst governor in the history of Massachusetts. Don't even get me started about all of the corrupt groupie/zombie "yes sir" Democrats on the Hill. Tax. Spend. Make cuts on things that really matter. Go ahead. That leaves more money for our esteemed Governor Patrick "wiring a $175,000 job for an early political supporter," although the position had been deemed unneeded and thereby vacant for over a decade.

Tax some more, but don't call it a state-wide "tax." Make more painful cuts on things that really matter, which impact the quality of life for families. Let's lower support to the towns! Great idea! Spend some more on things to keep the Democrats in control of the purse strings. Bribery and bra stuffing. Influence peddling. Toll collectors earning $90,000. More taxes! Wheeeeeeeee! Who cares about anybody outside of the elite Route 128 belt ... let's face it ... they're all hicks and farmers. They are "those whom we support with our incomes [in metro Boston]."

Oooh! Here's another good idea while we're spending more money! Let's do a study to support the concept that we should, in our almighty moral authority, make it illegal for people to enjoy tasty food prepared with trans fats! Thank you, Mr. and Ms. Stalin for saving me! I don't mind about spending the estimated $250,000 to reach the conclusion that I'm too stupid to take care of myself while dining in Brookline!

Tax some more. Spend some more. The Massachusetts Turnpike Authority. $150,000 "board members" and their 90% retirement plans ... at the ripe old age of 42 ... for the rest of their lives. Tax. Spend. Make cuts on things that really matter. Multi-million dollar high schools built in the lock-step methodology of the "McMansions." Tax. Spend. Heck, we'll throw a million your way because we think you're cute out there in Shrewsbury.

Here's a f*cking recommendation. Make cuts on things that don't matter. Put that money toward what the citizens say are important. Let us decide how to spend our own money. We are the people, we are the government, we won't be ignored like children as the Massachusetts House of Representatives would like us to be.

I think I just answered my own question about how we've gone so wrong. The citizens of Massachusetts need to throw a bucket of cold water over their heads and realize why we've (until recently) historically elected some great Republican governors. With a nearly unanimous Democratic House of Representatives and a sickeningly incompetent Democratic governor, things are becoming a mess and getting worse every day. A one-party system just doesn't work.

Regardless if you're a life-long Democrat, Republican, Independent, Socialist, Libertarian, or whatever ... this is a serious problem. I vote. I vote independently, intelligently, and with my kids' future in mind. I dare you to say the same.

Let me solve everybody's woes and worries right here, right now. Set a tax rate of X%. That's what we have available to spend. Spend it however we the citizens decide to spend it (since our Democratic representatives choose to ignore and over-ride our votes regarding taxes, this might take a bit of force for them to understand). And then that's that. There is no more money. None. Deal with it.

Now that it's been settled .... let's take a look at our needs. Do you know of a particular program which would benefit people like my friends? Who need our collective help? Yes? Great! Call your representative and your senator. Tell them to fund these programs by cutting the waste.

If you're just reading this and then close the window while thinking "hmmm ... that was interesting .... I'm going to Dunkin' Donuts now," well then go f*yourself. No wonder there's a sad and shocking series of budget cuts looming on the horizon. Our money's being pissed away because the majority of Massachusetts citizens don't give a shit and vote for the name they know instead of the causes about which they care.

Shame on you if you're one of them.
Good for you if you actually care.
-- Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

Good job, sir! You punched me well.

Stan Grossfeld/Boston Globe

This is a picture of New York Islander Tim Jackman and the B's Shane Hnidy going at it. I had to laugh about the quote from Jackman. "It was a good battle and a good rest for five minutes. He said, 'Good job,' and I said, 'Good job to you.' It was a tough battle."

Huh. How about that? Personally, I don't think my buddy LB would say such a thing right after beating the crap out of somebody. But I'd betcha he'd buy his opponent a beer after the game.

Who Played "Uncle Owen" in Star Wars?

Obscure questions such as this often arise whilst you're downing a pint with the lads and lassies at a pub. Of course it's likely that the correct answer will determine who pays for the next round of drinks.

Do you know about Cha Cha? Yes, Cha Cha. It's a ridiculous name, but a brilliant web and text service. Enter your question on the web, or send a text from your cell phone to "chacha" (242242) and within a minute or two, presto — you have the answer. It's free of charge.

Keep in mind that the answers may not be correct and/or defendable. It all depends on how you ask your question. Is it factual or opinion? If you text Cha Cha the following message "Who played 'Uncle Owen' in Star Wars," you'll very quickly get the reply "Phil Brown."

If you ask "What's more reliable: a belt-driven or shaft-driven motorcycle drivetrain," you'll get an answer which is ambiguous and, well, worth the money you paid for it: "Shafts are less prone to break, but belt driven had better durability and replicability."

Hmmm. Clearly the cubicle drones (and at-home workers) for Cha Cha are instructed to answer quickly and not accurately. I understand the business model. For the record, shaft drives are proven to be over 372% more durable than belts, and replaceable in less than half the time than a belt. *cough* But then again, I'm biased because Val is a shaft-drive bike.

Okay ... I'm wrapping up this post. Put "chacha" (242242) into your cell phone's address book. When the gauntlet has been thrown down onto your local pub's bar, excuse yourself for a bathroom break to "think about it," ask Cha Cha while facing the urinal, then swagger back to your competitor with confidence.

Free Venom Energy Drink

Who knows? Maybe it's tasty. Even if it's disgusting, you can't beat free. Get your two bottles by clicking on this link. And of course you already know you should use a Mailinator address to protect your inbox from SPAM.

