Posts
That's the current estimate of the number of Palestinians dead in the current wave of "targeted strikes" by the Israeli forces.
They think that this will end the violence in the middle east.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
But then I read about Haya Hamdan, and I cried.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Aggravating Travel Notes - Skyline Drive
And as promised, here are the couple of things you should know about the Chevy Aveo:
1. It has ONE cup holder. Slap bang in the middle of the car, which means that its a good two feet behind you, which means that if you're in front, you have to execute a complex variation of Vakrasana to get to the damn coffee cup. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Oh, here's what Vakrasana looks like.
2. The lever to open the fuel flap is buried under the seat. Plus out lever had its markings worn out, so it took me a good three minutes to locate it when I needed to refuel, much to the amusement of the lady in the big pickup at pump #3.
3. The thing sounded like it was stuck in 2nd gear. So each time we'd top 60 mph, the whole thing would sound like we were trying to get it to 120 mph, and it would start vibrating (at a high frequency - almost like a buzzing).
4. The cruise control wouldn't work. Which is painful when you've escaped a high-beam tailgating maniac, and want to relax on a highway.
So Chevy Aveo, you get a 2 on 10. you deserve a 1, but you didn't break in the middle of the drive, so you get a point for that.
Two other aggravating notes from the drive: We met up with these really nice people on the way, and we ate some great food at their home (oh, the advantages of being Indian). Since they lived way out in the countryside, one of their other guests was determined to see us off till we hit the highway to get back home. This would have been nice gesture, except that the guy drove literally 6 feet behind me all the way. With. His. High. Beams. On. The faster I got, the more determined the guy was to keep up with me. I mean, I was totally blind and hurtling through these country roads at a suicidal 70 miles an hour, but there was no shaking the guy. There he was, with those big ol' high beams in my rear view mirror. I think we finally lost him when we hit the highway. I bet he thinks I drive like a jackass; I also bet he doesn't know how close he was to killing us.
Plus my friend Geetu tried killing us and people around us on at least 5 different occasions on the road. Now, Geetu is an awesome person, but the one thing she does do quite often is gesticulate like someone is repeatedly jabbing at her with a cattle prod. Which is only funny when you're not at the wheel of a car with surprisingly sensitive handling. I had to start playing Vivaldi in the car and close my eyes and visualize meadows in the spring to help me stop hyperventilating (really.) The big advantage of course was that there was no one within a good 300 feet of the crazy swerving Chevy Aveo on the highway - them drivers knew who not to mess with...
Day trip - On the Skyline drive, shenandoah, VA
As some of you know, I've been somewhat bogged down this holiday, so I decided to take a day off and head out to the countryside to get a breath of fresh air. What with the day highs hovering at an unseasonably warm 60 degrees (not a squeak from you eh, Matt Drudge?), we decided to hit the Skyline Drive in the Shenandoah in VA. So me and my friend drove west on 66 on a rented Chevy Aveo. More on this car in another post...
The Skyline Drive is worth doing. I can see why it would be gorgeous during spring and fall. The simplest way to do it if you're in the DC area is to do a quadrilateral - I-66, skyline, I-64, I-95. We drove out on the Lee Highway because I avoid interstates if possible. Driving up the Lee Highway by itself was refreshing, and so was the middle third that we drove through (Luray to Elkton). Skyline Drive is peppered with "Outlook points", and places that you can park and hit the Appalachian Trail (which runs more or less parallel to the drive). I'm not going to recommend one or the other point, because everyone has different tastes, and they are mostly all pretty. However, there IS one place that I would recommend - when you're in the middle third of the dive, do not miss the Dark Hollow Falls.
I have a thing for water, so I jumped at this one, and I didn't regret it. Its a solid 3/4ths of a mile one way and a pretty steep downhill trek from the road to the actual falls; it was icy in patches but certainly no more than mild-to-moderately challenging. We ran down and came back at a pretty decent clip (felt a little winded and was sweaty, but only because of the speed of ascent and temperature. Plus I'm in terrible shape). They say it takes 1 1/4 hr; we took 45 minutes.
But the falls themselves are very pretty. It's more a set of smaller falls as opposed to one massive drop, and it is accessible at several places. Given the time of the year, the flow was not torrential and the water was SUPER icy cold. It tasted good, but less sweet than I expected. Overall, well worth the 10 bucks for the weekly pass and something I would DEFINITELY do again in the spring and fall next year.
The other thing which I will do next year is go visit to a vineyard. There are several in the area, and we wanted to go to Veritas or Jefferson, which apparently are good. And this organic ice cream maker called Perfect Flavor in Waynesboro...
Also on the trip, I almost ran over a cop who had pulled someone over. I guess I was so hypnotized by the lights that I forgot to move over one lane. My mirror missed his ass by about two feet. Man, was he PISSED. I sort of apologized while driving off, but I kept my eyes glued to the rear view mirror for a while; I was pretty sure he would catch up and give me an earful (at the very least), and there was no way I was going to speed up to out race him, was there...
After we got off the drive, We stopped at Elkton for some (pretty awful) diner food. I felt bad for the small town. The place (or what we saw) was dying. There was absolutely nothing that I could say was positive about the place. It wasn't even quaint or pretty. Honestly, when people talk admiringly about small towns here in America, I just don't get it. Really. What I saw was a set of decrepit buildings, failing businesses, meth addicts and a general air of staleness. And a remarkable ability to screw up fries that came out of a freezer bag.
But jokes apart, these are the places that politicians talk about when they talk about main street being in trouble. And it is true - places like Elkton are in deep, deep trouble. I don't want to sound TOO negative about the place because I only got a snapshot, but what I did see wasn't pretty. We spoke to a couple locals, and you could tell times are not good. But its more than just shuttered shops and unpainted houses; it's this sense of foreboding that you get from the place and the people that tell you that something is seriously wrong. I don't know what it is or what caused it or what the future holds for these people. But what I do know is that while we could drive away and head back to comfort of our homes to blog about lousy french fries, the people of Elkton can't. This is their life. And it isn't looking too hot right now.
The Skyline Drive is worth doing. I can see why it would be gorgeous during spring and fall. The simplest way to do it if you're in the DC area is to do a quadrilateral - I-66, skyline, I-64, I-95. We drove out on the Lee Highway because I avoid interstates if possible. Driving up the Lee Highway by itself was refreshing, and so was the middle third that we drove through (Luray to Elkton). Skyline Drive is peppered with "Outlook points", and places that you can park and hit the Appalachian Trail (which runs more or less parallel to the drive). I'm not going to recommend one or the other point, because everyone has different tastes, and they are mostly all pretty. However, there IS one place that I would recommend - when you're in the middle third of the dive, do not miss the Dark Hollow Falls.
I have a thing for water, so I jumped at this one, and I didn't regret it. Its a solid 3/4ths of a mile one way and a pretty steep downhill trek from the road to the actual falls; it was icy in patches but certainly no more than mild-to-moderately challenging. We ran down and came back at a pretty decent clip (felt a little winded and was sweaty, but only because of the speed of ascent and temperature. Plus I'm in terrible shape). They say it takes 1 1/4 hr; we took 45 minutes.
But the falls themselves are very pretty. It's more a set of smaller falls as opposed to one massive drop, and it is accessible at several places. Given the time of the year, the flow was not torrential and the water was SUPER icy cold. It tasted good, but less sweet than I expected. Overall, well worth the 10 bucks for the weekly pass and something I would DEFINITELY do again in the spring and fall next year.
The other thing which I will do next year is go visit to a vineyard. There are several in the area, and we wanted to go to Veritas or Jefferson, which apparently are good. And this organic ice cream maker called Perfect Flavor in Waynesboro...
Also on the trip, I almost ran over a cop who had pulled someone over. I guess I was so hypnotized by the lights that I forgot to move over one lane. My mirror missed his ass by about two feet. Man, was he PISSED. I sort of apologized while driving off, but I kept my eyes glued to the rear view mirror for a while; I was pretty sure he would catch up and give me an earful (at the very least), and there was no way I was going to speed up to out race him, was there...
After we got off the drive, We stopped at Elkton for some (pretty awful) diner food. I felt bad for the small town. The place (or what we saw) was dying. There was absolutely nothing that I could say was positive about the place. It wasn't even quaint or pretty. Honestly, when people talk admiringly about small towns here in America, I just don't get it. Really. What I saw was a set of decrepit buildings, failing businesses, meth addicts and a general air of staleness. And a remarkable ability to screw up fries that came out of a freezer bag.
But jokes apart, these are the places that politicians talk about when they talk about main street being in trouble. And it is true - places like Elkton are in deep, deep trouble. I don't want to sound TOO negative about the place because I only got a snapshot, but what I did see wasn't pretty. We spoke to a couple locals, and you could tell times are not good. But its more than just shuttered shops and unpainted houses; it's this sense of foreboding that you get from the place and the people that tell you that something is seriously wrong. I don't know what it is or what caused it or what the future holds for these people. But what I do know is that while we could drive away and head back to comfort of our homes to blog about lousy french fries, the people of Elkton can't. This is their life. And it isn't looking too hot right now.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Signs you are at a good Chinese Restaurant (or, why I like Joe's Noodle House, Rockville)
5. You can't locate the place because nothing on the outside of the restaurant is a identifier of the place. Joe's Noodle House had a chinese sign on the outside. Granted, it did say "Noodle House" in smallish test underneath, but it could have been Bob's Noodle House. (There is one such place around, apparently. Bob, like Joe, is presumably fictitious)
4. Once you get in, all communication is restricted to pointing and generic inquisitive/affirmative/negative noises and/or headshakes. Joe's does have people who can speak a smattering of English, but the Mexican helpers throw you off because they don't, and their Chinese is as good as yours, so they can't answer questions about the items on the menu.
3. Speaking of the menu, it has to be at least partly in Chinese, with bad English translation/unheard of words. So See-U Noodle and Plain Millet Congee are a good sign. However, if you get misspelled words like "Domastic" beer, and "Budwiser", you *may* be in trouble. On the other hand, the misspelled words ARE ubiquitous, so maybe you can't uh, read too much into it. (Ba-dum-tisshhh)
2. Happy Chinese people. This is a safe bet for any foreign cuisine; you want a place that the people that invented the cuisine like. So a few nervous white people portends well, while multiple nationalities in the dining room could correlate with disappointment. Of course, if you see a mexican dude in the kitchen, head for the exit.
1. The words "Oooo... i don't know if I could eat THAT" should escape your lips at least once. Joe's has many such things that, as an admittedly not-so-staunch vegetarian, I had qualms eating. But as many of you know, my love for food often exceeds culinary inhibitions that should have been permanently ingrained in my Indian genes. So when I saw Beef Tendon stew, I dug in. (Its chewy, like a tough gelatinous consistency. It had been simmered in the sauce for a long while, so it was delicious). Ditto the other thing that my friend ordered (he did all his talking in Mandarin, just so we could feel inadequate). It had a weird spice that numbed your tongue a bit.
The thing that I did find a bit tough swallowing was the whole fried shrimp. These were big (6") whole shrimp that were dipped in a batter and then deep-fried, like a tempura. Now, I wasn't just going to pop this in my mouth, hold my nose and swallow, like it was some challenge. I took a good five minutes getting through the thing, experiencing every little crunch and pop. It was mild as far as flavor went, but there were a couple of things that made this challenging:
a. The shrimp still had its eyeballs. So as I picked it up and took it to my mouth, I had a rough time overriding the feeling that the thing was looking at me and pleading with me not to eat its face.
b. The biting off of the head. Shrimps might not have giant brains, but there is some non-homogeneity in the general area of its head/neck region of the animal. The eyeballs are soft, but the feelers are crunchy.
c. The damn thing has a hundred legs. Or some large number. These are fried to a crisp, and they tend to scratch on the insides of your mouth and throat. This is somehwat unpleasant because it feels like you're eating a bunch of insects. Also, the alternating of the hard shell and soft flesh is also something to get used to.
One more thing. Throw away the tail area. That's the anus. But you knew that, surely.
So yes, I did have a great time at Joe's. The food is really good and very unlike your local chinese take-out. Its well worth visiting at least once.
But if you're thinking of getting the deep-fried battered shrimp, you've been warned.
4. Once you get in, all communication is restricted to pointing and generic inquisitive/affirmative/negative noises and/or headshakes. Joe's does have people who can speak a smattering of English, but the Mexican helpers throw you off because they don't, and their Chinese is as good as yours, so they can't answer questions about the items on the menu.
3. Speaking of the menu, it has to be at least partly in Chinese, with bad English translation/unheard of words. So See-U Noodle and Plain Millet Congee are a good sign. However, if you get misspelled words like "Domastic" beer, and "Budwiser", you *may* be in trouble. On the other hand, the misspelled words ARE ubiquitous, so maybe you can't uh, read too much into it. (Ba-dum-tisshhh)
2. Happy Chinese people. This is a safe bet for any foreign cuisine; you want a place that the people that invented the cuisine like. So a few nervous white people portends well, while multiple nationalities in the dining room could correlate with disappointment. Of course, if you see a mexican dude in the kitchen, head for the exit.
