Failure Of The ‘Don’t Be Evil’ Concept: Part I

Posted on June 3, 2011 by AdaptiveCurmudgeon

Lightning struck very close to Castle Curmudgeon.  We didn’t take a direct hit but it rated a Sphincter Level Seven on my patented scale of terror.  Nothing was damaged but the cordless phone base was dead.  Both the DSL filter (a cheap little thing) and the handset base (not so cheap) were toast.  The two handsets and one charge-only base were fine.  The dog may need therapy.

When the power is down and the zombie hordes are coming you'll wish you had a reliable "corded" phone like Mickey.

Just for the record my “Bert Gummer red phone” (an old fashioned “wired to the wall” phone) worked as flawlessly as ever.  I wired that bastard up and bolted it to the wall  years ago.  Non-cordless phones work in power outages and your kid can’t wander off and lose the damn thing.  It has served well many times.  I use it periodically but most modern humans have apparently lost the ability to talk on a phone that has a cord.  Plus, the base was my answering machine which is a key component in my “don’t answer unless I feel like it” telephone interaction plan.  I needed to replace the damaged system pronto.

It's important to have a phone you won't misplace.

The lightning fried phone was “expandable to add more handsets” and it was six months old.  It was made by a common manufacture of electronics I will hereafter refer to as Sonofabitch Incorporated.  I expected to buy a new base (with one or two handsets) and link it to my existing two handsets (which are perfectly functional but doomed without a base…like Ron Paul).  Of course the exact same phone isn’t available.  Sonofabitch have “upgraded” their phones.  I bought Sonofabitch’s most similar model (which was pretty much all they had).  It was “expandable” just like the old one.

You know where this is going.  The new base and handsets look identical to the old base and handsets.  Buttons in the same color, same arrangement, same everything.  But the handset base has been changed just the tiniest bit; about 1/32″ wider and 1/16″  shallower.  Exactly the smallest change that would make the old handsets incompatible with the new base.  No sweat, the old charger works.  Just fire ’em up and go.

What’s this?  I need to “register” the two old handsets to the new base?  Fine.  What’s this?  It can only be done using the old base…which is dead.  I believe I’ve been had.

What will the Curmudgeon do?  Will he go on a three state killing spree?  Curl up in a corner and weep?  Apply for Obamabucks stimulus money to recoup his lightning loss?  Can he find and hire the A-Team to get his revenge?   Tune in to Part II tomorrow (or whenever I get around to posting it).

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The Unstoppable: Michael Dasher

Posted on June 2, 2011 by AdaptiveCurmudgeon

I’m pleased whenever I see a “CAN DO!” attitude.  That’s why I created my “unstoppable” category.  That’s where I list truly excellent heroes as well as those who are talented or turn the “macho” dial to eleven.

Go ahead...just grab it and show it who's boss.

Without segue I’ll also mention that I’m pleased that America has alligators.  Why?  Because they’re massive, predatory, carnivorous, lizards.  How lucky we are to live in a world where folks can hunt monsters!  I’ve already mentioned alligators on my unstoppable list before.  Of course alligators are also part of the intricate web that is our natural environment which we all respect and Gaia and fruits and nuts and blah, blah, blah…

Add one more element; a kid.  I present here a boy who has somehow escaped the ritual indoctrination of public schools and liability law. The headline alone is delightful:

Boy, 10, drags live, 6-foot gator home from canal

When a six foot alligator snapped ten year old Michael’s fishing line and charged him he decided to hang tough.  The kid somehow wrestled it into submission and dragged it back home…alive.  “Mom, look what I found!”

Stupid?  Yes!  Brave?  Certainly!  Here’s to young Michael the kind of kid who already has balls of steel.  The world needs ya’ kid.  Keep up the good work.

A.C.

The only difference between this and an alligator is scale and a cool soundtrack by Blue Oyster Cult.

P.S.  Some folks might complain that alligators are reptiles and not lizards. Technically this is true but when enumerating “monster like creatures” alligators are clearly related to Godzilla and therefore lizards.  This is the same reasoning that re-categorizes the grizzly bear from “mammal” to “a half ton of pure rage encapsulated by a fur coat”.

HT to Stormbringer.

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Off Grid II

Posted on June 1, 2011 by AdaptiveCurmudgeon

I’ve talked about going “off grid” before. I’ve added a personal aspect to the phrase:

“Off grid” originally meant you were disconnected from the power system. When the term was coined it implied remoteness or self-reliance.

Virtually every dwelling in every developed nation is tied to an electrical delivery system. We’ve strung power cables planet wide. How wondrously improbable! We move electricity from huge generation facilities all the way to the lamp I keep over my tropical fish. We take it for granted. Well, I don’t. I’m impressed. The Romans built aqueducts…neat. I power my clock radio from another time zone…holy shit!

Rural electrification missed a few spots. Folks in the boondocks (and this is very rare) might be involuntarily off grid. For the other 99% of us the grid is already there. Only a kook would disconnect. God bless the kooks! When someone disconnects from the grid now it implies an interesting personality; a bunker bound survivalist welding faraday cages with his diesel generator, a patchouli scented hippie studying yoga by his flickering 5 watt solar powered fluorescent, an Amish farmer reading a German bible by candle light, etc…

I’m too cheap to buy a hulking generator or a “Prius of the roof” solar system. Like many “green technologies” the numbers don’t pencil out. If I won the lottery I’d be off grid within a month. Hasn’t happened yet. I use the same cheap coal powered electricity that the rest of us do for the same reason; it makes sense.