Yet Another Reason the Red Sox Are Awesome

If you don't live in Boston, then it may be difficult to understand how deeply connected a sports team can be with the populace of a geographic region. Read that carefully. Not fans-to-team, but team-to-fans.

I think that most people in Green Bay (football) or Buffalo (hockey) get it. To a lesser extent, there are certainly respectfully dedicated franchises and fans -- the Yankees in New York, the Lakers in Los Angeles, and the Cowboys in Dallas come to mind. I'll add to the list the Ohio State Buckeyes in Columbus to include collegiate sports.

But even in these cities, there are many people in the area who just don't care about their team.

Not so in Boston.

I postulate that there is no other city in America that is connected to a sports team like Boston is to the Red Sox, and how connected the Red Sox are to Boston. If you were to conduct a random survey here, I'd bet that more than 80% of respondents would say that they are a fan, and better than half could tell you how many games ahead/behind the Red Sox are in the American League East.

Some major league players wither under the intense spotlight of playing for Boston. They find the scrutiny annoying. They want to play, take a paycheck, and go home. You simply can't expect do that here in Boston. Players know and must deal with the fact that the Red Sox are often the lead story in our newspapers and on our television newscasts. For cryin' out loud, even the members of the Celtics, Bruins, and Patriots get it.

Fenway has been sold out for every single game in the last six years. Six years! Even when it's a midweek game and the competition is a crappy bottom-feeding National League team, there are no tickets available.

I humbly offer the following screen shot of the e-mail I received tonight as another example of how connected the Red Sox are to New England. It's like a family. John Henry, Tom Werner, and Larry Luccino understand. While I don't know these guys personally (obviously, or I'd be able to afford tickets), I'd like to believe that they aren't merely brilliant businessmen but truly comprehend what the Sox mean to the millions of citizens of Red Sox Nation.

They get it. So do all the people in this video clip.

Creepy, Yet Fascinating Pictures of Hitler

LIFE Magazine's "Adolf Hitler, Up Close"

Between 1936 and 1945, German photographer Hugo Jaeger was granted unprecedented access to Adolf Hitler, traveling and chronicling, in color, the Fuhrer and his confidants at small gatherings, public events, and, quite often, in private moments. Here, and in several other galleries on LIFE, we present never-before-published and rare photographs from Jaeger's astonishing -- and chilling -- collection.

Jaeger's story -- and the story of how LIFE came to own his photographs of Hitler -- is nothing short of astonishing. In 1945, when the Allies were making their final push toward Munich, Jaeger found himself face to face with six American soldiers in a small town west of the city. During a search of the house where Jaeger was staying, the Americans found a leather suitcase in which Jaeger had hidden thousands of color photo transparencies. He knew he would be arrested (or worse) if the Americans discovered his film and his close connection to Hitler. He could never have imagined what happened next.

The American soldiers threw open the suitcase that held the Hitler images. Inside, they found a bottle of cognac that Jaeger had placed atop the transparencies. Elated, the soldiers proceeded to share the bottle with Jaeger and the owner of the house. The suitcase was forgotten.

After the Americans left, Jaeger packed the transparencies into 12 glass jars and buried them on the outskirts of town. In the years following the war, Jaeger occasionally returned to his multiple caches, digging them up, repacking, and reburying them. He finally retrieved the collection for good in 1955 -- 2,000 transparencies, all of them, amazingly, still in good shape -- stored them in a bank vault, and in 1965 sold them to LIFE. To date, only a fraction of the Jaeger collection has been published.

To see larger versions and read explanatory captions of the pictures in the below viewer, click this link.

Time Out

Doesn't everybody own the Dave Brubeck Quartet masterpiece "Time Out?"

Imagine my surprise when today on NPR they had an interview with the ancient Dave Brubeck regarding the 50th anniversary of the album's release. It was about his revolutionary merging of jazz and blues.

Something meaningless like that. Whatever. Oh, and it was also about him being the first musician to make a huge meteoric crater on the scene by utilizing 5/4 time.

I seriously hope that you get my sarcasm.

Joe Morello is a god amongst percussionists. Please forgive me, Steve Gadd, but you'll probably agree ... you're a demigod, so it's cool. Joe was revolutionary. Awesome. Brilliant. Wonderful.

Here's my point. The tone of the interview was one which led listeners to believe that "Time Out" is a long-forgotten album.

Bullshit.

Everybody knows Take Five. Everybody.

I encourage you to wrap your ears 'round the best song on the album, Pick Up Sticks. Listen to Joe doing what he does best. Listen to Gene Wright walking up and down the stand-up bass. Seriously. Can you think of someone else from the era that played like that? Well, I can think of two, but not in jazz.

Click the links to these songs and feast your ears. Then again, clicking these links is pointless because you already own this album.

Right?

Ye Olde Aeronautics

You already know how much I dig history (both recent and ancient), and also that I'm a technology buff.

You may also know that getting a pilot's license is one of the three things remaining on my Top Ten List of Things to Do before I Die. Aeronautics rock. I want to line up a runway while I'm skewed by a 20 MPH crosswind and have to crab it in. Yep. I do.

Anyway, sorry for the tangent. CNET posted a really nifty collection of photographs and blurbs about the 1950s X15.

I often think that I should have been born 'round 1930 and hitting my stride in the late 40's. What a time to have been alive! Men wore suits and hats, women wore skirts and heels, and it was the golden age of opportunity in America. *sigh*

Scott Crossfield must have had huge cojones.

Ego sum superbus meus filius.

Here's a self-explanatory image. My son is wicked pissah smaht. I'm now officially afraid to have him determine the accuracy of the Latin phrase I had tattooed onto my body last year. Yikes. My Latin is way rusty. Ego operor non narro Latin puteus iam. Question mark?