1. The words "Oooo... i don't know if I could eat THAT" should escape your lips at least once. Joe's has many such things that, as an admittedly not-so-staunch vegetarian, I had qualms eating. But as many of you know, my love for food often exceeds culinary inhibitions that should have been permanently ingrained in my Indian genes. So when I saw Beef Tendon stew, I dug in. (Its chewy, like a tough gelatinous consistency. It had been simmered in the sauce for a long while, so it was delicious). Ditto the other thing that my friend ordered (he did all his talking in Mandarin, just so we could feel inadequate). It had a weird spice that numbed your tongue a bit.
The thing that I did find a bit tough swallowing was the whole fried shrimp. These were big (6") whole shrimp that were dipped in a batter and then deep-fried, like a tempura. Now, I wasn't just going to pop this in my mouth, hold my nose and swallow, like it was some challenge. I took a good five minutes getting through the thing, experiencing every little crunch and pop. It was mild as far as flavor went, but there were a couple of things that made this challenging:
a. The shrimp still had its eyeballs. So as I picked it up and took it to my mouth, I had a rough time overriding the feeling that the thing was looking at me and pleading with me not to eat its face.
b. The biting off of the head. Shrimps might not have giant brains, but there is some non-homogeneity in the general area of its head/neck region of the animal. The eyeballs are soft, but the feelers are crunchy.
c. The damn thing has a hundred legs. Or some large number. These are fried to a crisp, and they tend to scratch on the insides of your mouth and throat. This is somehwat unpleasant because it feels like you're eating a bunch of insects. Also, the alternating of the hard shell and soft flesh is also something to get used to.
One more thing. Throw away the tail area. That's the anus. But you knew that, surely.
So yes, I did have a great time at Joe's. The food is really good and very unlike your local chinese take-out. Its well worth visiting at least once.
But if you're thinking of getting the deep-fried battered shrimp, you've been warned.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Red Square story - my experience at a Russian/Ukranian bar
I had heard about this Ukranian bar/restaurant called Red Square from my Russian friend Stan. He told me about how this one time he was having dinner at this place on a quiet weekday, and the place gets taken down by a SWAT team. Seriously. People were eating, and all of a sudden the doors come crashing down and a bunch of commandos take over the place, arrest the owner and a couple other people, make everyone stand up against a wall and give them a rigorous pat-down. They shut the place down. "Some illegal activity. Ukranians." said Stan with a shrug at the time.
So when I found that the place had reopened in the middle of Baltimore, I had to go, naturally.
A friend of mine said he knew the bartender well, but he bailed on me so I went alone. The Red Square seemed innocuous enough from the outside, so I opened the door and stepped into darkness. Once my eyes got back, I realised I was in this dimly-lit room that looked like it had been a dungeon before someone decided to throw in a few cheap tables and some ragged upholstery (all red of course). I swear I could smell old dried blood from past torture sessions. On either side of the door I'd just walked in were bouncers with fists as big as my face. The restaurant was completely empty except for one table where there were a couple of men sitting in grey double breasted suits smoking cigars, with swarthy bald dudes built like tanks standing at their shoulders. By this time my insides were already beginning to churn a little because I had clearly walked into a meeting where these guys were either deciding how best to smuggle in the next consignment of rolex watches or deciding which rival gang member's knees to break. I tried a friendly wave but they ignored me and went back to discussing shattered patellae. I walked over stiffly (to conceal the mild trembling) to the bar anyway, because by then I had decided to drink something at this place no matter what. Plus with images from the dungeon in Pulp Fiction flitting through my mind, I genuinely needed a drink.
At the bar, there was this one very worn out Slavic looking woman in high heels and a leather and fishnet kind of dress that strained to keep her fat rolls in check. She gave me a quick up-and-down, decided I had no money for whatever service she was going to offer, and went back to smoking what smelled like old sweaty feet. Behind the bar, there were three more Russians/Ukranians, one of whom had a barely concealed shoulder holster. I tried not to stare, but they were friendly so I started chatting a bit. Turns out their names were Vladimir, Oleg and Leon (I'm not making this up) and they had a total of twenty teeth among them. I tried shaking Leon's hand, but he apologized and said he couldn't; he held up his fist, which was swollen and bloody. "Fight", he said by way of explanation. I gulped, but mistaking my anxious look for worry about his well-being, he added "You should haff seen ze other guy!", and all three guffawed in unison. To further drive home his masculinity (as if this were necessary), Leon showed me some of his scars. He has a 6 inch gash on his jaw from a knife fight in Uzbekistan. The most I could muster was a half inch scar on my thumb from cutting myself while making a glider in 7th grade, which I showed him with gusto and some pride. The three grunted, but I think it was politeness more than genuine appreciation.
I decided to open the menu and talk about the food to try to change the topic to something less testosteroney. We decided to get me some bliny, which is like a crepe. After he yelled out my order in Russian to the Slavic woman (so I guess she waited tables too) Vlad realized I needed a drink, so he asked me "Vot beer you vant? Ve haf zigz beers", and he pointed to a row of bottles dutifully named "Beer No.1", "Beer No.2" all the way to "Beer No.6". Since I was still a little scared to ask too many questions, I asked for No.6. and get a three-quarter liter bottle of what actually turned out to be a pretty decent porter. It tasted like it was about 20% alcohol though, and I knew I'd have to man up and down the whole thing in front of these guys. So while I knew I was heading for a killer hangover, it did soothe my frazzled nerves a bit (it was probably killing cells in my liver and brain as well, but hey). I noticed Leon was looking at me expectantly, so I took another swig, tried not to wince, and mumbled something appreciatively.
But Leon wasn't done. In a very lets-cut-the-crap-and-see-if-you're-a-real-man kind of tone, he asked me "Ssso you vont zome REEYAL russian drinkz?" and I think I nodded. So he put down a shot glass, reached under the bar, pulled out a glass AK-47 and actually "shot" me a gigantic vodka shot. I got served a 4 ounce shot from a gun. I must've turned white (I'm not sure what this means for Indian people - maybe a weird ochre) because they all chortled mercilessly. This had gotten the attention of the mafia gang at table 1, so they stopped and started looking on expectantly, and now all of a sudden I was the scrawny Indian dude in the spotlight ready to be the joke of the week. That made me all incensed, so, as the ambassador of some 1 billion people, I took a deep breath and downed the drink. What followed is pretty undescribable, but the closest I can get is that it felt like someone tied a pound of garlic and a dead sewer rat to a cactus, set it on fire and shoved it down my throat.
But I'm proud to tell you that it stayed down. Sure I coughed and hacked and burped fire, and my nose was running and my ears were ringing, but the drink stayed down. I looked at Vlad in semi-disbelief and suppressed agony, and through bleary eyes I saw his gap-toothed grin, as he informed me, "Thet vass garlic vodka."
I stuffed my face with the bliny that had arrived to save my esophagus from certain annihilation, and decided that I had had enough Russian/Ukranian cultural education for the day. I got up unsteadily to pay up, but they wouldn't accept money (really), so I staggered out of the bar, completely smashed but happy and somewhat proud of having passed the Russian/Ukranian man test.
ps: ALL my bodily secretions smelled of garlic the next couple of days. Garlic Vodka is not for the faint of heart.
So when I found that the place had reopened in the middle of Baltimore, I had to go, naturally.
A friend of mine said he knew the bartender well, but he bailed on me so I went alone. The Red Square seemed innocuous enough from the outside, so I opened the door and stepped into darkness. Once my eyes got back, I realised I was in this dimly-lit room that looked like it had been a dungeon before someone decided to throw in a few cheap tables and some ragged upholstery (all red of course). I swear I could smell old dried blood from past torture sessions. On either side of the door I'd just walked in were bouncers with fists as big as my face. The restaurant was completely empty except for one table where there were a couple of men sitting in grey double breasted suits smoking cigars, with swarthy bald dudes built like tanks standing at their shoulders. By this time my insides were already beginning to churn a little because I had clearly walked into a meeting where these guys were either deciding how best to smuggle in the next consignment of rolex watches or deciding which rival gang member's knees to break. I tried a friendly wave but they ignored me and went back to discussing shattered patellae. I walked over stiffly (to conceal the mild trembling) to the bar anyway, because by then I had decided to drink something at this place no matter what. Plus with images from the dungeon in Pulp Fiction flitting through my mind, I genuinely needed a drink.
At the bar, there was this one very worn out Slavic looking woman in high heels and a leather and fishnet kind of dress that strained to keep her fat rolls in check. She gave me a quick up-and-down, decided I had no money for whatever service she was going to offer, and went back to smoking what smelled like old sweaty feet. Behind the bar, there were three more Russians/Ukranians, one of whom had a barely concealed shoulder holster. I tried not to stare, but they were friendly so I started chatting a bit. Turns out their names were Vladimir, Oleg and Leon (I'm not making this up) and they had a total of twenty teeth among them. I tried shaking Leon's hand, but he apologized and said he couldn't; he held up his fist, which was swollen and bloody. "Fight", he said by way of explanation. I gulped, but mistaking my anxious look for worry about his well-being, he added "You should haff seen ze other guy!", and all three guffawed in unison. To further drive home his masculinity (as if this were necessary), Leon showed me some of his scars. He has a 6 inch gash on his jaw from a knife fight in Uzbekistan. The most I could muster was a half inch scar on my thumb from cutting myself while making a glider in 7th grade, which I showed him with gusto and some pride. The three grunted, but I think it was politeness more than genuine appreciation.
I decided to open the menu and talk about the food to try to change the topic to something less testosteroney. We decided to get me some bliny, which is like a crepe. After he yelled out my order in Russian to the Slavic woman (so I guess she waited tables too) Vlad realized I needed a drink, so he asked me "Vot beer you vant? Ve haf zigz beers", and he pointed to a row of bottles dutifully named "Beer No.1", "Beer No.2" all the way to "Beer No.6". Since I was still a little scared to ask too many questions, I asked for No.6. and get a three-quarter liter bottle of what actually turned out to be a pretty decent porter. It tasted like it was about 20% alcohol though, and I knew I'd have to man up and down the whole thing in front of these guys. So while I knew I was heading for a killer hangover, it did soothe my frazzled nerves a bit (it was probably killing cells in my liver and brain as well, but hey). I noticed Leon was looking at me expectantly, so I took another swig, tried not to wince, and mumbled something appreciatively.
But Leon wasn't done. In a very lets-cut-the-crap-and-see-if-you're-a-real-man kind of tone, he asked me "Ssso you vont zome REEYAL russian drinkz?" and I think I nodded. So he put down a shot glass, reached under the bar, pulled out a glass AK-47 and actually "shot" me a gigantic vodka shot. I got served a 4 ounce shot from a gun. I must've turned white (I'm not sure what this means for Indian people - maybe a weird ochre) because they all chortled mercilessly. This had gotten the attention of the mafia gang at table 1, so they stopped and started looking on expectantly, and now all of a sudden I was the scrawny Indian dude in the spotlight ready to be the joke of the week. That made me all incensed, so, as the ambassador of some 1 billion people, I took a deep breath and downed the drink. What followed is pretty undescribable, but the closest I can get is that it felt like someone tied a pound of garlic and a dead sewer rat to a cactus, set it on fire and shoved it down my throat.
But I'm proud to tell you that it stayed down. Sure I coughed and hacked and burped fire, and my nose was running and my ears were ringing, but the drink stayed down. I looked at Vlad in semi-disbelief and suppressed agony, and through bleary eyes I saw his gap-toothed grin, as he informed me, "Thet vass garlic vodka."
I stuffed my face with the bliny that had arrived to save my esophagus from certain annihilation, and decided that I had had enough Russian/Ukranian cultural education for the day. I got up unsteadily to pay up, but they wouldn't accept money (really), so I staggered out of the bar, completely smashed but happy and somewhat proud of having passed the Russian/Ukranian man test.
ps: ALL my bodily secretions smelled of garlic the next couple of days. Garlic Vodka is not for the faint of heart.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Speaking of the layman's view of scientists...
Don't you think they should just stop funding studies that look at correlation of coffee intake with breast size? I mean, I'm tired of studies becauase:
a. They really just look at correlations; no cause/effect, no mechanistic explanation for anything.
b. They're usually small studies and the statistics are usually marginal, which means that it could have well been just a fluke
c. Very often, some other publicity-seeking "scientific" study looked at the same, or a very similar question and came up with a different conclusion, which leads to
d. A general feeling of mistrust in the public. Come on, admit it, how often have you had non-scientists give you an example like the one I cited, and then point out that two years previously there was another study that said the exact opposite, and that therefore all of this was b.s anyway?
I don't know, I think the studies are useless (no one is going to increase/decrease their coffee intake so that they can alter their bust size), and they permit a certain cynicism about science in the lay population, which is unhelpful.
Oh, and in case you didn't follow the link, more than three cups a day will shrink your boobies apparently.
a. They really just look at correlations; no cause/effect, no mechanistic explanation for anything.
b. They're usually small studies and the statistics are usually marginal, which means that it could have well been just a fluke
c. Very often, some other publicity-seeking "scientific" study looked at the same, or a very similar question and came up with a different conclusion, which leads to
d. A general feeling of mistrust in the public. Come on, admit it, how often have you had non-scientists give you an example like the one I cited, and then point out that two years previously there was another study that said the exact opposite, and that therefore all of this was b.s anyway?
I don't know, I think the studies are useless (no one is going to increase/decrease their coffee intake so that they can alter their bust size), and they permit a certain cynicism about science in the lay population, which is unhelpful.
Oh, and in case you didn't follow the link, more than three cups a day will shrink your boobies apparently.
