Hike Two



3.1 mile stroll through the forest today with Cecil.

We crossed paths with seven groups of people—three were with their dogs.

The first dogs actually caught up with us from behind. They were running full-out, ahead of their owner, who was sprinting. Cecil had been walking 20 feet behind me on a wide part of Wildwood Trail; I turned and noticed he was looking back the way we came. Then I heard the jingling of dog collars and started to dash back to him. But Cecil began to run toward the dogs, who were fast approaching.

For about a second I thought he confused the dogs with my movement; but as he scrambled up a tree (in two bounds, he was six feet up) I realized he had instinctively realized the proximity and speed of the dogs and realized the nearest climbable tree required him to run ten feet toward them first.

I pulled him off the tree before he got higher than I could reach (and received a couple of belly and chest scratches thankyousirmayIhaveanother). The dogs payed us almost no heed and we returned to hiking after they were no longer audible and his tail was no longer the size of a toilet brush. The other two dog-groups were fellow-hikers and we had time to prepare for their arrival and pick Cecil up (no scratches).

Words like "self-confidence," "self-reliance," "initiative," "enterprise," "optimism," etc., play little role in the liberal and leftist vocabulary. The leftist is anti-individualistic, pro-collectivist. He wants society to solve everyone's problems for them, satisfy everyone's needs for them, take care of them. He is not the sort of person who has an inner sense of confidence in his ability to solve his own problems and satisfy his own needs. The leftist is antagonistic to the concept of competition because, deep inside, he feels like a loser. — Theodore Kaczynski, aka prisoner number 04475–046 (he'd undoubtedly have a "News" show on FOX, if they were permitted to broadcast from the federal supermax in Florence, Colorado)

New Cat (redux)

On the 2nd of July, my kitten, Powell, died of FIP. Although he was only with me for about three weeks, he and I bonded quickly.

A few weeks ago I returned to the humane shelter and allowed a new cat to find me.

His points have the classic gray stripes of a blue Lynx-point Siamese, but he doesn't have the blue eyes, angular head, loud/constant vocalization, or slender body of a Siamese. Instead, he has gray-white (very light blue) eyes, a round head with the higher hip-bone shape of a Tabby. His coat is medium. His paws are largeish for his body-size.

Although the Humane Society said he was about 13 months old, my Vet said his teeth looked like a 8-10 month old kitten. He is currently 8.5 lbs.

We've named him Cecil O. Zonkey. I call him Cease or Zonk.

Cecil came from Cecil the Seasick Sea Serpent, because he was sneezing at the shelter and is still doing so (either a 3-week virus, or allergies). His middle name is Oscar, because he told me that was his name via mental telepathy (or, I picked it up unconsciously - but that's not very interesting). Zonkey was chosen by my paramour, because he has all the positive traits of a Siamese and a Tabby but none of the negative ones.

He has demonstrated:
  • The signs of affection he gives are head butts, nose licks, and gentle tooth-touch-on nose/chin/cheek "bites".

  • Allows the clipping of nails, the administering of earmiticide, and taking of pills without display of anger or fear (need to work on drinking from a syringe and taking a bath).

  • Enthusiastically plays with our other cat.

  • Loves to ride in the back window of a car.

  • Rides in the carrier with our other cat like a sibling; in the cat backpack with little complaint.

  • Not boisterous. He has a very quiet vocal range.

  • He has worse-than-terrible eyesight (he actually has a visible nystagmus, the constant movement of his eyes from side-to-side).

  • Will drink out of a plastic water bottle cap held in my hand (valuable for when he's thirsty and a larger receptacle is not available).

  • Doesn't extend his claws or bite when engaging in pseudo-aggressive play behavior.

  • Hikes fantastically. He followed/led for 2.5 miles through the forest without a hitch on his first hike.
In order to prevent the feline-failure-to-post-a-feckin-foto enforcement officials from further focusing on me, this is proffered:

Cecil O. Zonkey, 10 months

...we've made imprecise statements and statements that ought to have had all sorts of qualifications and reservations attached to them; and some of our statements may be flatly false. Lack of sufficient information and the need for brevity made it impossible for us to formulate our assertions more precisely or add all the necessary qualifications. And of course in a discussion of this kind one must rely heavily on intuitive judgment, and that can sometimes be wrong. So we don't claim that this article expresses more than a crude approximation to the truth. — Theodore Kaczynski (near the end of his manifesto; a paragraph that negates the previous 230 paragraphs . . . I love the use of his "royal we")

District 9 - Movie Review


District 9 is a humorous, character-based, speculative fiction story, which showcases mankind's racism and socio-economic bigotry by twisting it, so we see ourselves (humans) as the "bad-guys" relative to ugly-bug-aliens (the good guys).