Red Sox

The Red Sox are kicking the Yankees' asses this year, 8-0, and I'm thrilled.

The most recent series is made even sweeter because we beat their best. Wang. Burnett. Sabathia. Our bullpen has been nothing short of a firing squad (and this isn't just my opinion, even the jaded New York press agrees).

Look, part of me wants to wear my PR-guy hat and be diplomatic about this. I swear it to be true. But y'know what? Fuck that. We're 8-0 against the Yankees this year.

I just don't see how we can't win the World Series. We've beaten the living shit out of the second best team in the AL East, which is inarguably the toughest division in all of baseball. Don't even bring up the National League. Yeah, the Dodgers are up eight on San Fran. But that's like when the British kicked the snot out of Argentina in the "war" over the Falkland Islands.

I know it's irrational and somewhat immature to be so ecstatic. But so what? This is me. Allow me this tiny little piece of happiness, would you please?

Winslow Townson/AP

BlackBerry Versus iPhone

If you're a reader of this blog, then you already know I'm a Macfanatic. I'm biased (but smarter than you if you don't agree).

Pardon me while I applaud about the article in InfoWeek, an admittedly pro-PC publication, which says that it's time to bury the BlackBerry and get an iPhone.

Yes, it was Mac versus PC all over again: The iPhone was quickly pigeonholed as a fun, polished device for the cool kids to play with versus the RIM BlackBerry's rep as a corporate standard designed to get work done. As with the Mac-versus-PC dichotomy, Apple's focus on visual interface, exotic technologies like touch, and fun stuff (music, video, and games), coupled with its lack of "serious" capabilities such as encryption, let that perception take root as the conventional wisdom....

[But] how do they stack up? Frankly, I’ve concluded it’s time to bury the BlackBerry. A revolution in its time, thanks to its ability to provide instant, secure e-mail anywhere, the BlackBerry has become the Lotus Notes of the mobile world: It’s way past its prime.

Dropkick Murphys

I'm listening to music really loudly now, and I want to share this with you. In case you don't already know, the Dropkick Murphys are awesome. Readers of my blog alreay know this. They're awesome, and I'm a fan from way back when. The DKMs are wicked pissah awesome. Dillo knows how awesome they are. [Where the hell have you been, Diilo? Really. Are you dead or in prison?]

The picture is of me and Ken Casey. What a nice guy. Really. A "regular" guy and a great host.

I'd like to throw big huge thanks to WAAF, Ken's pub McGreevy's, Susie, Lindsey and her drunken friend, and whomever were those guys that helped me down Boylston Street in Boston to the show on Saint Patrick's Day. I had waaaay too many Jamesons', and far too many Guinnesses'. You must be those entries in my cell phone that I just don't recognize.

What's important here is that were all at Irish, we love our drinks, we're all immediate friends, we love our Sox and Bruins, we love great music, but most importantly we love good company.

I had a great Saint Patrick's day, laddies an' lassies.

Singing Harmony With My Son

Neither I nor my son suffer with the delusion that we can sing well. We suck. Badly. We sing loudly, and we both understand how it's supposed to sound, but ummmm ... yeah.

I'm a fervent believer in the adage that you should sing like nobody's listening, and dance like and nobody can see you.

Tonight I asked my son to sing harmony with me to Man of Constant Sorrow by Dan Tyminski. This song was made famous by being featured in the movie "O Brother, Where Art Thou.

Even though we suck, does it count that we had fun? And laughed? I think so. Am I a lunatic father because I went upstairs and shouted "SON! HARMONY! NOW!" Is Joey a lunatic son because he readily ran downstairs and sang loudly with me?

I love that boy. Yep. A lot. Just don't tell him I said so. That's my job.

Bah. Whatever. Sing loudly. Turn it up loudly and sing along with us. I double dog dare you. Sing harmony for extra points. Sing like nobody can hear you. Really. It'll make you happy.

We are here for such a short time. I've raised my kids on that philosophy. I'm proud to say that my children know a lot about rock, blues, opera, classical, and folk. And they'll succumb to their their dad's request so sing harmony, however badly.

Flags In

It is my sincere hope that you took at least a few minutes today to remember why you didn't have to go to work this morning. I'm not going to make a big speech. All I ask is that you take a second or two to reflect on all of the people over the years who have given their lives for you, your family, me, my family, and every other person in America.

From the site of Arlington National Cemetery, here's a piece of history and tradition about "Flags-In" performed by the Old Guard.

I know it sounds trite, but thanks to the fallen and their families, and thanks to you too if you took a moment today between the burgers and beers to remember the reason why today is very special.

My day was made particularly memorable at about 10:00 this morning by a pair of F/A-18 Hornets which shook the ground as they passed over my house in central Massachusetts at about 3,000 feet. I don't know from where they came nor where they were going, but I was proud to surmise they were on their way to make a fly-over somewhere where thousands of people were gathered.

Below is a description of the service provided by the Old Guard. Here's a link to an outstanding piece of photojournalism covering the 2009 work.

Each year for the past 40 years, the 3rd U.S. Infantry (The Old Guard) has honored America's fallen heroes by placing American flags before the gravestones and niches of service members buried at both Arlington National Cemetery and the U.S. Soldier's and Airmen's Home National Cemetery just prior to Memorial Day weekend.

This tradition, known as "flags in," has been conducted annually since The Old Guard was designated as the Army's official ceremonial unit in 1948. Every available soldier in the 3rd U.S. Infantry participates, placing small American flags one foot in front and centered before each grave marker.