Real scientists in the Obama administration
Sweet music to my ears. These people are giants in their field, and are bona-fide scientists, not bullshit hacks who will twist facts to please their political masters. Its the worst thing a scientist can do - lend credence to something patently unsupported by sound data; it promotes falsehoods in the name of science, and truly tarnishes the trust that the public has in scientists.
Hopefully this new set of scientists in the Obama administration will have the spine to do what needs to be done to get S&T back on track in his country. (Of course, they could start off by, cough, cough, increasing the salaries of scientists. Happy scientists = productive scientists...)
Hopefully this new set of scientists in the Obama administration will have the spine to do what needs to be done to get S&T back on track in his country. (Of course, they could start off by, cough, cough, increasing the salaries of scientists. Happy scientists = productive scientists...)
Friday, December 19, 2008
Holy crap. California in BAD shape.
Oh Jesus. I just came across this.
CA as you well know, is still in the top 10 economies in the WORLD. And now they have to face spending freezes, and state employees are forced to take two days unpaid leave every month because the government can't afford to pay them?
Oh good lord. I hope this is some sort of a legislative grandstanding. If it isn't, we are in big, big, BIG trouble. As California goes, so does the country...
Update: Ok, it *might* be a result of friction between the dems in the house and Arnie. We'll see how this pans out...
CA as you well know, is still in the top 10 economies in the WORLD. And now they have to face spending freezes, and state employees are forced to take two days unpaid leave every month because the government can't afford to pay them?
Oh good lord. I hope this is some sort of a legislative grandstanding. If it isn't, we are in big, big, BIG trouble. As California goes, so does the country...
Update: Ok, it *might* be a result of friction between the dems in the house and Arnie. We'll see how this pans out...
Extraordinary horniness plus extraordinary fecundity equals...
This might be beautiful to some people, and childbirth is great and all that, but 18??? EIGHTEEN children??? That's one very year. That's two months between childbirth and conception. That's one uterus that's doing a hell of a job pleasing Jesus.
Of course, they now have a TV show.
Oh, here's a nice bonus to brighten your day: the duggar family website. Don't get me started.
Punches in super slo mo
Hypnotizing. And of course, incredibly, stupidly, mind numbingly funny.
The actual punches start a minute into the video, but I like the build-up.
The actual punches start a minute into the video, but I like the build-up.
Chris Matthews destroys Frank Gaffney
Thanks to reader Joe who brought this to my attention. The real fireworks start at about 11:00.
Now we officially know from Dick Cheney what we had guessed all along: the war would have been fought anyway - They were out to get Saddam no matter what. They knew he didn't have the damn WMDs, the weapons were just a great excuse to thrust in our faces to scare us into going along with what was always a little geopolitical game with by the neocons, with their best buddies (esp. in the arms and oil industries) pocketing nice tidy sums along the way.
4000+ American lives. AT LEAST 150,000 Iraqi lives.
I'm sure these guys sleep just fine at night. We liberated that country, after all.
Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy
Now we officially know from Dick Cheney what we had guessed all along: the war would have been fought anyway - They were out to get Saddam no matter what. They knew he didn't have the damn WMDs, the weapons were just a great excuse to thrust in our faces to scare us into going along with what was always a little geopolitical game with by the neocons, with their best buddies (esp. in the arms and oil industries) pocketing nice tidy sums along the way.
4000+ American lives. AT LEAST 150,000 Iraqi lives.
I'm sure these guys sleep just fine at night. We liberated that country, after all.
Karma
I know this is old, old news now, but its good enough to watch again and again. And again.
Couple things about this:
1. Pretty awesome aim dude. That was going right AT his noggin.
2. REALLY awesome reflexes dude. For a sixty year old. (As Leno said, the only thing he dodged so successfully was the draft. Ha.)
3. Life is going to be hell for the next few days/weeks/months, or for however long the journalist gets in jail. Oh sure, he's a hero to the people, but he totally embarrassed the crap out of Maliki.
All humour aside, how embarrassing. The guy goes out for his victory lap (mischaracterizing his administration's role in this fiasco all the way), and he gets a shoe in the face. It is painful to see how low this idiot has allowed the Office of the Presidency to fall. Really, really sad.
Oh, and I hope that there's more to follow. A shoe in the face may be nice and cathartic and all that, but what we need is people (not just a lame-ass "independent commission" which will probably let them off with a slap on the wrist) to systematically pick apart all that has happened in the past few years and go after these assholes and bring them to justice. And then start the work of reversing all the damage that has been done.
Couple things about this:
1. Pretty awesome aim dude. That was going right AT his noggin.
2. REALLY awesome reflexes dude. For a sixty year old. (As Leno said, the only thing he dodged so successfully was the draft. Ha.)
3. Life is going to be hell for the next few days/weeks/months, or for however long the journalist gets in jail. Oh sure, he's a hero to the people, but he totally embarrassed the crap out of Maliki.
All humour aside, how embarrassing. The guy goes out for his victory lap (mischaracterizing his administration's role in this fiasco all the way), and he gets a shoe in the face. It is painful to see how low this idiot has allowed the Office of the Presidency to fall. Really, really sad.
Oh, and I hope that there's more to follow. A shoe in the face may be nice and cathartic and all that, but what we need is people (not just a lame-ass "independent commission" which will probably let them off with a slap on the wrist) to systematically pick apart all that has happened in the past few years and go after these assholes and bring them to justice. And then start the work of reversing all the damage that has been done.
Ah, the intertubes...
I know, I don't really have to explain my disappearance, but here it is anyway.
1. I had a big big presentation to make. The kind that I couldn't wing like I usually do.
2. The interubes were blocked at home. AGAIN. I hate you com-fucking-cast. The robot helper couldn't sort it out and I kept calling when there were no humans who could help me.
3. I can't do this at work.
4. The intertubes *did* come back up a couple days ago, but much as I love pushupyogi, there were more important sites to visit from the solitude of my room...
There. That made me feel better.
1. I had a big big presentation to make. The kind that I couldn't wing like I usually do.
2. The interubes were blocked at home. AGAIN. I hate you com-fucking-cast. The robot helper couldn't sort it out and I kept calling when there were no humans who could help me.
3. I can't do this at work.
4. The intertubes *did* come back up a couple days ago, but much as I love pushupyogi, there were more important sites to visit from the solitude of my room...
There. That made me feel better.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Funny One Night Stand story
Oh dear, oh dear... well, first things first. This is not urban legend; my roommate knows the people involved. Well, the girl involved. So the person in question is a bright young thing, who was impressed enough with this bright young dude that she decided to go back to his home after the evening out. So all goes off as planed (we presume), and the next morning the guy has to leave early for work. So he tells this lady to let herself out when she's good to go. A couple hours later she wakes up and is good to go. As in good to go. To the bathroom. After what apparently was a satisfying dump, she flushes. Except (you know where this is going), all she gets is BLLUUNSSHHHK. I can tell you from experience, the sound of a broken toilet is one of the most distressing sounds one can ever hear. So she flushes again and again, and all she gets is BLLUUNSSHHHK, BLLUUNSSHHHK, BLLUUNSSHHHK... Nothing. Things stay where they are.
And then this woman did something, perhaps in the heat of the moment, that I don't know if I would, or could, have done. She proceeded to bag things up. I don't know, and I don't want to know the exact logistics but I do know that desperation does drive ingenuity. Either way, she got all that stuff bagged up and cleaned up, and with a huge sigh of relief (I can only imagine) left the house. Well, almost; as she was ready to step out, she remembered that she had left her handbag on the front room table. So she ran back inside, got the bag, took another quick look around and left, this time firmly shutting the door behind her.
And then noticed that she had left the other bag on the table...
And then this woman did something, perhaps in the heat of the moment, that I don't know if I would, or could, have done. She proceeded to bag things up. I don't know, and I don't want to know the exact logistics but I do know that desperation does drive ingenuity. Either way, she got all that stuff bagged up and cleaned up, and with a huge sigh of relief (I can only imagine) left the house. Well, almost; as she was ready to step out, she remembered that she had left her handbag on the front room table. So she ran back inside, got the bag, took another quick look around and left, this time firmly shutting the door behind her.
And then noticed that she had left the other bag on the table...
Two huge events in the news
I've been a bit busy with work and all that, but there were two things that caught my attention, that are really too important to pass up.
1. Japanese men find love at last.
As you may have already read, Japanese men have absolutely no time and/or interest in sex. Plus of course, there are now guys like Le Trung, who have gone ahead and, well, you have to read it.
Take a look at this guy's face. You know he's been spending way too much, ahem, happy time with the fembot. You just know.
2. Oprah gains weight again
O.M.G. She's back at 200 lbs. The world as we know it is. going. to. end. We all gonna DIIEEE!!!!
1. Japanese men find love at last.
As you may have already read, Japanese men have absolutely no time and/or interest in sex. Plus of course, there are now guys like Le Trung, who have gone ahead and, well, you have to read it.
Take a look at this guy's face. You know he's been spending way too much, ahem, happy time with the fembot. You just know.
2. Oprah gains weight again
O.M.G. She's back at 200 lbs. The world as we know it is. going. to. end. We all gonna DIIEEE!!!!
Monday, December 8, 2008
Bear $#*%ing Grylls was asking for it
As I have painstakingly chronicled previously, Bear $#*%ing Grylls is a turd who is waiting to get himself killed on of these days. He's also a royal wanker and a fraud. (Sorry, had to do it).
Anyways, did you hear about this? Apparently this idiot got himself injured on a trip to Antarctica. I'm sure he tried somersaulting across an icy ravine and broke his shoulder in the process. I wish two things had happened:
1. They had caught it on tape.
2. He broke his neck instead of his shoulder.
Here is the idiot in all glory, buried up to his neck in dirt. I'm sure there's some (bullshit) reason.
Anyways, did you hear about this? Apparently this idiot got himself injured on a trip to Antarctica. I'm sure he tried somersaulting across an icy ravine and broke his shoulder in the process. I wish two things had happened:
1. They had caught it on tape.
2. He broke his neck instead of his shoulder.
Here is the idiot in all glory, buried up to his neck in dirt. I'm sure there's some (bullshit) reason.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Stupid word plays that piss me off
There are many of these, and I do know of people who have almost killed over some of this stupidity, but I am showing restraint today. I have to keep reminding myself that my mum reads this blog.
1. Unnecessary alliteration: There is a whole list of this, but nothing exemplifies this more than college basketball. March Madness. Sweet Sixteen, Elite Eight, Final Four. Excuse me while I go and vomit. AND SCREAM AS I VOMIT. WHY? WHY????? Aren't quarterfinals and semifinals (pron. ˈse-mē thankyouverymuch) good enough or you???
1a. Unnecessary redundant alliteration: The words Crispy and Cream are already alliterative. So why change them to Krispy and Kreme??? You thought we may pronounce the words with a soft c???
2. Near-homonyms and near-homonym insertions: I don't want an event to be "funtastic!!!" Its either fun, or fantastic. If its both, call it fun and fantastic. Actually, this will violate the alliteration rule so go for fun and, oh I don't know, marvelous or something.
I also saw this on the metro: Someone who gives up his/her seat to the more needy is a "Conseaterate" apparently. If you show me one person who does NOT think this is extraordinarily lame and devoid of intelligence, tell me and I will beat some sense into their dysfunctional brains.
3. Unnecessary acronyms: PBJ... well... alright. OJ... ok, reeeeallly pushing it. But HBO for Honey Bunches of Oats???
And, as it happens quite often, scientists take the cake: Do you know what LIGHT stands for?
Homologous to lymphotoxin, exhibits inducible expression, competes with herpesvirus glycoprotein D for herpesvirus entry mediator on T cells.
No kidding. Ask any immunologist you know.
4. Unnecessary quasi-technical jargon. Listen, if you want to say OK say OK. Saying 10-4 when you're not a cop on duty sounds pretty retarded, even if you think it makes you sound cool. Ditto for computer users. Nothing spells NERD more than calling someone a little less knowledgeable about computers than you a 404. You my be snickering now, but the joke's on you, you little jerk.
5. Stupid hybrid words: There are literally hundreds of these but nothing worse than the word I currently hate the most in the English language....
...
...
...
WEBINAR.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
webinar? WEBINAR???? You stupid @#$@$#%ing @#$^%$#@ @#webinar? WEBINAR???? You stupid @#$@$#%ing @#$^%$#@ @#$&*&&*^# **&^$%#$&$@. Sorry mom.
amp;*&&*^# **&^$%#webinar? WEBINAR???? You stupid @#$@$#%ing @#$^%$#@ @#$&*&&*^# **&^$%#$&$@. Sorry mom.
amp;$@. Sorry mom.
Hey, are there any other little word plays that piss you off? There are hundreds out there. Tell me which ones are exquisitely painful for you.
Update: My friend Joe points out that I use the word "biatch". Apparently.
"...the urban dictionary thinks you are an annoying, white, teenage girl.
Word originally created by gangstas, but sumhow [sic] used by every single spoiled white girl in America."
Oh.
1. Unnecessary alliteration: There is a whole list of this, but nothing exemplifies this more than college basketball. March Madness. Sweet Sixteen, Elite Eight, Final Four. Excuse me while I go and vomit. AND SCREAM AS I VOMIT. WHY? WHY????? Aren't quarterfinals and semifinals (pron. ˈse-mē thankyouverymuch) good enough or you???