Yes, there is plenty of action and suspense and thrills. Yes, the acting is good, with a clean script, fine editing and great direction. But—more importantly—it is not a re-tread. This is new. This makes you think. This is discussion fodder. Wonderful. Worth the cost of admission, even for humans who are not fans of sf.

Alienation, low self-esteem, depression, hostility, rebellion ... population growth, ideological conflict, political extremism, terrorism, sabotage, anti-government groups ... threaten the very survival of the system. The system will be FORCED to use every practical means of controlling human behavior. — Theodore Kaczynski

Is Complacency in Your Resume?


This was in my e-mail. After reading a few sentences, I knew it met the: 'if it seems too good to be true' criteria. But, the person who forwarded it did not provide a wink and nod. So I wondered, to myself (and now here) how many of the foolish-American-masses actually think/thought it was legitimate?

It's obviously a ploy to get you to send identifying and banking information; but even if one failed to note the Nigerian fingerprints (or whomever it is this month) doesn't the "position" they are "seeking to fill" screamlike the unabomber at his brothershady criminal enterprise?

I was especially tickled by their stated need for complaisant (sic) people; maybe their spell-check got tangled in their thesaurusthe first doesn't work and the second works too well. The list of character traits at the end made me giggle: even letter-bomb/drug/weapon re-packagers need them some mad people skillz.

This is the complete unaltered ad, except I redacted the g-mail address at the end.

Job Title: Package Handlers
Company: FiftyOne
Job Location: United States
Employee Type: Part-Time/Home-Based
Req'd Education: Not Specified
Req'd Experience: Not Specified
Base Pay: probation period: $1,000/month
Bonus: $20 for each package

Hi. We are "FiftyOne", a transport company that looking for employees. Yes, we need you.

In the first place let us introduce. Our company is providing global e-commerce solutions for existing e-commerce sites. Our company is the unique third-party-managed service that effective connects U.S. brands with international buyers.

International shoppers finally feel welcomed, and buy with the same confidence and certainty they would if the merchant were across town.

While ecommerce growth in the U.S. is leveling off and merchants now compete fiercely for share of wallet, the overseas market is growing dramatically, offering an untapped opportunity for expansion and new revenue. "FiftyOne" makes a window... or even a gateway (like a "Stargate") to that huge market.

Because our business is growing, freights turnover increases along with profits, we need new employees right now! Now that is your chance to set career at rapidly evolving company.

Available vacancies are Package Handlers. Main point of that work is receiving package, repacking it and send it further according to our instructions. That's not a hard work, but we need reliable, complaisant people dependable and stable as a rock.

You will receive 5-7 packages per week.
And you’re need only 2 or 3 vacant hours per day for this work.
You’ll be able to form your own work schedule and receive additional income for your family!

This position requires someone with:
- well developed analytical, communication, and interpersonal skills
- strong operational background and knowledge
- exceptional people skills
- problem solving skills
- top notch communication and writing skills
- drive to be the best

If you are interested, please reply to XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.

...human nature has in the past put certain limits on the development of societies. People could be pushed only so far and no further. But today this may be changing, because modern technology is developing ways of modifying human beings. — Theodore "Ted" Kaczynski (aka The Unabomber)

when down is up and up is fucked


It is 108ΒΊ F (42ΒΊ C) in Portland today—with a humidity level of about 25%. Phoenix, Arizona and Death Valley Junction, California, are maybe a degree hotter (but their humidity levels are 10-15% lower...oh yea, and they have air-conditioning).

The taste for worst-case scenarios reflects the need to master fear of what is felt to be uncontrollable. It also expresses an imaginative complicity with disaster. — Susan Sontag

definitely no jargonistic surjection


Contemporary art, no matter how much it has defined itself by a taste for negation, can still be analyzed as a set of assertions of a formal kind. — Susan Sontag

Fumkin Parts


Kinda drunk in a relatively terrible local brew pub in the city of Newport (yea every city in the entire state has port jammed into it somehow, even Eugeneport). I'm stumble-wondering how the idea of hazelnut beer and hazelnut rum could have sounded attractive, and stumble-deciding on the silver lining: at least I (now) know two things that should never be flavored with hazelnut.

The back hallway has two doors.

-Hops- -Barleys- no other symbols. Which is which? My mind strains. I imagine other drinking establishments (Skippers, Mermaids) and languages (Damen, Herren) but nothing clicks except that the word 'men' is shorter than the word 'women'; that couldn't be it, could it? What-the-fuck were they thinking? A waitress says, in a 187th-time-today tone: you're hops.