During an approximately three-hour period, the soldiers place flags in front of more than 260,000 gravestones and about 7,300 niches at the cemetery's columbarium. Another 13,500 flags are placed at the Soldier's and Airmen's Cemetery. As part of this yearly memorial activity, Old Guard soldiers remain in the cemetery throughout the weekend, ensuring that a flag remains at each gravestone.

American flags are also placed at the graves of each of the four unknown service men interred at the Tomb of the Unknowns, by the Tomb Sentinels. All flags are removed after Memorial Day before each cemetery is opened to the public.

A US soldier sat at a grave in Section 60, where many of those who died while serving in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are buried, of Arlington National Cemetery on Monday.(Getty Images Photo / Brendan Smialowski)

Best Song, Ever

Yeah yeah yeah ... I know that I say it a lot. Go pound sand. Right now, this is the best song, ever. I deem it so.

Rest in peace, Israel. Thank you for this gift. It's so wonderful. The creator of this video has my thanks as well. Kids, sun, surf, and Iz in his element, at his best.

Sheer joy. Yep. Joy in it's truest scene. Yep.

Ceslieanne, please know that your father gave many people happiness.

Idea for a New Project / Hobby

I'm mulling over an idea. I think that I'm going to create a website dedicated to f*ing with spammers / con artists. Hmmm. My vision is something akin to Snopes, but with reader interaction.

After publishing my recent post about f*ing with a con artist, I was and continue to be surprised by the number of people stumbling across it via an Internet search. I imagine that a site dedicated to f*ing with spammers would be beneficial to zillions of others.

Look, I honestly don't mean to sound condescending, but many people sought out information about "Diana Mosli / Kestler." They each expressed their thanks for alerting them that it was a scam. How can anybody be duped by such a scheme? Lots of people, apparently.

So I'm trying to decide on a name for the site and it's structure. I think it would be most useful for people if there would be a repository of classic SPAM scams, posted interactions similar to the one I had with "Diana," an internal search engine, and perhaps a bulletin board. Do you like f-ingwithspammers.com? It's available.

Memorial Day Weekend

Please keep in mind the reason why you don't have to go to work on Monday. That's all I'm going to say on the subject. Sometimes, less is more.

I admit it. I just had a nerdgasm.

Do you know how to utterly embarrass a nearly 17-year-old boy? I do. Stand up and applaud loudly at the end of Star Trek. Trust me.

He "scratched his eyebrow" with his middle finger in response to me putting up the Vulcan salute whilst whooping / laughing in sheer glee at an inappropriate volume at the exact moment when Jim, Uhura, Bones, Sulu, Spock, Scotty, and Chekov were all in the same frame.

Nerdgasm. Wicked pissah.

Paradoxically, we rode to the theater on Val. She's my dorkiness antidote.

I Miss My Papa

My mom died a few years ago. As I expect is the case whenever a parent dies, there is a shitload of clutter and files through which one must sort. Here's a treasure I discovered recently.

As you can see from the image at the bottom of this post, Papa (my grandfather, my mom's father) sent me a $2 bill in 1976. At the time my family was living in Pennsylvania, not in our home state of Massachusetts. It was a year before my parents would be divorced and I would be brought back to Massachusetts, and then develop a personal relationship with Papa.

For this post to make sense, you need to know a bit about Papa. He was a WWII combat veteran (who lied about his age to join the Navy), a Great Depression era orphan, 100% Irish, angry, a man of extremely few words, and from what I've heard was respected yet feared by all of his six children. My mom was his eldest.

I don't know why, but Papa and I had a special relationship. We simply got along well. There's no explaining it. I'm hesitant about discussing this publicly because my relatives might read this and be uncomfortable, but I think that my mother and all of her siblings were jealous about the attention Papa gave to me. He was kind of a dick to his kids. No, not "kind of" a dick. He was a dick. I have rarely heard anything but horrible stories. But with me, Papa was nothing but attentive, caring, and nurturing. I had a very different relationship with him than his children.

Perhaps he softened in his "old age." My memories of Papa are wonderful and fond. He used to take me on adventures (bars) from when I was 8 years old and onward, wake me up to play cribbage at 2:00 in the morning when I slept over at his house, and tell me stories about his life experiences. And yes, he was an accomplished drinker. I cut my teeth on Schlitz "tall boys" before my age reached double digits. I'm motivated to go find a six pack today.

Tangent ... stick with me ... Papa pretended to hate it when I kissed him. My sister and I used to play a game wherein we would "sneak up" to kiss him on the back of the neck. He'd make a big scene by shrugging up his shoulders, waving his arms, and shouting "AAAAARGH GOD DAMN IT YOU KIDS!" This would go on repeatedly for an hour.

I miss my Papa a lot right now. He used to hug me in a way I shall never forget, ever never ever never. He would crouch down, wrap his arms around me, squeeze, and then stand upright while hugging me. I clearly remember his scent (like an old-fashioned barber shop), the feel of his slender yet muscular arms, and I was giggling because my feet were so far off the ground. And because I was in my Papa's arms.

Okay, I'm mustering myself back to adulthood.

Back to the point of this post. I'm trying to think about how to explain to you why this gift is so strange and treasured by me.

I guess it's that Papa never did anything. He was a grumpy old bastard, had a hard life, had six kids and didn't do so well as a father. Sending me this note and a $2 bill is waaaaaay out of character.

He had a heart of gold and discovered it too late. Maybe he found out what he was missing once he had a grandson. The note is so strange because he proactively did something frivolous for me, and signed it "Love, Papa." This was before he really knew me.

I feel as if I'm failing miserably to explain to you how strange this is. This is the most poorly written post in the five years I've been Blogging. It's all over the place, doesn't flow, and ... just ugh.