1a. Unnecessary redundant alliteration: The words Crispy and Cream are already alliterative. So why change them to Krispy and Kreme??? You thought we may pronounce the words with a soft c???
2. Near-homonyms and near-homonym insertions: I don't want an event to be "funtastic!!!" Its either fun, or fantastic. If its both, call it fun and fantastic. Actually, this will violate the alliteration rule so go for fun and, oh I don't know, marvelous or something.
I also saw this on the metro: Someone who gives up his/her seat to the more needy is a "Conseaterate" apparently. If you show me one person who does NOT think this is extraordinarily lame and devoid of intelligence, tell me and I will beat some sense into their dysfunctional brains.
3. Unnecessary acronyms: PBJ... well... alright. OJ... ok, reeeeallly pushing it. But HBO for Honey Bunches of Oats???
And, as it happens quite often, scientists take the cake: Do you know what LIGHT stands for?
Homologous to lymphotoxin, exhibits inducible expression, competes with herpesvirus glycoprotein D for herpesvirus entry mediator on T cells.
No kidding. Ask any immunologist you know.
4. Unnecessary quasi-technical jargon. Listen, if you want to say OK say OK. Saying 10-4 when you're not a cop on duty sounds pretty retarded, even if you think it makes you sound cool. Ditto for computer users. Nothing spells NERD more than calling someone a little less knowledgeable about computers than you a 404. You my be snickering now, but the joke's on you, you little jerk.
5. Stupid hybrid words: There are literally hundreds of these but nothing worse than the word I currently hate the most in the English language....
...
...
...
WEBINAR.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
webinar? WEBINAR???? You stupid @#$@$#%ing @#$^%$#@ @#webinar? WEBINAR???? You stupid @#$@$#%ing @#$^%$#@ @#$&*&&*^# **&^$%#$&$@. Sorry mom.
amp;*&&*^# **&^$%#webinar? WEBINAR???? You stupid @#$@$#%ing @#$^%$#@ @#$&*&&*^# **&^$%#$&$@. Sorry mom.
amp;$@. Sorry mom.
Hey, are there any other little word plays that piss you off? There are hundreds out there. Tell me which ones are exquisitely painful for you.
Update: My friend Joe points out that I use the word "biatch". Apparently.
"...the urban dictionary thinks you are an annoying, white, teenage girl.
Word originally created by gangstas, but sumhow [sic] used by every single spoiled white girl in America."
Oh.
My roommate had a rough Thursday
My roommate DH has been having car issues. For someone who doesn't wear a seat belt in spite of multiple tickets, he seemed overly worried about an expired registration. (A small segue to explain the seat belt thing: he claims that he will fly through the windshield and land on the road on all fours with "cat-like grace" in case of a high speed crash. This will avoid him having a bruise across his chest with that restraining nuisance they require drivers to wear. He hasn't had a chance to put this theory into action. Yet.)
Either way, he needed to get his somewhat beat-up but still mostly functional '98 Camry registered. For which you need a state inspector to inspect and pass the car for safety. And in what has to be one of the top ten convenient ways to screw people over, the place you need to get an inspection also happens to be a mechanic shop, and if the mechanic, oh-so-concerned about your safety in your vehicle fails your car, you *have* to get the car fixed in the *same* shop, by law.
So whats the probability that the inspector will actually pass your car in the first go? That's right. Zero.
Which is exactly what happened to my roommate. However, while you and I may have rolled over and taken it in the tailpipe, DH actually knows cars, and had worked on the car the previous week to make it look OK enough to pass the inspection. So naturally, he was mad. After a bit of grandstanding on both sides, he then did what I may not have done. He brought a second inspector from somewhere and a lawyer buddy of his. Inspector #1 backed down grudgingly and gave the car the A-OK.
And then as DH was driving home in triumph, He noticed an acrid smell emanating from the car. Seconds later, his car radio turned off. As many of you know, this is often the kiss of death for the automobile. Fearing the worst, he tried to exit the highway, but as he was heading over to the exit, the car choked, gasped, and breathed its last in one giant cloud of smoke. The damn thing nearly caught fire. Turns out the starter was screwed up, didn't disengage, and had burnt itself out. And no, this isn't something that the inspector could have done to spite DH; this was just an old car crapping out. You'd think that that was bad enough, but guess who owned the towing company that had to drag the automotive corpse off the road. Yep. Inspector #1. (I have no idea how much he charged him, but DH isn't talking much today, and I don't want to pry).
But it didn't end there. So they came back to the house and left the car, and my roommate went to the laundry room to get a tarp to cover the driver's side window (he had it down when this happened and all the wiring was fried, so he couldn't get it up). As he took the thing down, a conveniently placed can of wood polish (mahogany finish) got knocked off the shelf and into the conveniently open laundry tub. He has spent a good six hours cleaning up and is still trying to get the stuff out as of today, but it looks like our washer has permanently acquired a woody finish. So will the next few loads, I'm sure.
And did I mention he had his law school final exam on Friday?
So, for the second time in as many days, I realize Karma can be a biatch. (Its a pity though. DH is a good man. Maybe it has something to do with him aspiring to be a lawyer; so maybe this is like a preemptive karma strike for all the wretched deeds he is going to commit...)
Car:
Washer (after 4 wash cycles with rags):
Either way, he needed to get his somewhat beat-up but still mostly functional '98 Camry registered. For which you need a state inspector to inspect and pass the car for safety. And in what has to be one of the top ten convenient ways to screw people over, the place you need to get an inspection also happens to be a mechanic shop, and if the mechanic, oh-so-concerned about your safety in your vehicle fails your car, you *have* to get the car fixed in the *same* shop, by law.
So whats the probability that the inspector will actually pass your car in the first go? That's right. Zero.
Which is exactly what happened to my roommate. However, while you and I may have rolled over and taken it in the tailpipe, DH actually knows cars, and had worked on the car the previous week to make it look OK enough to pass the inspection. So naturally, he was mad. After a bit of grandstanding on both sides, he then did what I may not have done. He brought a second inspector from somewhere and a lawyer buddy of his. Inspector #1 backed down grudgingly and gave the car the A-OK.
And then as DH was driving home in triumph, He noticed an acrid smell emanating from the car. Seconds later, his car radio turned off. As many of you know, this is often the kiss of death for the automobile. Fearing the worst, he tried to exit the highway, but as he was heading over to the exit, the car choked, gasped, and breathed its last in one giant cloud of smoke. The damn thing nearly caught fire. Turns out the starter was screwed up, didn't disengage, and had burnt itself out. And no, this isn't something that the inspector could have done to spite DH; this was just an old car crapping out. You'd think that that was bad enough, but guess who owned the towing company that had to drag the automotive corpse off the road. Yep. Inspector #1. (I have no idea how much he charged him, but DH isn't talking much today, and I don't want to pry).
But it didn't end there. So they came back to the house and left the car, and my roommate went to the laundry room to get a tarp to cover the driver's side window (he had it down when this happened and all the wiring was fried, so he couldn't get it up). As he took the thing down, a conveniently placed can of wood polish (mahogany finish) got knocked off the shelf and into the conveniently open laundry tub. He has spent a good six hours cleaning up and is still trying to get the stuff out as of today, but it looks like our washer has permanently acquired a woody finish. So will the next few loads, I'm sure.
And did I mention he had his law school final exam on Friday?
So, for the second time in as many days, I realize Karma can be a biatch. (Its a pity though. DH is a good man. Maybe it has something to do with him aspiring to be a lawyer; so maybe this is like a preemptive karma strike for all the wretched deeds he is going to commit...)
Car:
Washer (after 4 wash cycles with rags):
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Sweet sweet karma
ONE DAY after I poke fun at my lab mate for innocently suggesting that I heat up my 37 degree incubator to get my cells to grow faster, I put a set of grids in a plastic petri dish to dry in the 60 degree oven, instead of at 37 degrees. Of course, that got them fried. This is how the unfortunate dishes looked (with a glass slide alongside for scale).
Ah, karma is indeed a biatch.
Ah, karma is indeed a biatch.
Monday, December 1, 2008
DNS and the interwebs
You should read this. A really well written piece in WIRED about Dan Kaminsky, and how de uncovered a basic, basic flaw in the interwebs.
Whats somewhat disconcerting is how easy it is for this to happen again, except with someone with fewer moral qualms.
Whats somewhat disconcerting is how easy it is for this to happen again, except with someone with fewer moral qualms.
Plaxico Burress
Oh Jesus, this was incredibly funny. First of all, the guy is a jackass, a bad teammate and a thug. Sure, he's a good receiver, but I'm tired of these athletes pulling stupid stunts just because they can catch/throw/hit a ball well. Secondly, why the hell do you carry a firearm into a crowded bar? If its "for self-protection" don't go there dude. And finally, there *is* this little thing called a safety catch on a gun. Keeping it on when you have a gun in you pocket is wise. So when one an idiot like Burress goes to a nightclub and shoots himself in the right thigh (as he was posturing, no doubt), it gives me immense pleasure, because he deserved it. The one thing that would have made me even happier was if the gun was pointing a little farther left. That would have taken young Plax out of the gene pool for good, earning him a medal of honor at the Darwin Awards. Which may have been a good thing, I think.
However, apparently they can lock him up for 3 to 15 years, because NY state does not recognize out of state gun permits (it was outdated anyway). Now, the guy is going to be axed from the Giants (probably done with football too), he's the butt of late-night jokes, and he SHOT HIMSELF IN THE DAMN LEG. Don't you thing that the instant karma, as delicious and appropriate as it is, suffices?
Biological solutions from an Engineer
For those of you who don't believe it when I say that there aren't any traditional biologists in the lab, here's a little anecdote. (You're going to have to be a biologist to find this remotely funny)
I'm growing a few cell lines, and one of them wasn't growing slowly, not as well as the others. I mention this to my super-smart friend/cubicle-mate/collaborator/overall good guy who happens to be an engineer stuck in a Bio lab.
His immediate answer: Dude, why don't you just raise the temperature of your 37 degree incubator?
I'm growing a few cell lines, and one of them wasn't growing slowly, not as well as the others. I mention this to my super-smart friend/cubicle-mate/collaborator/overall good guy who happens to be an engineer stuck in a Bio lab.
His immediate answer: Dude, why don't you just raise the temperature of your 37 degree incubator?
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Terror in Mumbai - settling down and questions
So it does look like things are settling down; the bad guys have either been killed or have gotten away. I hope the cops hunt them down. And there's one guy I hear who was arrested. His ass is toast. As it should be. Indian cops, if you don't know, don't play good cop, bad cop. They play bad cop, sadist cop. (For a revealing look at how the police works in Mumbai, read "Maximum City" by Suketu Mehta)
1. How solid is the evidence that these people indeed came from Pakistan and Banglasdesh?
2. Who are the kingpins and the planners behind this?
3. Where did the money and the logistics come from?
4. Was there inside help? If so, from whom?
And of course,
5. Where does the government go from here.
We'll see where all this leads...
Friday, November 28, 2008
Terror in Mumbai - things are still unresolved
I had written a long post about the latest, but then Com-#$@*ing-cast screwed up and I lost my connection. This is ridiculous.
Anyways, what I was saying is that things are completely vague on location, no one really knows what is happening on the ground, there are people talking their heads off with various theories, and there is a tasteless sensationalizing of an already bad situation in the Indian media. This is awful. You cannot shove a mic in someone's face when they've just lost a relative, or when they've just been rescued from a hostage situation. There was one channel where they actually bookended each segment with a graphic that screamed "TERROR IN MUMBAI!!!" that literally exploded in a fireball. Ugh.
Apparently though, all that intimate coverage (with details about rescue plans and commando positions) were on delayed transmission. Also the electricity at some of the places was cut and phone lines jammed. I'm not so sure about the latter, but apparently this is the case, so the terrorists couldn't find out exactly where these guys were just by flicking on the TV. Still, *way* too much detail, and *way* too little crowd control.
But the situation still hasn't ended. They keep saying it has, or that its close to winding down, and then it flares up again, so I really don't know. We'll see how this goes down, but at the end, the Indian media needs to look in the mirror and do a critical assessment of how it handles situations like these.
On the other hand, CNN has a link up called "India 101". You know, for those who want to know a little more about a country that has 17% of the worlds population and is the worlds largest democracy. Apparently its not a country full of Appus, elephants and snake charmers.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Terror in Mumbai
So I'm sure all of you have heard about the terror attacks in Mumbai (Bombay), India. The media (especially in India) is all over this one, but to be honest, I don't really think ANYONE knows ANYTHING about whats happening. First of all, people who I know in Bombay are fine. Shaken, but OK.
There's a blog up that has pics. I'm not so sure about the captioning. There are people dying and this guy is gushing about the beautiful helmets of the Indian fire department. But still, some of the pics are arresting.
http://arunshanbhag.com/
This is an incredibly sophisticated and well-planned attack. Sure, there have always been terror strikes in India (some 3,600 deaths in the last three years, second only to Iraq). They usually get short shrift from the International media, and sadly, from Indians themselves. We tend to forgive, we tend to forget. And the one basic tenet of Hindu philosophy "Life will go on", which ordinarily helps one immensely with getting over grief, with looking past setbacks, rings terribly hollow right now.