Inside, I dry my hands on paper towels from a jack-in-the-box-crank dispenser. Haven't seen one of these in a decade or three.

Two days later—after a wonderful bakery-lunch in Corvallisport—I enter the back hallway and recognize the two bathrooms are marked only with: restroom. I assume this restaurant has chosen to go the unisex/first-available route.

I join a small line and quickly learn there's a hitch in the giddy-up.

One of the doors has an apologetic sign reserving it only for Barleys. (And later, after comparing notes with my paramour, I learn they're both identical inside: one toilet, one sink, nothing else.) Women can use either. Men can only use one.

I can only come up with one reason for this: The women who run this establishment don't want to get man-cooties but believe it's OK for men to get women-cooties - or - think women don't have cooties. I suspect these assumptions are specious, so I'm open for alternatives (because I vividly remember learning at recess that women have cooties and men can get them).


On a more artistic note, this is a wonderful camera mistake. The design is perfectly weighted. The visual movement is dynamic. And it hardly matters that the person standing on a country roadside, twirling a pizza-company placard (miles from any business, let alone that pizza place) was not properly snapshotted.

Photographs alter and enlarge our notions of what is worth looking at and what we have a right to observe. — Susan Sontag

Color Comments on the British Open


          I was highly entertained by Peter Alliss's comments over the last two days of golf-watching. (I know, I know; but it's guilty pleasure #38.)

          Normally a BBC commentator, this past weekend he did some guest commenting, at the British Open, for TNT.

          Who won or lost is unimportant (to me, at least) but these comments of Mr Alliss were golden:

          (In response to another commentator's statement that Peter, 'didn't really understand the situation because he was English, not Scottish'): Hey...I could have gone the whole way, could have changed and had the operation and everything — I just chose not to.

          (Abstrusely pointing out a terrible second-hole score): Four nine three four four three . . . hunh — that used to be my telephone number.

          (A conversation with a US commentator who'd been referring to a player that twitters, then asked Peter, 'You were twittering earlier, too, right?'): I don't twitter — we've only recently just got gas at my house.
To which the US commenter replied, with a chortle: Natural gas?
Peter's retort was a dry: Don't be silly — lamps!

          (Referencing a logo-type design on the sleeve of a young Japanese player): I wish I knew what that said, on his shoulder. David Beckham has tattoos there — but . . . apparently . . . he's satisfied with it . . . there, on the material.

The Criminal Investigator's #1 Rule of Thumb


          If I were to impart one thing about detectingfrom my years as a criminal investigatorit is this:   there's always one thing, which proves or disproves a persons guilt or innocence.  And, that one thing needs to always be the lens with which the rest of the investigation is examined through.

          This is not to infer that an investigator doesn't have to collect every item of evidence, interview every possible witness, and always remain impartial.  But, I recall what happened when investigators (and lawyers, and judges) failed to keep the investigation (court proceedings, trial) focused through that one thing; the result was almost always the same: guilty people were not held accountable for their crimes.

          Bad people go free when they (or their lawyers) cause law enforcement to lose focus on the one thing.

          When I explained this #1 Rule of Thumb to my subordinates, I referred to it as the Bloody Socks Rule.  I contend that the OJ Simpson trial would have resulted in a conviction if the prosecution spent a few days showing the jurors what the crime scene looked like and then explained about the socks collected from the floor of OJ's bedroom—which had the blood of OJ, Nicole, and Goldman on them—and then said, "the prosecution rests your honor."   Forget about the Bruno Magli shoes, Kato Kaelin, Mark Furman, and the bloody gloves; the one thing is the socks with three peoples blood on them.

          Any case can be fogged by the "what about..." and "explain the..." but as long as the one thing is kept in the forefront—bad people are caught and put in prison.

          The assassination of President Kennedy is a famous example of an investigation that has been so incredibly inundated in evidence and investigation and re-investigation, that most people believe there was a conspiracy (by some large government organization).

          I know there was no conspiracy.  Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.  Jack Ruby acted alone.   The reason I know is because of two one thing's (one for Oswald and one for Ruby).

          Oswald moved (back) to Dallas Texas in October of 1963 and got a job at the Texas Book Depository.  Over six weeks later (mid-November) the "parade route" of the President's motorcade was published in the Dallas Newspaper, showing it would pass in front of the Book Depository.  Oswald arrived at work the morning of 22 November 1963 with a long item wrapped in newspaper; he told co-workers it was curtain rods.  [Although it's a second thing it is helpful to also know about Oswald's mindset:  that (according to his wife) he tried to assassinate Retired General Edwin Walker with the same rifle in April 1963.   The bullet hit a window frame; fragments injured Walker in the arm.]