*shrug*

I don't care what anybody else thinks. He was a good man. Papa and I got along. That's my conclusion, and I'm sticking with it. I miss my Papa a lot.

Double click on the below image if it's too small to see here in your browser.

Simple Pleasures

A few simple pleasures for which I'm thankful today.

Walking with Lindsay.

Listening to Janis.

And my three kids. I'm not going to post pictures of them here, so use your imagination. Two boys, 19 and almost 17, and a precocious six-year-old.

What else could I want? That's it. That's really it. My equation for a happy existence is kids + Lindsay + music.

Oh, for an extra point include Val.

Go about your business. Nothing more to see here, folks.

Essential QuickTime Component

Warning .... geek alert! For reasons with which I won't bore you here, I recently chose to re-install OSX onto my PowerBook. Apple's built-in software update gnomes quickly brought all of the native applications back up to date with the latest versions.

Unfortunately, this meant that my registered copy of QuickTime was restored to barenakedsoftware originality, and I had lost the ability to convert and save every possible video format to, well, every possible video format. I quickly re-located on teh Internets this handy essential codec package. If you want to capture, save, convert, and retain anything you see on the 'net, make sure you download Perian.

The below video is an example of how I've utilized QT and Perian. There are no less than five different types of video files merged into a one (I chose .dv as the release format). I created this piece at the request of a friend who produced a Black History Month celebration. You'll just have to take my word for it, but the high-definition version looked pretty darn cool when projected onto the huge screen in the auditorium.

Motorcycle Stuff

If you don't ride (why don't you?) or don't care to hear my thoughts about riding Val, then skip this post. I honestly don't mind a bit. But you're missing out if you don't ride. You really are. Let's talk about it. Really. You have no idea how enjoyable it is.

There are so very few people who ride that it baffles me. There is not a single person I know in my very extensive circle of family and friends who ride. How sad. How very, very sad for you. You don't know what you're missing, and I honestly believe that you'd love it. I know you're breezing over these sentences and thinking "that's not for me." Fair 'nuff. But seriously and honestly envision yourself riding a motorcycle through a twisty turny road in Vermont.

See it? Can you look me straight in the eye and say that you can see it? You look good and are smiling so widely that it hurts! Right? Right? Moving onward now, and getting off the soap box.

This post was motivated by the latest issue of Rider magazine, to which I have a subscription because of a good friend of mine. You know who you are, and how much I appreciate it. :)

The first thing I wish to discuss is a point raised in the excellent article written by Kevin Wing. Not only is it comprehensive and fair, but Kevin also clearly has a mastery of the English language which makes me wince in jealousy that I'm not in his shoes. To be a writer for Rider! *sigh* I digress.

In his review of the 2009 BMW K1300 (not my style, but hey, there's a bike for everybody), there is mention of an option that has piqued my curiosity. Kevin says "BMW offers an optional Gear Shift Assistant [GSA]. More colloquially known as a quick-shifter ... the GSA uses a Hall-effect switch to briefly cut injection and ignition for smooth, clutchless upshifts. You don't have to use it — electronic wizardry disables it when the clutch is engaged — but take it from me, it will become your new BFF."

Okay . . . three hours after reading those sentences, I'm still pondering exactly what it means. Seriously. I honestly don't get it. I think it means the GSA feature would allow me to ram up through my gears on Val from first to third (without grabbing the clutch with my left hand?!) in order to rip from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye.

If so, I want that shit retrofitted onto her. Now. Right now. She's a cruiser, not a GT. I've scraped her footpegs (and exhaust) against the pavement plenty of times, but that's simply not what she was designed to do. I'm not a speed demon by any means, yet Val is no slouch since she has six cylinders, nearly 1600 ccs, and a shaft drive. All that said, she's a huge and heavy bitch at 900 pounds, and her low-end HP/torque isn't her strong suit. She still loves me and brings us from zero to sixty close to the same speed that most decent sports cars can muster. Give me fourth gear at 7,000 RPM and I'll see you later in my rear view mirror.

The second point I want to discuss from this issue is the exhaustive and informative article written by Bill Stermer entitled "Mad Hatters." He reviews a wide rage of full-face helmets. It's well written and informative . . . but who cares?

Don't get me started on this subject. Allow me to avoid stating anything publicly which would get me into trouble within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and the very few other states which require DOT-approved helmets. Let me just say that the second I cross the border into New Hampshire, Maine, Connecticut, or Rhode Island that I unclip my "DOT-approved helmet" and put it into my saddle bag.

If I'm going to get smucked by a car that blows through a red light, then ... well ... okay. I'm dead anyway, so this is a moot point. I'm more likely to die from massive internal injuries than bonking my head off the pavement. If you're chomping at the bit to rant about how I have no idea what it's like to be in an accident or see the repercussions from being hit, you can go pound sand. I know, and have served plenty of time at motorcycle accidents, but won't discuss details here for various reasons. I'm sure you understand.

Every fatality at which I've served was determined to be due to massive internal injuries, with the exception of one poor bastard that happened to clip his bean off of a telephone pole.

I own two full-face DOT-approved helmets. I will occasionally wear one of them if I'm on a long trip which requires three or more hours of highway travel. I always make my passenger (most often one of my kids) wear one. Aside from those times, you can expect to see me wearing my Sox cap backwards or nothing at all.

You, dear reader, deserve an explanation as to why I detest full face helmets. And yeah, I've heard all the counter-arguments before now. Frickin' spare me. This debate is akin to the age-old Macintosh / PC flame war.