I don't want "life to just go on". I don't want this one to be another one of those terror attacks that flits across the TV screens and fades away from memory as soon as it fades away from the media spotlight. We already had 50+ people die in a blast in Jaipur, another 50+ I think die in another blast in Ahmedabad just in the past few months. Didn't hear about them, did you. Yeah. Thats what happens when "Life goes on".
I want things to change after this one. I'm looking at a few things that were immediately, painfully obvious:
The cops were incredibly out of shape and were equipped with lathis (batons) and .303 rifles. No match against AK-47s that the terrorists had.
Bad communications on ground in the immediate aftermath; confusion, mayhem, even, where there should have been clarity and decisiveness.
Horrible decision making. How on Earth can the Chief of the Anti-terror squad and the top Encounter Specialist of the Mumbai Police be allowed to walk into a hostile situation without adequate protection? Within less than a couple of hours into the ordeal, these two top cops were shot dead. The Chief was shot thrice in the chest. No bullet proof vest???
Why do the police not have someone who can keep the media and the crowds at bay? Some of the media shots of the commandos and their setup was incredibly intimate. Sure, the public needs to know whats happening, but to openly discuss and reveal their locations and tactics on live TV? That just cannot be allowed to happen.
I know, I know; with this level of planning and sophistication, almost any government will have been overwhelmed. It is near impossible to completely prevent this sort of attack. There are long-term strategies aimed at stemming the tide of Islamic fundamentalism (all signs point to this also being behind the current Mumbai attacks), but thats a topic for another day. But for today, we need to think deeply critically of our counter terrorist tactics to keep fatalities and damage as low as possible, in the event of such an attack.
Lets see how things pan out.
There's a blog up that has pics. I'm not so sure about the captioning. There are people dying and this guy is gushing about the beautiful helmets of the Indian fire department. But still, some of the pics are arresting.
http://arunshanbhag.com/
This is an incredibly sophisticated and well-planned attack. Sure, there have always been terror strikes in India (some 3,600 deaths in the last three years, second only to Iraq). They usually get short shrift from the International media, and sadly, from Indians themselves. We tend to forgive, we tend to forget. And the one basic tenet of Hindu philosophy "Life will go on", which ordinarily helps one immensely with getting over grief, with looking past setbacks, rings terribly hollow right now.
I don't want "life to just go on". I don't want this one to be another one of those terror attacks that flits across the TV screens and fades away from memory as soon as it fades away from the media spotlight. We already had 50+ people die in a blast in Jaipur, another 50+ I think die in another blast in Ahmedabad just in the past few months. Didn't hear about them, did you. Yeah. Thats what happens when "Life goes on".
I want things to change after this one. I'm looking at a few things that were immediately, painfully obvious:
The cops were incredibly out of shape and were equipped with lathis (batons) and .303 rifles. No match against AK-47s that the terrorists had.
Bad communications on ground in the immediate aftermath; confusion, mayhem, even, where there should have been clarity and decisiveness.
Horrible decision making. How on Earth can the Chief of the Anti-terror squad and the top Encounter Specialist of the Mumbai Police be allowed to walk into a hostile situation without adequate protection? Within less than a couple of hours into the ordeal, these two top cops were shot dead. The Chief was shot thrice in the chest. No bullet proof vest???
Why do the police not have someone who can keep the media and the crowds at bay? Some of the media shots of the commandos and their setup was incredibly intimate. Sure, the public needs to know whats happening, but to openly discuss and reveal their locations and tactics on live TV? That just cannot be allowed to happen.
I know, I know; with this level of planning and sophistication, almost any government will have been overwhelmed. It is near impossible to completely prevent this sort of attack. There are long-term strategies aimed at stemming the tide of Islamic fundamentalism (all signs point to this also being behind the current Mumbai attacks), but thats a topic for another day. But for today, we need to think deeply critically of our counter terrorist tactics to keep fatalities and damage as low as possible, in the event of such an attack.
Lets see how things pan out.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Thanksgiving = chocolate orgies
My roommates girlfriend showed up and made a bunch of chocolate and cookie turkeys. I thought they looked like peacocks, and told her so. She was miffed. Actually, now that I've taken a photo of the thing, it does look like an army of turkeys. Neat. In addition to feeding us chocolate turkeys, the lady also cooked for all of us. She also cleans up each time she's in town. I like her.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Drivers Licence Story
When I turned 16 (yeah, this story is OLD), we had to get me a licence. Now, I had already been driving for a bit, so I didn't really need formal lessons, but in the city that I was living in at the time (Madras), one of the requirements was that you needed a licenced instructor to sign off on a sheet that said you had taken 12 classes. Ordinarily, like SO many things in India, this can be done quickly with an appropriate amount of money exchanged under the table. But my dad doesn't do bribes (he's one of those). Instead, he sent me packing to a driving instructor. The one closest to my home happened to be "Dhanalakshmi Driving School". Dhanalakshmi is the goddess of wealth; pretty suggestive that we should have just paid the money off, but my dad was determined to get me formal driving lessons. So I enrolled for my 12 classes at Dhanalakshmi.
The "school" was a room that was about 8' x 8'. There was a desk, a bench for visitors, and a folding chair for the owner and head instructor, a potbellied unshaven drunk with red baggy eyes and an inadequate combover. I think his name was Mahendran. He seemed a little disappointed that we didn't just pay up and ask for his signature. But he did accept the money with a devout glance towards the eastward facing wall, which was covered with pictures of a variety of gods and goddesses (he had his bases covered) and agreed to teach me the basics of driving in India. All this seemed to satisfy my dad, so we left with instructions to come back the next day at 6 am.
I showed up at about 6 am at the shack, and there are a group of about half a dozen dudes already there. They were a bit older than I was, dressed in their Sunday best, and were looking around nervously. I understood immediately - these guys were also here for lessons, but for them, driving was going to be an occupation, their means of earning money, as opposed to what it was for a spoiled brat like me. Mahendran seemed to understand this as well, because he treated me very differently from the rest of them. The first thing he did was to send a couple to the gas station with a canister and just enough money to get half a gallon of gas. He then sent another dude to a shop to get a few lemons, and yet another couple to get rags and a bucket of water. They all shuffled off dutifully, and Mahendran and I were left alone. We eyed each other somewhat uneasily, and then settled into a mutually agreeable silence. I looked at the car that Mahendran owns, the pride of Dhanalakshmi Driving School. It was a white 1965 HM Ambassador, which looked more than a little weatherbeaten. There were rusty patches, and at least 3 layers of different shades of white paint peeling off. I also noticed it had a behind-the-wheel manual gear box. Great.
Once the guys showed up, he made two or three of them clean the windshield and wheels of the car, while he popped the hood open. I took a peek inside and immediately wished I hadn't. The thing was basically a bucket of rusty bolts. It literally looked like little bits of engine would fall off if we stared too long. Mahendran then took the canister half full of gas, fastened it to a small shelf on the inside of the hood with some twine, and shoved in some tubing that ran to the engine. Apparently, this was to be our fuel injection system. But we hadn't pleased the gods yet (which by now, I was really counting on to deliver me back home in one piece). To this end, the guy pulled out an incense stick from his pocket, lit it, and went around with it in front of the god wall and the car, chanting unintelligible prayers (he did look a little drunk from the previous night). He then extinguished the stick and saved whatever was left it for the next day. Finally, he had one of the minions place four lemons under each wheel of the car. This done, the eight of us (yes, eight) bundled into the car, with Mahendran at the wheel. With a last whispered prayer, and with an emphatic crunching of the gears and crushing of the lemons, we were off.
(... to be contd. in Pt. 2)
The "school" was a room that was about 8' x 8'. There was a desk, a bench for visitors, and a folding chair for the owner and head instructor, a potbellied unshaven drunk with red baggy eyes and an inadequate combover. I think his name was Mahendran. He seemed a little disappointed that we didn't just pay up and ask for his signature. But he did accept the money with a devout glance towards the eastward facing wall, which was covered with pictures of a variety of gods and goddesses (he had his bases covered) and agreed to teach me the basics of driving in India. All this seemed to satisfy my dad, so we left with instructions to come back the next day at 6 am.
I showed up at about 6 am at the shack, and there are a group of about half a dozen dudes already there. They were a bit older than I was, dressed in their Sunday best, and were looking around nervously. I understood immediately - these guys were also here for lessons, but for them, driving was going to be an occupation, their means of earning money, as opposed to what it was for a spoiled brat like me. Mahendran seemed to understand this as well, because he treated me very differently from the rest of them. The first thing he did was to send a couple to the gas station with a canister and just enough money to get half a gallon of gas. He then sent another dude to a shop to get a few lemons, and yet another couple to get rags and a bucket of water. They all shuffled off dutifully, and Mahendran and I were left alone. We eyed each other somewhat uneasily, and then settled into a mutually agreeable silence. I looked at the car that Mahendran owns, the pride of Dhanalakshmi Driving School. It was a white 1965 HM Ambassador, which looked more than a little weatherbeaten. There were rusty patches, and at least 3 layers of different shades of white paint peeling off. I also noticed it had a behind-the-wheel manual gear box. Great.
Once the guys showed up, he made two or three of them clean the windshield and wheels of the car, while he popped the hood open. I took a peek inside and immediately wished I hadn't. The thing was basically a bucket of rusty bolts. It literally looked like little bits of engine would fall off if we stared too long. Mahendran then took the canister half full of gas, fastened it to a small shelf on the inside of the hood with some twine, and shoved in some tubing that ran to the engine. Apparently, this was to be our fuel injection system. But we hadn't pleased the gods yet (which by now, I was really counting on to deliver me back home in one piece). To this end, the guy pulled out an incense stick from his pocket, lit it, and went around with it in front of the god wall and the car, chanting unintelligible prayers (he did look a little drunk from the previous night). He then extinguished the stick and saved whatever was left it for the next day. Finally, he had one of the minions place four lemons under each wheel of the car. This done, the eight of us (yes, eight) bundled into the car, with Mahendran at the wheel. With a last whispered prayer, and with an emphatic crunching of the gears and crushing of the lemons, we were off.
(... to be contd. in Pt. 2)
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The Bailout for the Big Three
So, I'm sure you've all heard about how the Big Three automakers are on the edge of bankruptcy, and how they all flew into DC with their begging bowls. Except that they used their private jets for the trip, so they (deservedly) got rapped on their knuckles by the senate committee. Now, there has been a lot of talk from the Republicans about how we should let these guys go bust, file for Chapter 11, so that they can be restructured to be paragons of efficient productivity.
I'm not so sure.
Sure, these guys have totally screwed the system, screwed Americans in general, continued to make big bad trucks that no one really needed and that gave you 2 miles to the gallon, continued to fight the EPA (which to be fair, wasn't much these past few years) and succeeded in not only not having any sort of federal fuel efficiency limits, but also preventing forward thinking states such as California to enforce such rules. All this while the rest of the world has gone ahead and made better cars, more efficient factories and so on. Sure, these guys do deserve to roast in hell.
But you know what'll happen if/when these guys are allowed to go under? The guys at the top will be fine. The factory line workers, the welders, the machinists, those are the guys who will take the brunt. They'll lose their jobs, factories will shut down, taking down with them entire communities (where they are the primary job provider, and other associated businesses depend on them). Its millions of jobs at stake.
So, what do they do? Clearly, just giving them money so they can continue their obviously broken business systems is stupid. Here's what I think would be nice - Give them the money, but be very clear about what they HAVE to do with it:
In the short term, fuel efficiency for ALL cars to be on par with that of the Asians, and huge investments made into hybrid and electric cars.
In my opinion, MOST importantly, MAKE PUBLIC TRANSPORT. Sure, personal transport is nice and all, but about 85% of cars on American roads have one person. No matter how many fuel efficient cars you make, you are eventually going to have a problem if people continue to only drive cars. Buses, trams and trains are going to have to be the main mode of transport in all cities. Make these buses, make them reliable, get them to go into ALL parts of the city so inner city folk have a way of getting out and to where the jobs are. And of course, make them super energy efficient.
The system is so messed up, we're going to change it anyway. Might as well make dramatic, far reaching changes, as opposed to cosmetic temporary ones, no?
What say you?
I'm not so sure.
Sure, these guys have totally screwed the system, screwed Americans in general, continued to make big bad trucks that no one really needed and that gave you 2 miles to the gallon, continued to fight the EPA (which to be fair, wasn't much these past few years) and succeeded in not only not having any sort of federal fuel efficiency limits, but also preventing forward thinking states such as California to enforce such rules. All this while the rest of the world has gone ahead and made better cars, more efficient factories and so on. Sure, these guys do deserve to roast in hell.
But you know what'll happen if/when these guys are allowed to go under? The guys at the top will be fine. The factory line workers, the welders, the machinists, those are the guys who will take the brunt. They'll lose their jobs, factories will shut down, taking down with them entire communities (where they are the primary job provider, and other associated businesses depend on them). Its millions of jobs at stake.
So, what do they do? Clearly, just giving them money so they can continue their obviously broken business systems is stupid. Here's what I think would be nice - Give them the money, but be very clear about what they HAVE to do with it:
In the short term, fuel efficiency for ALL cars to be on par with that of the Asians, and huge investments made into hybrid and electric cars.
In my opinion, MOST importantly, MAKE PUBLIC TRANSPORT. Sure, personal transport is nice and all, but about 85% of cars on American roads have one person. No matter how many fuel efficient cars you make, you are eventually going to have a problem if people continue to only drive cars. Buses, trams and trains are going to have to be the main mode of transport in all cities. Make these buses, make them reliable, get them to go into ALL parts of the city so inner city folk have a way of getting out and to where the jobs are. And of course, make them super energy efficient.