          This is Oswald's one thing because when he got the job at the Depository, the route was not yet decided by the Secret Service.

          Ruby always carried a pistol and was a "cop groupie" (cops drank at his strip club for free; Ruby frequently hung around the police station).  The morning of Sunday, 24 November 1963, Ruby got a phone call from one of his employees, asking him to wire her $25.   He took his favorite dog, Sheba, and wired the money a little after 11am.  Then, leaving Sheba in his car, Ruby walked a block to the police station, arriving about four minutes before Oswald was escorted out.

          This is Ruby's one thing.  His timing and the presence of Sheba shows that he was acting on impulse.

          UPDATE:  It was brought to my attention that my 'one thing' rule may apply in the case of the JFK assassination by Oswald, but that it does not work for the subsequent murder of Oswald by Ruby because he provided the above story to explain that he had acted on impulse.  So, I did more reading.
 
          I discovered it's probable Oswald shot his rifle several times but only hit JFK once in the back of the neck.  Then, a Secret Service Agent, riding in the chase vehicle (while trying to turn and point a rifle at the book depository) accidentally shot JFK in the back of the head.  This explains all the cover-ups.
 
          The entire Secret Service chain-of-command acted, coerced, and then helped Ruby (who was terminally ill).  They stopped the Dallas autopsy and later removed all of their own bullet fragments.  These details may have been disclosed to one or more members of the Warren Commission, although - as of 2017 - "almost all" of the Warren Commission Report has been "approved for public release" and none of this is in official documents.
 
          I can understand why senior members of a government might want to classify the ironic but chilling fact surrounding the idea that the 'Secret Service accidentally shot the person they were supposed to protect and then covered up that mistake by having Oswald murdered.'  How far up would that level of a cover-up needed to go?  And - would uncovering that cover-up cause more problems than it would solve?  There's a huge philosophical thought experiment open for discussion!

Most people in this society who aren't actively mad are, at best, reformed or potential lunatics. — Susan Sontag

A lap dance is so much better when the stripper is cryin


Heard this terrible-funny Bloodhound Gang song for the first time at Karaoke.

I'd already had four and a half shots of Jaegermeister, and I chuckled gargantuanly-huge, I-shouldn't-be-laughin-so-hard, guffaws of glee.

The lyrics:

I was lonelier than Kunta Kinte at a Merle Haggard concert that night I strolled on into Uncle Limpy's Hump Palace lookin for love. It had been a while. In fact, three hundred and sixty-five had come and went since that midnight run haulin hog to Shakey town on I-10. I had picked up this hitchhiker that was sweatin gallons through a pair of Daisy Duke cut-offs and one of those Fruit Of The Loom tank-tops. Well, that night I lost myself to ruby red lips, milky white skin and baby blue eyes. Name was Russell.

Yes a lap dance is so much better when the stripper is cryin
Yes a lap dance is so much better when the stripper is cryin
Well I find it's quite a thrill
When she grinds me against her will
Yes a lap dance is so much better when the stripper is cryin

Well, faster than you can say "shallow grave" this pretty little thing come up to me and starts kneadin my balls like hard-boiled eggs in a tube sock. Said her name was Bambi and I said, "Well that's a coincidence darlin, cause I was just thinkin about skinnin you like a deer." Well she smiled, had about as much teeth as a Jack-O-Lantern, and I went on to tell her how I would wear her face like a mask as I do my little kooky dance. And then she told me to shush. I guess she could sense my desperation. Course, it's hard to hide a hard-on when you're dressed like Minnie Pearl.

(chorus)

So, Bambi's goin on about how she can make all my fantasies come true. So I says, "Even this one I have where Jesus Christ is jack-hammerin Mickey Mouse in the doo-doo hole with a lawn dart as Garth Brooks gives birth to somethin resembling a cheddar cheese log with almonds on Santa Claus's tummy-tum?" Well, ten beers, twenty minutes and thirty dollars later I'm parkin the beef bus in tuna town if you know what I mean. Got to nail her back at her trailer. Heh. That rhymes. I have to admit it was even more of a turn-on when I found out she was doin me to buy baby formula.

(chorus)

Day or so had passed when I popped the clutch, gave the tranny a spin and slid on into The Stinky Pinky Gulp N Guzzle Big Rig Snooze-A-Stop. There I was browsin through the latest issue of Throb, when I saw Bambi starin at me from the back of a milk carton. Well, my heart just dropped. So, I decided to do what any good Christian would. You can not imagine how difficult it is to hold a half gallon of moo juice and polish the one-eyed gopher when your doin seventy-five in an eighteen-wheeler. I never thought missing children could be so sexy. Did I say that out loud?

(chorus)