Let me tell you about how it really is. Without a helmet or wearing my "legal" skull cap, I can hear, see, and sense things that I simply cannot whilst wearing a full helmet. It's a night and day experience. There is no comparison, it's really and truly that big of a gap, and trust on this point ... I have decades of experience with both options. If I'm going down, I'm going down.

There's an old saying amongst people who ride. "It's not if you drop your bike, but when." Well, bah. I refuse to believe that. I've been riding for two decades, I've taken all of the advanced rider courses one could take, I pay attention, and . . . I still realize that I may likely get smucked at an intersection one day.

So be it. I'd rather have eaten steak, not worked out, and rode a motorcycle for 60 years than die at 80 having been a vegetarian, gym rat, and driving a frickin' Prius.

F*ing with con artists, part deux

I think that my reply to yesterday's message from the con artist might be too much, too soon. *shrug* Bonus points if you pick up on the subtle verbal middle fingers I put forth, not just the obvious ones. There are many, and I admit to chortling repeatedly as I wrote it. The PR gland in my brain screamed repeatedly in protest.

Dear Diana:

Thank you SO much for letting me provide you with some more farther informations.


First name: Richard
Last name: Cranium
Street address: 1 Ashburton Place, Apt. #7
City: Boston
State: MA
Zip code: 02108
Home phone: The bastards turned off my SI Football phone! But there's a pay phone I can use at the pub to call you. If you wants to chattie me, then I need you to tell me when you want to call so I can get that selfish JERK off the phone. Barry's always hogging it to try to find a job this year. That bastard!

- Are you currently employed?

Yes I have a job. I'm a petrolium replensishem-ent technition at Cumbie's in Westford. The pay's terrible! But they don't get their gas from Chavez like the bastards across the street at Citgo! Ooooh .... big sign at Feway ... oooh! Like that makes me want to work there!

- Do you have any debt with any credit card company?

I have a LOT of det. That's why I am so happy to get a new job with American Express! I owe you guys $12,881.12, and the limit you put on me is almost there! You called me a few weeks ago and took away a lot of my limit, and now it's only $15,000. Why you bastards?! HA! LOL a lot! ALMOST ROTF! I'M A KIDDER! I always paid on time so really why did you take away some of my limit? It used to be $20,000. Oh, and also I am so so so so so so so so so sorry to say that I have a Vista card two. I owe those bastards $2,509.47 (but I sent them some monies yesterday or maybe it was Monday, so then my owed is something 'round $2,409.47 but I can never figure out how when I pay them $100 they still says I owe them the same amount but take away what I pade them plus the money they says i owe. Wait. I got confused. You know what I'm sayin', Diane? AnyHOO! That card has a LOT left of in, the stupid bastards! I can spend $7,000 on that one! Well not $7,0000 but whatever it iis the monies I owe after they get my $100 -- the bastards!

- If you owe money (credits) to several companies, please let us know

Oh nuts! I just writ the story of how much I owe. I can drag over that part and then do that "paste" thing here: I owe you guys $12,881.12, and the limit you put on me is almost there! You called me a few weeks ago and took away a lot of my limit, and now it's only $15,000. Why, you bastards?! HA! LOL a lot! ALMOST ROTF! I'M A KIDDER! I always paid on time, so really, why did you take away some of my limit? It used to be $20,000. Oh, and also I'm so so so so so so so so so sorry to say that I have a Vista card two. I owe those bastards $2,509.47 (but I sent them some monies yesterday or maybe it was Monday, so then my owed is something 'round $2,409.47 but I can never figure out why when I pay them $100 they still says I owe them the same amount but take away what I pade them plus the money they says i owe. Wait. I got confused. You know what I'm sayin', Diane? AnyHOO! That card has a LOT left of in, the stupid bastards! I can spend $7,000 on that one! Well not $7,0000 but whatever it iis the monies I owe after they get my $100 -- the bastards!

OK. I think that's all your questions. I am SO SO SO SO SO excited to start working! Whan do I get my first check for $1,200 per week? Are you going to send me business cards to hand out to my friends? Those bastards! Can I pleeeeease ask you to put a little picture of the Tazmanian Devlis on it too? LIke in the corner of the card -- but NOT NEAR the American Express guys! HA!

All my best,
Dick

P.S. I'm confused. Are you from the Mosli family or the Kestler families?

We've got a fish on the hook!

I'm so thrilled! The con artist has taken the bait! Or, more accurately, the con artist believes that I (posing as Richard Cranium) have taken the bait.

Below is an edited version of the most recent message from "Diana Mosli," posing as a member of the American Express human resources department.

As I originally suspected, "Diana Mosli" is trying to set me up for a classic scam. I believe they will instruct me to make a number of small payments using my own credit card(s) over a period of time to a number of accounts.

When these transactions reach a multiple of $500 (or more if they could), they will send me a $500 American Express gift or traveler's check that looks very real. The real American Express web site (and hundreds of other sources) explains what happens next: "[The scam] starts when someone gives you a realistic-looking check or money order and asks you to send cash somewhere in return [or, in this case, paying by credit card]. At the heart of the scam is a fake check that you deposit in your bank account. Federal law requires banks and credit unions to make funds that have been deposited available quickly. Just because you can withdraw the money doesn't indicate the check or money order is valid. It can take weeks for fake checks to be discovered, and when they are, your bank will want the money back. You are responsible for the checks and money orders you deposit or cash, because you were in the best position to determine the validity of the check or money order - you dealt with the person who gave it to you."

As a triple whammy, your credit card information is now in the hands of the scammer and you've directly paid them hundreds of dollars unwittingly to accounts linked to them.

I'll soon formulate a reply to "Diana Mosli" and share it with you. You'll notice that her name changes at the end of the message to "Diana Kestler." I guess this scam artist failed to remember which name they're using today.