The system is so messed up, we're going to change it anyway. Might as well make dramatic, far reaching changes, as opposed to cosmetic temporary ones, no?
What say you?
Horribly dorky Limerick
Of Charles Darwin I'm no fan.
What he theorized, I too, can.
A little transversion,
mutation and selection;
ape, pea, pen, pan, man!
What he theorized, I too, can.
A little transversion,
mutation and selection;
ape, pea, pen, pan, man!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Survivorman Vs. Man vs. Wild
If you watch Discovery channel, you have probably come across these two shows some time in the recent past. The premise of both shows is basically that there's a dude in the wild and he's up against nature. Using his skills and smarts (which he helpfully shares with you), he survives. End of show. However, as I hope to lay clear in this post, there are some basic differences between Man Vs. Wild and Survivorman. As always, here they are, in list form.
1. * Survivorman is an actual expert on survival and a filmmaker. He remains the only producer in the history of television to produce an internationally broadcast series entirely written, videotaped and hosted alone. His real name is Les Stroud.
* The star of Man Vs. Wild is a wanker who went to Eton and is a son of a Tory. He owns an island and lives on a barge on the Thames. His goes by the neauseatingly wannabe macho name Bear Grylls. Sort of like the midget who calls himself Andre the Giant.
2. * Survivorman ACTUALLY goes into the wilderness all alone for a week. No camera crew. He lugs his own stuff (50 lbs), and only has a satellite phone that connects him to civilization in case of emergency.
* Bear f*@#ing Grylls has a camera crew with him at all times. Yeah, he pretends like he's alone, but really, there's a camera guy. And for all you know, an entire film crew and caravan with a hot water bath and scantily clad blondes right behind the camera.
3. Survivorman doesn't do stupid shit. If there is a straight line of distance 100m connecting point A to point B, you can be sure that Les will walk the line, traveling a distance of no more than 150m.
* But not Grylls. Bear f*@#ing Grylls will have to climb a cliff, jump a ravine, plunge through rapids, swim through whirlpools and bear hug an anthill to get from A to B, travelling (and mostly flat-out running) for 3.5 miles in 28 minutes of an episode to get from A to B.
4. * Survivorman doesn't eat crap just for the sake of eating crap. To be fair, he sucks at catching anything, so he tends to eat mostly bugs for 7 days, but he's OK with that. He sets traps, usually nets nothing, complains a lot, eats a few termites, and then moves on. For anyone who has actually tried catching any sort of animal, you know that this is pretty much how it goes.
* Bear f*@#ing Grylls on the other hand will eat crap. First of all, there always just happens to be a newly dead mammal of some sort in his path (killed by his behind-the-scenes coterie, no doubt). Then, he walks up to it and eats its most disgusting innards. Why eat dead skunk bladder when you can eat its thigh, I wonder. I have also seen him eat a "just dead" zebra with no hands. you have a knife, you idiot. Use the f*@#ing knife. He also drinks his own urine. Pees into a bottle and then drinks it. As anyone who knows the basics of survival training, you DO NOT drink urine straight. You make a solar still. Sure enough, in the one episode where Stroud was dehydrated, this is what he did. I have also seen Bear f*@#ing Grylls squeeze water out of some animal's dung and drink it straight.
I guess what pisses me off is the melodrama that Grylls tries to inject into the show. Why drink your own urine 5 minutes into the show when you have dudes a few feet from you drinking Dasani. I'm sure you have some too off camera. Jackass. (I also read that he faked some of his locations, but I am not sure of the details). But more importantly, you're misleading people. There are safe ways of adventuring, and genuinely useful tips that you should know to increase your chances of survival. And then there are stupid ways of doing all this shit, which is EXACTLY what Gyrlls does with his infuriatingly whiney out-of-breath accent. If people do get stranded, they're going to remember watching this idiot eat maggots off a dead sheep, and they're going to get themselves killed.
So, help us all out, Bear f*@#ing Grylls. Learn from Les Stroud. And if you can't, I hope the next time you jump across a chasm, its a really really deep chasm. And that you misjudge the distance.
Update: Got to love youtube. Bear f*@#ing Grylls is a fraud.
1. * Survivorman is an actual expert on survival and a filmmaker. He remains the only producer in the history of television to produce an internationally broadcast series entirely written, videotaped and hosted alone. His real name is Les Stroud.
* The star of Man Vs. Wild is a wanker who went to Eton and is a son of a Tory. He owns an island and lives on a barge on the Thames. His goes by the neauseatingly wannabe macho name Bear Grylls. Sort of like the midget who calls himself Andre the Giant.
2. * Survivorman ACTUALLY goes into the wilderness all alone for a week. No camera crew. He lugs his own stuff (50 lbs), and only has a satellite phone that connects him to civilization in case of emergency.
* Bear f*@#ing Grylls has a camera crew with him at all times. Yeah, he pretends like he's alone, but really, there's a camera guy. And for all you know, an entire film crew and caravan with a hot water bath and scantily clad blondes right behind the camera.
3. Survivorman doesn't do stupid shit. If there is a straight line of distance 100m connecting point A to point B, you can be sure that Les will walk the line, traveling a distance of no more than 150m.
* But not Grylls. Bear f*@#ing Grylls will have to climb a cliff, jump a ravine, plunge through rapids, swim through whirlpools and bear hug an anthill to get from A to B, travelling (and mostly flat-out running) for 3.5 miles in 28 minutes of an episode to get from A to B.
4. * Survivorman doesn't eat crap just for the sake of eating crap. To be fair, he sucks at catching anything, so he tends to eat mostly bugs for 7 days, but he's OK with that. He sets traps, usually nets nothing, complains a lot, eats a few termites, and then moves on. For anyone who has actually tried catching any sort of animal, you know that this is pretty much how it goes.
* Bear f*@#ing Grylls on the other hand will eat crap. First of all, there always just happens to be a newly dead mammal of some sort in his path (killed by his behind-the-scenes coterie, no doubt). Then, he walks up to it and eats its most disgusting innards. Why eat dead skunk bladder when you can eat its thigh, I wonder. I have also seen him eat a "just dead" zebra with no hands. you have a knife, you idiot. Use the f*@#ing knife. He also drinks his own urine. Pees into a bottle and then drinks it. As anyone who knows the basics of survival training, you DO NOT drink urine straight. You make a solar still. Sure enough, in the one episode where Stroud was dehydrated, this is what he did. I have also seen Bear f*@#ing Grylls squeeze water out of some animal's dung and drink it straight.
I guess what pisses me off is the melodrama that Grylls tries to inject into the show. Why drink your own urine 5 minutes into the show when you have dudes a few feet from you drinking Dasani. I'm sure you have some too off camera. Jackass. (I also read that he faked some of his locations, but I am not sure of the details). But more importantly, you're misleading people. There are safe ways of adventuring, and genuinely useful tips that you should know to increase your chances of survival. And then there are stupid ways of doing all this shit, which is EXACTLY what Gyrlls does with his infuriatingly whiney out-of-breath accent. If people do get stranded, they're going to remember watching this idiot eat maggots off a dead sheep, and they're going to get themselves killed.
So, help us all out, Bear f*@#ing Grylls. Learn from Les Stroud. And if you can't, I hope the next time you jump across a chasm, its a really really deep chasm. And that you misjudge the distance.
Update: Got to love youtube. Bear f*@#ing Grylls is a fraud.
Monday, November 17, 2008
A few notes from the men's room
Let me start off by saying that I understand there is quite a bonhomie amongst women who make field trips, arm in arm, to the ladies room every day, and use trips to the lavatory to make their most important and enjoyable conversations of the day. Well, men are different - we have rules. You may or may not know the rules of the men's room. For those of you who don't, read on. For those of you who do, and for men reading this, here's a refresher. Men, tell me if I've missed something.
1. Flush. There are few things as nauseating as a urinal full of, well, urine. You see that little lever? Try giving it a gentle push downward. Whoosh! Dark yellow pee magically replaced by sparkling, clear water!
1a. Coming to think of it, there is one thing more nauseating than a urinal full of urine. Pubes. If I walk up to a urinal and it looks like a barbershop floor, it makes me want to vomit. Listen, I don't care if you're a Samson-type dude whose strength depends on his nether regions, but you either do some trimming at home, or you clean up after yourself. Leaving hirsute calling cards is repulsive.
2. Don't talk. its OK for a quick "Hey, whats up" on the way to the urinal. But once there, I really do not want to discuss the weather. I'm there to empty a kidney; I've got weather.com if I want to know what the weather is going to be like. No, not even football. If there was a conversation going on before entry into the rest room, it can take a break for half a minute.
3. Don't make eye contact. There are only two acceptable things to look at when you're taking a leak.
a. The business hand.
b. The wall directly in front of you.
To aid comprehension, I have included a quick sketch.
It is OK to:
Look away, at nothing in particular. This is completely kosher.
As above, looking at the business hand or at a point in the wall directly between your eyes is also fine.
It is not OK to:
Look directly at the person next to you, even if there is a conversation (which there shouldn't be)
Look at your neighbor's business hand. There are states where this can get you killed.
4. Wash up. Enough said.
These are the basic rules. But there are other things that you really should be doing to make your daily public micturatory trips pleasant:
1. If there is someone at the urinal, leave a spot between you and him if you can. Again, attached is a simple diagram to illustrate the point.
1a. If you have to be next to someone, do be mindful of your feet. We know you don't need to spread your legs 4 feet wide to get to your giant penis, so quit it. Its not classy, and thanks to Larry Craig, paves way for a potentially distasteful situation.
2. You are at the urinal to take a leak, not to pass gas. Gentle tinkling interrupted by thunderous flatulence is undesirable. If you suspect your toot might pack lass bark and more bite (especially if you've just had eggs), it would be highly appreciated if you could hold on. No need to make the men's room smell like your lunch.
3. If you so desire to wash your mouth, do so gently. Hacking up greenish phlegm from the deepest recesses of your lungs is unpleasant to watch and even less appealing to listen to.
4. Don't be a diva. You are indeed allowed to spruce up so you can impress the lady that's waiting for you on the other side of the door. You get 15 seconds, which is sufficient for a quick fix. Anything more than that is in bad taste. Too much primping can result in willful flatulence from your fellow urinal user, just to spite you. In this case alone, making the urinal (and you) smell like a fish sandwich is OK.
Hopefully this little write-up has been helpful in clarifying some of the little things that make life enjoyable.
Thank you.
Update: As veggie belly rightly points out, there is also this little thing about aim. Now, men are apparently way better equipped at this than women, but that being said, yeah, you have the equipment, now use it to aim well. i.e. INto the urinal, not ONto, or around.
1. Flush. There are few things as nauseating as a urinal full of, well, urine. You see that little lever? Try giving it a gentle push downward. Whoosh! Dark yellow pee magically replaced by sparkling, clear water!
1a. Coming to think of it, there is one thing more nauseating than a urinal full of urine. Pubes. If I walk up to a urinal and it looks like a barbershop floor, it makes me want to vomit. Listen, I don't care if you're a Samson-type dude whose strength depends on his nether regions, but you either do some trimming at home, or you clean up after yourself. Leaving hirsute calling cards is repulsive.
2. Don't talk. its OK for a quick "Hey, whats up" on the way to the urinal. But once there, I really do not want to discuss the weather. I'm there to empty a kidney; I've got weather.com if I want to know what the weather is going to be like. No, not even football. If there was a conversation going on before entry into the rest room, it can take a break for half a minute.
3. Don't make eye contact. There are only two acceptable things to look at when you're taking a leak.
a. The business hand.
b. The wall directly in front of you.
To aid comprehension, I have included a quick sketch.
It is OK to:
Look away, at nothing in particular. This is completely kosher.
As above, looking at the business hand or at a point in the wall directly between your eyes is also fine.
It is not OK to:
Look directly at the person next to you, even if there is a conversation (which there shouldn't be)
Look at your neighbor's business hand. There are states where this can get you killed.
4. Wash up. Enough said.
These are the basic rules. But there are other things that you really should be doing to make your daily public micturatory trips pleasant:
1. If there is someone at the urinal, leave a spot between you and him if you can. Again, attached is a simple diagram to illustrate the point.
1a. If you have to be next to someone, do be mindful of your feet. We know you don't need to spread your legs 4 feet wide to get to your giant penis, so quit it. Its not classy, and thanks to Larry Craig, paves way for a potentially distasteful situation.
2. You are at the urinal to take a leak, not to pass gas. Gentle tinkling interrupted by thunderous flatulence is undesirable. If you suspect your toot might pack lass bark and more bite (especially if you've just had eggs), it would be highly appreciated if you could hold on. No need to make the men's room smell like your lunch.
3. If you so desire to wash your mouth, do so gently. Hacking up greenish phlegm from the deepest recesses of your lungs is unpleasant to watch and even less appealing to listen to.
4. Don't be a diva. You are indeed allowed to spruce up so you can impress the lady that's waiting for you on the other side of the door. You get 15 seconds, which is sufficient for a quick fix. Anything more than that is in bad taste. Too much primping can result in willful flatulence from your fellow urinal user, just to spite you. In this case alone, making the urinal (and you) smell like a fish sandwich is OK.
Hopefully this little write-up has been helpful in clarifying some of the little things that make life enjoyable.
Thank you.
Update: As veggie belly rightly points out, there is also this little thing about aim. Now, men are apparently way better equipped at this than women, but that being said, yeah, you have the equipment, now use it to aim well. i.e. INto the urinal, not ONto, or around.
Google makes the Earth go around. Literally.
This has probably happened to you before, in which case you are probably going to be underwhelmed. But I kept watching this for a LONG time. Its weirdly calming/hypnotizing after the 1st minute of "What the.. ?!?" . Like fish in a tank or something.
OK, I was also drinking.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Happy to help
So today I happened to look at the search terms that people used to look up this blog. Sure enough, most of the search terms were pushupyogi. But I found two that were interesting.
1. Male nipple discharge.
2. Gay Photos.
Sorry I couldn't be of more help, people.
1. Male nipple discharge.
2. Gay Photos.
Sorry I couldn't be of more help, people.
Teh stupid
1. It was raining this morning.
2. I have a solid 20 minute walk from my home the station and from the station to work.
3. I found out that cling-wrapping the broken foot may keep it dry, but cold moist cling wrap clinging to your broken foot is extraordinarily uncomfortable.
4. I also found out today that the boot that enclosed my cling wrapped foot is made of sponge.
So, after hobbling to work on a cling-wrapped broken foot enclosed by a sopping wet boot, I'm standing, wet and shivering, with squelchy feet and in obvious pain in the elevator, and this woman turns around and asks me :
"Aw, did you hurt your foot?"
2. I have a solid 20 minute walk from my home the station and from the station to work.
3. I found out that cling-wrapping the broken foot may keep it dry, but cold moist cling wrap clinging to your broken foot is extraordinarily uncomfortable.
4. I also found out today that the boot that enclosed my cling wrapped foot is made of sponge.
So, after hobbling to work on a cling-wrapped broken foot enclosed by a sopping wet boot, I'm standing, wet and shivering, with squelchy feet and in obvious pain in the elevator, and this woman turns around and asks me :
"Aw, did you hurt your foot?"
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Little things make me laugh a lot
1. Joe Scarborough drops the F-bomb LIVE on TV. I saw it yesterday, and couldn't STOP watching it over and over and over. And over. Its the reaction of the rest of the folks that gets me every time. Sure enough, as of today, MSNBC has a 7-second delay...
2. Dan Savage talks to Colbert. you'll have to go to Comedy Central for this, sorry. Its posted today. Killer lines: (They're talking about how blacks voted against gay marriage 7:3, and Colbert goes "So now the black man is keeping you down." Savage: "uh, well, a few black men have kept me down in the past..."
3. Matt Lauer gets reminded of his failed marriage, much to the amusement of everyone around. Poor Meredith Viera.
2. Dan Savage talks to Colbert. you'll have to go to Comedy Central for this, sorry. Its posted today. Killer lines: (They're talking about how blacks voted against gay marriage 7:3, and Colbert goes "So now the black man is keeping you down." Savage: "uh, well, a few black men have kept me down in the past..."
3. Matt Lauer gets reminded of his failed marriage, much to the amusement of everyone around. Poor Meredith Viera.
Center-right Country My Ass
This is the change in voting trends from 2004-2008. Looks pretty blue to me. (Uh, except for Real America).
Speaking of which, The Disasta from Alaska is making ALL sorts of moves towards 2012.
3. She's looking for openings, and if she sees one, she will "plow through it". Yeah, keep the joke to yourself. My mum reads this blog.
2. She was cooking moose stew with her dumb-ass family watching as Matt Lauer asked her about what she felt about America whupping her ass at the polls. She had one kid on her hip, her hubby was leaning back on the counter, and her other (8 yr old) kid was wearing high heels at home. Oh, this was SO not a photo-op. Of course dear, of course.
1. Most scary: She said she would pray, and do what Jesus told her to do. And since she clearly has a direct line to God, I hope he tells her to go to the middle of a big lake and jump on the ice to see how thick it is.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The Intertubes are working again
Man, I hate monopolies. They screw shit up precisely because they KNOW they can get away with it and no one is going to call them on their shit. Take the venerable Ambassador from Hindustan Motors. You think people would still buy that bucket of stones if they had a choice? Methinks not. Unless you actually *wanted* to be seen around town in a monstrosity that looked like this:
Anyway, my point is that Comcast has a near-monopoly on the cable business here and it sucks. Big time. We pay a bunch of money, and the interslice (this is what we call the internet at the house) stops working every once in a while, for no rhyme or reason. When the interslice stops working, we start calling it the intertubes, and we start yelling obscenities at it, which usually doesn't help any. And so we end up having to call someone and then having to wait several days while they figure out what the hell is wrong. Fortunately, the nice lady who I spoke to today, Susan from Saratoga (I bet she was Subha from Surat) told us what to do, and after half hour of tinkering around, it all came to life. Why they couldn't have done this 3 days back, I don't know.
Point is, that's why there's been this hiatus. Sure, its a hell of a long winded way to say a really simple thing. So sue me.
Anyway, my point is that Comcast has a near-monopoly on the cable business here and it sucks. Big time. We pay a bunch of money, and the interslice (this is what we call the internet at the house) stops working every once in a while, for no rhyme or reason. When the interslice stops working, we start calling it the intertubes, and we start yelling obscenities at it, which usually doesn't help any. And so we end up having to call someone and then having to wait several days while they figure out what the hell is wrong. Fortunately, the nice lady who I spoke to today, Susan from Saratoga (I bet she was Subha from Surat) told us what to do, and after half hour of tinkering around, it all came to life. Why they couldn't have done this 3 days back, I don't know.
Point is, that's why there's been this hiatus. Sure, its a hell of a long winded way to say a really simple thing. So sue me.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Why I hate my foot surgeon
As you all well know by now, I'm having issues with my foot. This has meant that I have had to go to the foot surgeon a couple times. My foot surgeon is an asshole. Given my generally low tolerance for assholes, it shouldn't be surprising that I have developed a deep seated hatred for this man. However, given that he is supposedly taking care of my messed up foot, I can't quite strangle him in his office. I can, however, launch into cyber-invective, which is exactly what I'm going to do in the form of a little list titled:
Top 5 reasons I hate my foot surgeon.
#5: The Hospital. I'm used to East Baltimore, where I have walked in the Johns Hopkins ER with a broken ankle and had to wait for hours on end, because people with multiple gunshot wounds kept getting wheeled in. I almost felt guilty about having a painful appendage. Here, in wealthy suburbia, the kid in front of me had a skinned knee. A skinned freaking knee. (Presumably by kneeling in the one square foot in his 10,000 sq.ft. house that his parents neglected to cover in Persian rugs). My toe was a bloody mess barely hanging on to the rest of my foot, and I had to wait for his little jerk and his mum (who looked as if her kid would have to be amputated knee down). To be fair though, they sent him packing pretty quick. The other thing is that only way you can get to this hospital is by cab (20 bucks), and I happen to draw the really talkative guy with really bad eczema from Action Cab Co. every time. Not that I have a problem with friendly people, but he gesticulates a lot, and bits of his skin keep floating down on me. This makes for a somewhat uncomfortable cab ride.
#4: The patients. The only people in the waiting room are old people. We are talking about really old, ancient, miserable senior citizens. About a dozen of them in various stages of decay, mostly confined to wheel chairs, that make McCain look like a young stud. They're watching Judge Mathis trying to decide if one woman keyed another woman's car or not. The program is interspersed with ads about wheelchairs, medical malpractice lawyers and medications of various types, which these people watch avidly. I cannot tell you how unnerving waiting in this room is. It feels like each time someone gets called and goes in, there's only a 50% chance they'll come out alive. The room smells and feels like a mortuary. A lot of them are seeing the foot doctor to treat bed sores, so I am not going to go into a detailed visual description of the scene. I understand that none of this is their fault, so I can't be mad at them. Instead, I close my eyes for the most part, and pray that my death comes quick and painlessly.
#4b: The dude is also the foot surgeon for the local penitentiary, so on one of my visits, we had prisoners in shackles walk by, surrounded by armed posse of sheriffs. But I've already written about it here ...
#3: The nurses. When I think of nurses, I think of warm, compassionate, somewhat elderly women, who are really good at taking care of the little things that make you think of mum. Sure there's the occasional hot nurse, but I never get them. Either that or they want to have babies with the more good-looking people in the room. What does not come to mind when I think of nurses is a bad-ass biker dude, mustache, tattoos and all, who treats your toe like a rusty drive shaft. This surgeon guy has helpers from hell who bandage my toe badly enough to make it hurt for the next two days non-stop. But we do have an entertaining talk about the tattoos, so that helps numb the pain a bit.
#2: The doctor is a prima donna. He twirls about with an entourage, and generally gives you the impression that you should be licking the floor that he walks on. He also has autographed pictures all over his ofice of C-level celebrities that have had their toes fixed by him. I bet they have a seperate non-funereal waiting office and hot nurses or those people. After a 2 week wait to get an appointment with him, he spends about 12 seconds on small talk, then goes to work on the toe (see #1), tells me to continue taking care of it the way I was going to anyway, and then to come see him 3 weeks later. 12 minutes in all. I'm sure he's going to bill my ass for a whole hour. Its all a giant scam.
The #1 reason I hate my foot surgeon: The torture instrument. My second appointment, he sits at the foot of the bed with his biker-nurse at his shoulder, and pulls out this steel thing that looked like a miniature ice-cream scoop. (The handle is normally sized, but the scoop end is about 4mm x 2 mm). And then he says "This might be a little uncomfortable". I bet both of them were smiling behind their face masks. The basement scene from Pulp Fiction flashes in front of my eyes, but I tell him to go ahead. And then the rat bastard proceeds to scoop out bits of flesh/scab/tisue/congealed blood/pus from my foot. Now, my toe might have been in bad shape, but my already jangled nerves were on high alert. So the second he touched anything, pain would sear through my body, and I'd have to plead with him to stop. This would be greeted by a look of contempt and disdain, followed by a spray of a "local anesthetic" to the area. The damn thing had to be cold water, because the pain was as excruciating the next time he went at it. And the next time after that. By the 3rd or 4th go, I was in a cold sweat, shaking and biting on my palm and begging for a wooden spoon, or a shot of whiskey, something (I get nothing. Bastards). Fortunately the guy had to go see his next failed sitcom star, so after a few minutes of digging around, he stops (only for biker-nurse to wrench the toe around while trying to wrap it in seven yards of gauze).
And then they let me go. I stumble out a few minutes later and hobble off to the taxi rank. I spot a familiar Action Cab Co. car, and crutch faster and faster till I reach it, and fall gratefully, sweating, weeping, shaking, into the waiting arms of eczema-man...
Top 5 reasons I hate my foot surgeon.
#5: The Hospital. I'm used to East Baltimore, where I have walked in the Johns Hopkins ER with a broken ankle and had to wait for hours on end, because people with multiple gunshot wounds kept getting wheeled in. I almost felt guilty about having a painful appendage. Here, in wealthy suburbia, the kid in front of me had a skinned knee. A skinned freaking knee. (Presumably by kneeling in the one square foot in his 10,000 sq.ft. house that his parents neglected to cover in Persian rugs). My toe was a bloody mess barely hanging on to the rest of my foot, and I had to wait for his little jerk and his mum (who looked as if her kid would have to be amputated knee down). To be fair though, they sent him packing pretty quick. The other thing is that only way you can get to this hospital is by cab (20 bucks), and I happen to draw the really talkative guy with really bad eczema from Action Cab Co. every time. Not that I have a problem with friendly people, but he gesticulates a lot, and bits of his skin keep floating down on me. This makes for a somewhat uncomfortable cab ride.
#4: The patients. The only people in the waiting room are old people. We are talking about really old, ancient, miserable senior citizens. About a dozen of them in various stages of decay, mostly confined to wheel chairs, that make McCain look like a young stud. They're watching Judge Mathis trying to decide if one woman keyed another woman's car or not. The program is interspersed with ads about wheelchairs, medical malpractice lawyers and medications of various types, which these people watch avidly. I cannot tell you how unnerving waiting in this room is. It feels like each time someone gets called and goes in, there's only a 50% chance they'll come out alive. The room smells and feels like a mortuary. A lot of them are seeing the foot doctor to treat bed sores, so I am not going to go into a detailed visual description of the scene. I understand that none of this is their fault, so I can't be mad at them. Instead, I close my eyes for the most part, and pray that my death comes quick and painlessly.
#4b: The dude is also the foot surgeon for the local penitentiary, so on one of my visits, we had prisoners in shackles walk by, surrounded by armed posse of sheriffs. But I've already written about it here ...
#3: The nurses. When I think of nurses, I think of warm, compassionate, somewhat elderly women, who are really good at taking care of the little things that make you think of mum. Sure there's the occasional hot nurse, but I never get them. Either that or they want to have babies with the more good-looking people in the room. What does not come to mind when I think of nurses is a bad-ass biker dude, mustache, tattoos and all, who treats your toe like a rusty drive shaft. This surgeon guy has helpers from hell who bandage my toe badly enough to make it hurt for the next two days non-stop. But we do have an entertaining talk about the tattoos, so that helps numb the pain a bit.