I'm going to see just how far and how much I can screw with these people before they give up me. This is going to be a lot of fun!

Follow up message
Good afternoon
Thank you for your interest in our job opportunity.

ABOUT COMPANY

American Express Corporation is a leading global payments, network and travel company founded in 1850, operated in over 130 countries around the globe . . . . [I've deleted the rest of this section, as it was copied and pasted from the "About American Express" page on the legitimate corporation's website.]

OPEN VACANCY

Due to our new policies we offer remote payment processing position to you which could be accomplished from remote locations such as your present job or residence. Payment processing includes receiving payments and processing them according to the processing protocol.

This position is a priority to employees with reasonable credit card debt and it will help to resolve this issue. Here are the sequences of operations employees must comply.

1.Employee contacts his/her manager with details on the debt.
2.Company you owe money to should be indicated and the amount that you owe.
3.Status of your account is standing at present moment where you owe money.
4.Our managers will work with you to develop a payment plan according to your situation.
5.You will be provided with details on the transaction and be given all information needed for deposits.
6.During transaction you should stay in touch with your manager to verify that all the details were followed correctly.
7.Part of the funds should be redirected after deposit is completed.
8.After transaction is completed please contact your manager with all the details on the transaction.

All fees, or any additional expenses which might exist during work will be paid off by American Express inc. After a probation period of 3 months transportation expenses will be fully reimbursed this includes buses, trains, car services, and leasing of transport.

[I deleted another long and uninteresting section here.]

EMPLOYMENT

If you are interested in this position and ready to start a training,
please fill application form and email it to us.

First name: _________________
Last name: __________________
Street address: _____________
City: _______________________
State: ______________________
Zip code: ___________________
Home phone: _________________
Cell phone: _________________


- Are you currently employed?
__________________________________

- Do you have any debt with any credit card company?
__________________________________

- If you owe money (credits) to several companies, please let us know how much money you owe to each company:
__________________________________

* During first training days your will receive money for the training from our company to your debits and will use this money for the training courses. You dont need to pay for anything, our company pays for all.

* Debt is meaning that you already past your due date and started to pay minimal or more then minimal payments to credit card company, even though you did not pass your due date while you still use your credit card and you owe money to the company to pay your bill you still will qualify and also if you have any cards where you have 0% for some amount of time you still can qualify for this position while using them.

Please give us up to 48 hours to process all the information and contact your with future placement details.

Yours respectfully,
Diana Kestler
Company Direct Employer, American Express Corporation

See you in an hour . . .

The one thing you would never want to hear your boss say if you worked at this quarry: "Go get a hammer from the bottom of the job site and bring it back up here."

F*ing with SPAM, another attempt

Let's play with a SPAMmer! Yay, fun!

Here's the opening salvo and my initial response. I hope so much that I get a reply. Why don't they ever follow through with their scheme? Of course I've created an anonymous e-mail account just to play with her / him / them. Safety first, kids.

In case you're wondering why I knew this was utter crap, the return e-mail address was something like "AMEXrecruiter@gmail.com." The other reason why this message made me snicker was the borderline illiteracy. My favorite is "There are couple couple positions." Is are couple couple? If their is one, then is I ever happitated! My second favorite has to be "there is full-time and part-time positions available." Are is it? Really? Cool!

The grammatical train wrecks, along with the seemingly Random and meaningless Capitalization of Some words, makes this one of the best pieces of SPAM I've received in quite a while. My bet is that it's from a dude in Estonia, Uruguay, or Zimbabwe. I can't wait for a reply.

On May 10, 2009, at 1:16 PM, Diana Mosli wrote:

Good morning
We found your resume and concluded that you could be a positive match to a few of positions available at American Express and Merchant Services North American Division.

There are couple couple positions listed below you might be qualifying for:

- Payment processing coordinator
- Data entry specialist
- Mail distribution coordinator
- Client database builder
- Payment collection coordinator

Guaranteed base salary package for all positions starts from $3900 monthly, include Weekends with holidays, Medical and Dental coverage and other benefits. There is full-time and part-time positions available.

These positions are office or home based due to our new policy on remote employee program.

If you are interested, email back to me and i will send you detailed information about open position.

Yours respectfully,
Diana Kestler
Company Direct Employer, American Express Corporation

On May 10, 2009, at 1:20 PM, Richard Cranium [HA!] wrote:

Dear Diana:

I am so thrilled that you found my resume! My experience and skills would be a perfect match for working as a "Payment Processing Coordinator."

When can we set up an interview?

Cheers,
Dick

----------

*UPDATE*

YAY! I just received a blank e-mail from "Diana." Is this perhaps to verify that they've hooked a breathing (and gullible) person of lesser intelligence? Let's find out! Wheeee!

Here's my reply . . .

Dear Diana --

Oh my goodness I'm so thrilled you wrote back to me! I've been running in little happy circles all day with the knowledge that American Express might hire me!

I'm a bit confused. Why was your e-mail blank?

Cheers,
Dick

Michael Monsoor

My cousin Lisa sent me an e-mail tonight which had been forwarded so many times that the text was broken up by a multitude of gibberish characters and was indented to the far right of my screen.

She had inserted a short yet simple challenge above the message which read "Don, true or not?"

Mike Monsoor, Navy EOD Technician, was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor posthumously for jumping on a grenade in Iraq, giving his life to save his fellow Seals.

During Mike Monsoor's funeral in San Diego, as his coffin was being moved from the hearse to the grave site at Ft. Rosecrans National Cemetery, SEALs were lined up on both sides of the pallbearers route forming a column of twos, with the coffin moving up the center. As Mike's coffin passed, each SEAL, having removed his gold Trident from his uniform, slapped it down embedding the Trident in the wooden coffin.