#2: The doctor is a prima donna. He twirls about with an entourage, and generally gives you the impression that you should be licking the floor that he walks on. He also has autographed pictures all over his ofice of C-level celebrities that have had their toes fixed by him. I bet they have a seperate non-funereal waiting office and hot nurses or those people. After a 2 week wait to get an appointment with him, he spends about 12 seconds on small talk, then goes to work on the toe (see #1), tells me to continue taking care of it the way I was going to anyway, and then to come see him 3 weeks later. 12 minutes in all. I'm sure he's going to bill my ass for a whole hour. Its all a giant scam.
The #1 reason I hate my foot surgeon: The torture instrument. My second appointment, he sits at the foot of the bed with his biker-nurse at his shoulder, and pulls out this steel thing that looked like a miniature ice-cream scoop. (The handle is normally sized, but the scoop end is about 4mm x 2 mm). And then he says "This might be a little uncomfortable". I bet both of them were smiling behind their face masks. The basement scene from Pulp Fiction flashes in front of my eyes, but I tell him to go ahead. And then the rat bastard proceeds to scoop out bits of flesh/scab/tisue/congealed blood/pus from my foot. Now, my toe might have been in bad shape, but my already jangled nerves were on high alert. So the second he touched anything, pain would sear through my body, and I'd have to plead with him to stop. This would be greeted by a look of contempt and disdain, followed by a spray of a "local anesthetic" to the area. The damn thing had to be cold water, because the pain was as excruciating the next time he went at it. And the next time after that. By the 3rd or 4th go, I was in a cold sweat, shaking and biting on my palm and begging for a wooden spoon, or a shot of whiskey, something (I get nothing. Bastards). Fortunately the guy had to go see his next failed sitcom star, so after a few minutes of digging around, he stops (only for biker-nurse to wrench the toe around while trying to wrap it in seven yards of gauze).
And then they let me go. I stumble out a few minutes later and hobble off to the taxi rank. I spot a familiar Action Cab Co. car, and crutch faster and faster till I reach it, and fall gratefully, sweating, weeping, shaking, into the waiting arms of eczema-man...
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Ulimate Dorkiness/Awesomeness
So what you see in the background is a Ion Abrasion (Dual Beam) Scanning Electron Microscope fitted with a Kleindiek micromanipulator and Platinum Gas Injection System. There are maybe half a dozen of these in the world, and this one's sitting in our basement. We use it to do cool shit with cells.
What you see in the foreground is the controller device for the robotic arm that my lab mate installed in the machine. Look at it closely.
What you see in the foreground is the controller device for the robotic arm that my lab mate installed in the machine. Look at it closely.
Yep, that's a video game controller that's been yanked out of a PS2.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
OMG
Barack Obama. The next president of the United States of America.
Update: What a speech too. I am drunk with love/hope/all things good. Sure, tomorrow we'll have to face the crushing enormity of the reality we face (and the giant steaming turd burger that Obama's going to inherit on the 20th of January).
But for today, I'm just living in the moment. And enjoying it.
Update: What a speech too. I am drunk with love/hope/all things good. Sure, tomorrow we'll have to face the crushing enormity of the reality we face (and the giant steaming turd burger that Obama's going to inherit on the 20th of January).
But for today, I'm just living in the moment. And enjoying it.
Liveblogging the election - CNN & MSNBC. And FOX during ad breaks (10)
Will.i.am as a HOLOGRAM?!!??!? wtf!?!??!! CNN pulling out ALL the stops now. Someone's getting a big fat check.
Update: VA for Obama. Phew. Brit Hume looks like he's undergoing a colonic on live TV. From a male nurse with huge hands.
Update: VA for Obama. Phew. Brit Hume looks like he's undergoing a colonic on live TV. From a male nurse with huge hands.
Liveblogging the election - CNN & MSNBC. And FOX during ad breaks (9)
Franken with a slim, slim lead, but his is going to be close. Ditto for Landrieu, who really was the only D in trouble, and against a Kennedy who did a switcheroo from D to R...
Ronnie Musgrove isn't looking good in Mississippi.
Damn, Chambliss is also looking good in Georgia. BUT, if he does fall below 50, then I think GA has a run-off law.
Update: Wow, CNN, you're getting VERY fancy with the graphics... waiting for something to screw up. Surely, there HAS to be a glitch... FOX is pretty crummy.
Ronnie Musgrove isn't looking good in Mississippi.
Damn, Chambliss is also looking good in Georgia. BUT, if he does fall below 50, then I think GA has a run-off law.
Update: Wow, CNN, you're getting VERY fancy with the graphics... waiting for something to screw up. Surely, there HAS to be a glitch... FOX is pretty crummy.
Liveblogging the election - CNN & MSNBC. And FOX during ad breaks (8)
The republican party has been reduced to a southern party, restricted to the south. They're all fretting about "balance of power". Well, fuck them. If you cater to the crazies in the party, you get screwed.
They're absolutely NOT going to say anything until he actually hits 270, apparently. Maybe Obama will come up to the stage at the time.
We're not going to get to 60, I think, in the senate. The house is looking good, but there are a lot of seats that are going to stay (R).
Update: Why the hell can't people put their crackberries on vibrate?
Update 2: Who the hell has that horrible cough on MSNBC?
They're absolutely NOT going to say anything until he actually hits 270, apparently. Maybe Obama will come up to the stage at the time.
We're not going to get to 60, I think, in the senate. The house is looking good, but there are a lot of seats that are going to stay (R).
Update: Why the hell can't people put their crackberries on vibrate?
Update 2: Who the hell has that horrible cough on MSNBC?
Liveblogging the election - CNN & MSNBC. And FOX during ad breaks (7)
YES!!!!!
CO defeats an absurd ballot measure that would have defined a "person" as an implanted embryo.
Also, SD defeats another "outlaw abortion" ballot measure.
Waiting on CA prop 8 now ...
CO defeats an absurd ballot measure that would have defined a "person" as an implanted embryo.
Also, SD defeats another "outlaw abortion" ballot measure.
Waiting on CA prop 8 now ...
Liveblogging the election - CNN & MSNBC. And FOX during ad breaks (6)
Chris Shays just conceded. THERE ARE NO MORE REPUBLICAN REPRESENTATIVES LEFT IN NEW ENGLAND.
America, meet Blue Wave.
America, meet Blue Wave.
Liveblogging the election - CNN & MSNBC. And FOX during ad breaks (5)
I am drunk with happiness. I am looking at Grant Park, and contrasting it with wherever the hell the McCain camp is, somewhere in Phoenix, AZ. Hank Williams is playing, and they've turned off the TVs. Typical Republican response.
I feel like the Visigoth who's just crushed the skull of a tribal chief in front of his wailing wife. Actually I feel like the wimpy ass dude who's left behind to guard the ship and is watching the Visigoth chief crush skulls in front of wailing wives...
Daily Kos isn't loading. Big surprise.
Update: I get the feeling all the newspeople at the Biltmore in AZ all want to be at Grant park. There's some other country singer now, playing to about 20 despondent people. They're all beginning to talk about "what could have been"
I feel like the Visigoth who's just crushed the skull of a tribal chief in front of his wailing wife. Actually I feel like the wimpy ass dude who's left behind to guard the ship and is watching the Visigoth chief crush skulls in front of wailing wives...
Daily Kos isn't loading. Big surprise.
Update: I get the feeling all the newspeople at the Biltmore in AZ all want to be at Grant park. There's some other country singer now, playing to about 20 despondent people. They're all beginning to talk about "what could have been"
Liveblogging the election - CNN & MSNBC. And FOX during ad breaks (4)
They're calling Ohio for Obama. The people at FOX look like they're in the middle of a long funeral.
Its over.
Its over.
Liveblogging the election - CNN & MSNBC. And FOX during ad breaks (3)
CNN has some really REALLY snazzy graphics...
Clean sweep of the NE, and MN also in the BO column. Very, very nice...
TOM UDALL IN NEW MEXICO AND JEANNE SHAHEEN!!!! Shaheen was running ahead of Sununu, great she could close the deal... The senate is looking good... (wonder how the other Udall will do in CO)
NO BRADLEY EFFECT. Great note by Bennett: Let's face it folks; the nation has grown up.
Now they're all trying REALLY hard not to just wrap up and call it and go home...
Clean sweep of the NE, and MN also in the BO column. Very, very nice...
TOM UDALL IN NEW MEXICO AND JEANNE SHAHEEN!!!! Shaheen was running ahead of Sununu, great she could close the deal... The senate is looking good... (wonder how the other Udall will do in CO)
NO BRADLEY EFFECT. Great note by Bennett: Let's face it folks; the nation has grown up.
Now they're all trying REALLY hard not to just wrap up and call it and go home...
Liveblogging the election - CNN & MSNBC. And FOX during ad breaks (2)
Kay Hagan beats the dreadful Elizabeth Dole. Love it. West Virginia is getting a Dem Governor. Highly love it.
The whole NE is going to Obama, as expected.
OK, KY, you're welcome to take your princely single-digits to the McCain bank.
VA isn't looking good though...
The whole NE is going to Obama, as expected.
OK, KY, you're welcome to take your princely single-digits to the McCain bank.
VA isn't looking good though...
Liveblogging the election - CNN & MSNBC. And FOX during ad breaks
They just called PA for Obama.
The fat lady is clearing her throat...
The fat lady is clearing her throat...
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Answer of the day. W. O. W.
So we're at this Peruvian restaurant, and I order this appetizer that's basically boiled corn served with slabs of cheese. The cheese has an nice unfinished, cottage-y taste to it, and I'm curious, so I ask the waitress:
Q: So what kind of cheese is this? Where is it from?
A: Uh, its from a big brick of cheese. We just cut it up.
Now, at this clear indication of a single digit IQ, I should've stopped. But me being me, I persist.
Q: No, I mean, where does the cheese come from?
A: Uh... you mean... (light bulb flashes above her head) Oh, I see. We get the cheese from a distributor. They deliver it to the restaurant.
Thank you for your insight. Now let me stab myself in the eyeball with this fork.
Q: So what kind of cheese is this? Where is it from?
A: Uh, its from a big brick of cheese. We just cut it up.
Now, at this clear indication of a single digit IQ, I should've stopped. But me being me, I persist.
Q: No, I mean, where does the cheese come from?
A: Uh... you mean... (light bulb flashes above her head) Oh, I see. We get the cheese from a distributor. They deliver it to the restaurant.
Thank you for your insight. Now let me stab myself in the eyeball with this fork.
Sarah Palin Limerick
Sorry, couldn't help it.
The roll out went off without a hitch,
Now the campaign's in the ditch.
Sure she has a pretty family and a handsome hubby,
And sure she gives old white men a collective chubby,
Its just that she's a bible-thumping, IQ-missing, Russia-viewing, moose-cooking, talking-point spewing, America dividing, lousy parenting, fake-bridge supporting, flat-out lying, non-traveling, joe-blowing, McCain backstabbing, race-baiting, socialist-scaring, interview screwing, go-back-the-f*ck-to-Wasilla cry deserving, 2012 run contemplating, $150,000 dress buying, shit-for-brains, uh, woman.
The roll out went off without a hitch,
Now the campaign's in the ditch.
Sure she has a pretty family and a handsome hubby,
And sure she gives old white men a collective chubby,
Its just that she's a bible-thumping, IQ-missing, Russia-viewing, moose-cooking, talking-point spewing, America dividing, lousy parenting, fake-bridge supporting, flat-out lying, non-traveling, joe-blowing, McCain backstabbing, race-baiting, socialist-scaring, interview screwing, go-back-the-f*ck-to-Wasilla cry deserving, 2012 run contemplating, $150,000 dress buying, shit-for-brains, uh, woman.
Joe The Plumber Limerick
Our friend Joe the plumber
proves himself to be dumber and dumber.
The poster child for McCain
turns out to have a fried brain.
My guess is he'll be forgotten by next summer.
(Huh, just realized; this could work for Sarah too. Except I don't think she's going anywhere. Which is scary, but ensures bigger democratic victories down the road, so I should be happy, I guess)
proves himself to be dumber and dumber.
The poster child for McCain
turns out to have a fried brain.
My guess is he'll be forgotten by next summer.
(Huh, just realized; this could work for Sarah too. Except I don't think she's going anywhere. Which is scary, but ensures bigger democratic victories down the road, so I should be happy, I guess)
I want to weep
No, really. I feel sorry. For gramps, for his whole campaign, and even for Joe-I've-got-a-publicist-now.
I wasn't joking. Joe-the-plumber, who would do better under Obama's tax plan, who owes the government back taxes, who agreed that a vote for Obama = death to Israel, whose name really is Samuel Wurzelbacher, now has a publicist. And is planning
1. A run for Ohio Governor
2. A book deal
3. A record deal.
1 and 2 are bad enough for a guy who was (but really shouldn't be) mentioned 23 times during a presidential debate. But a Record Deal!?!?!! Really!!?? So now you think you can sing, Joe?
I wasn't joking. Joe-the-plumber, who would do better under Obama's tax plan, who owes the government back taxes, who agreed that a vote for Obama = death to Israel, whose name really is Samuel Wurzelbacher, now has a publicist. And is planning
1. A run for Ohio Governor
2. A book deal
3. A record deal.
1 and 2 are bad enough for a guy who was (but really shouldn't be) mentioned 23 times during a presidential debate. But a Record Deal!?!?!! Really!!?? So now you think you can sing, Joe?
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