The slaps were audible from across the cemetery. By the time the coffin arrived grave side, it looked as though it had a gold inlay from all the Tridents pinned to it.

When I first read the umpteen-million-forwarded account of why Michael Monsoor had supposedly won the Medal of Honor, I am truly and deeply ashamed to admit that my gut reaction was to shout "fake." There's no way people really do stuff like this.

I was wrong. Very wrong.

U.S. Navy SEAL Petty Officer Second Class Michael A. Monsoor is a true hero. My own words would not be able to better describe the reason for his award than the Summary of Action report from the U.S. Navy:

The grenade hit him in the chest and bounced onto the deck. He immediately leapt to his feet and yelled "grenade" to alert his teammates of impending danger, but they could not evacuate the sniper hide-sight in time to escape harm. Without hesitation and showing no regard for his own life, he threw himself onto the grenade, smothering it to protect his teammates who were lying in close proximity. The grenade detonated as he came down on top of it, mortally wounding him .... Of the three SEALs on that rooftop corner, he had the only avenue of escape away from the blast, and if he had so chosen, he could have easily escaped. Instead, Monsoor chose to protect his comrades by the sacrifice of his own life.

I'm at a loss for words here.

Part of me thought that guys like Mike only existed in the movies, and yet I've heard stories of heroic actions again and again from relatives, acquaintances, and while serving at funerals for fallen veterans during PGR missions.

Selfless heroism makes me so very proud, and yet oddly ashamed. Guys like Mike are out there literally giving their lives in service to our country, and here I am comfortably sitting at my computer and trying to describe why I appreciate and salute them.

Navy SEALs slapped their Tridents onto Mike's coffin. Their frickin' Tridents. That alone makes this post seems so weak and meaningless.

Do me a favor, readers of this blog. Regardless of your personal politics or for whichever armed conflict you supported or opposed from WWI through today, when you next see a serviceman/woman wearing a uniform, or if you know somebody that has served, please take two seconds out of your day and just say "thank you."

Music, "Da Guys," and Beer

If you're female, this post is highly unlikely to make much sense.

One of the things I enjoy most in life is hanging out with "da guys." Many of the guys play instruments. My friend Jimmy, being a guy, took it upon himself to build a massive stage in what used to be an oversized two-car garage. Yes, the stage he built has a Red Sox theme and it looks like a baseball diamond.

C'mon. Get with the program. Of course he did. And yeah, his wife let him do it. Why? Because it kept him busy for days on end, was sort of at home, and she didn't have to put up with his shit during the project.

What was my point? Oh, yes. I love hanging out with the guys. We drink beer, we swear a lot, we smoke cigarettes and cigars, we pretend to not be in love with the women with whom we are in love, we play music, we drink more beer, we swear some more, and ... ummm ... be guys.

I brought my dulcimer which Cathy Lanno gave to me. There are precious few songs requiring a dulcimer, so I spent most of the evening singing harmony, fetching beers, and fiddling with the sound board.

Guys will understand this post. Women will likely not. We do not discuss Hollywood celebrities, the fucking Swine Flu, or what is indeed the "new black." We scratch our crotches, insult one another, and love life.

Welcome to manhood.

My view from the drumset -- and don't bother making a comment, I know full well that I suck at playing the drums. Rusty (who's awesome) and Jerry (who's freakin' awesome) were both there last night. I was allowed to beat 'em up for a while, then kicked off stage. They were gracious enough to have me to play cowbell during "Honky Tonk Woman."

Pitch Tipping

I had never before today heard of "pitch tipping." The concept is fascinating to me, and will surely motivate me to research the history of this practice in major league baseball.

EPSN published an online article about details from Sports Illustrated writer Selena Roberts' book "A-Rod" that were released by the New York Daily News. Aside from the expected steroids headline-attracting points, one of the first was "pitch tipping." Here's how the ESPN article / Roberts alleges A-Rod cheated:

A-Rod "pitch tipped" when he played for the Rangers by letting opponents at the plate know which pitch was coming in lopsided games. A-Rod expected players he helped would reciprocate when he was having an off night and needed to get his batting average up.

Wow. I wish I had thought of that. Well, I wish I were a major league baseball player and THEN had thought of that.

More (potentially) to come.

Non-Stop Boston Sports Wicked Pissahness

The Red Sox and Yankees play for four hours and 21 minutes. Extra innings. Then they play for 4:21 again even though it's only nine innings. Then the Celtics and Chicago Bulls wrestle for three hours and 32 minutes, through two overtimes. And all the while Bill Belichick makes moves that will be studied by draftologists for centuries to come. Like the DaVinci Code.

Oh, I almost forgot. We also had to follow the Rangers and the Capitals, and the Devils and Hurricanes because we still don't know who the Bruins are playing in Round 2 of the Stanley Cup playoffs. There's a good chances the Bruins and Celtics will have another of those Causeway Street twinbills Saturday. The Red Sox will make their first visit to the new Yankee Stadium two days after that.

The Sox go for 11 straight tonight in Cleveland. Tomorrow night it's Celtics-Bulls at the Garden. Thursday it's the Bruins at home in Game 1 (we think), the Celtics in Chicago for Game 6, the first day of Patriots minicamp (welcome, Patrick Chung), and the Sox' first game in St. Pete since Game 7 of the ALCS.

-- Dan Shaughnessy, The Boston Globe

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As of today, April 30, 2009, ESPN is now referring on air to the Washington Nationals as the "Natinals."