Even as I accept cheap grid power I’m not so blasé about grids which deliver “information”. I view them with suspicion because “information delivery” can become “bullshit delivery”.

I use “off grid” to describe a disconnect from the usual bullshit which surrounds us all.

In the 1980’s they decided it was imperative to pipe 50 channels of shit into the living room idiot box. By the time MTV stopped playing music videos, cable TV had insinuated itself into most homes and satellite’s competing grid of microwaves meant that nobody was truly “unreachable”.

TV is usually an endless stream of hedonistic slime, slavering consumerism, and manipulative horseshit. Not my TV though. My TV is “off grid”; it has neither cable nor satellite. It displays only what I deliberately acquire. A side effect is that I’m detached from the shared experience of whatever TV is currently spewing. Usually that’s good; imagine Christmas without advertising addled children and election cycles without attack ads! But sometimes I seem out of touch. I don’t know who got voted off the island or why I should care. That’s another form of “off grid”.

To me, “off grid” means I haven’t watched TV lately. That’s ok. TV news hasn’t been “news” in a very long time.

The 1990’s brought the cell phone. They’re a good idea that slowly became a leech that accumulates monthly bills while making sure you’re never ever left in peace. My cell phone, like yours, has an off switch. I stuff that bastard in the glove box where it belongs and never regret it.

To me, “off grid” means you’ll have to leave a message. I’ll call back…unless I don’t.

The grid that snares me most is the internet. I like the internet. Sometimes it’s wise to turn it off for a while anyway.

To me, “off grid” means I have no idea what just “went viral” on the internet. That’s ok. We all laughed at the “Don’t taze me bro” guy but that doesn’t make it important.

Fairly often my TV, internet, and cell phone are off simultaneously. That’s “off grid”. Does that deprive me of something? Does it make me a clueless redneck rube to ignore the global information flow? To the contrary; nothing from the grid is ever as urgent as it first appears.

Some people have never been off grid. A thought that’s mildly disturbing. Until you’ve gone “off grid” you might never know how little it all matters.

Then again lots of people have never seen a sunrise, fireflies, or a starry night sky. Another thought that’s mildly disturbing.

Luckily, going “off grid” is free and easy. You can go “off grid” any time you want. We’re living in one of the greatest possible times. We have an impressive global information flow available 24/7…and it comes with an “off” switch.

Posted in Libertarian Outpost, Technology of Indignity | 2 Comments

Off Grid I

Posted on May 31, 2011 by AdaptiveCurmudgeon

I was gone for a while. Did ya’ miss me? I was “off grid” a week or so. It’s not the big deal that you’d think. (I wasn’t cloistered!) I spent some time on a motorcycle, a couple days in the plastic innards of suburbia, and finally a super secret mission to parts unknown to go fishing. A nice break, well earned and wholly appreciated.

The dark side of “off grid” is going back “on”. Sometimes I come back “on grid” to discover people have gone full Technicolor stupid in only a few days. I’ve returned to crashed markets, exploded shuttles, the O.J. Simpson murder, and discovering countries nobody cared about when I left are an undeclared shooting war in our “vital interest” on my return. (These are just a few examples.) The misdeeds of celebrities and failed shuttles were tragic spectacle but wars and wild economic gyrations are worse. Stupid people in large groups can be stampeded. I’ve seen it happen. If the lemmings charge while you’re “off grid” it’s far more jarring to absorb it all at once when you return.

This time I was curious what earth shattering events took place while I was out losing bait to the current. Would it be good news? Bad news? Weird news? …Nothing happened! Glorious, delightful, productive, nothing!

It was a Memorial Day miracle! The flags on Memorial day were as proud as ever. Flowers on graves…very well done. Even politicians (spit!) briefly refrained from starting wars or tinkering with economic levers they don’t understand. Superb!

I may be the only blogger that suggests you periodically ignore everything (even my blog) but that’s my Curmudgeonly advice. The greatest universal bullshit detector on earth is a few days “off grid”.

Posted in Libertarian Outpost, Technology of Indignity | 2 Comments

Book Review: Atlas Shrugged Get Over It

Posted on May 25, 2011 by AdaptiveCurmudgeon

I appreciate thoughtful literature. Quit laughing! I may look like an imbecile but it’s (usually) an act. Sadly, deep thought sometimes gets unfairly lumped with dour pretentious preachy sermonizers. I will not abide such asshattery. So, unless it’s superlative, it had better have a modicum of levity or I become a pin in search of a ballooned ego. It’s a public service I provide. When you see a guy making fart jokes during intermission at the opera; it might be me. Someone’s got to do it. (Note: I’ve been to the opera and I enjoyed it. No I’m not gay. )

Russia has plenty of interesting stories to tell. Dersu Uzala was cooler than you. He can skin a buck. He can run a trot line. And he can kick your country boy ass.

Now that you know how I approach “important” culture, I’d like to discuss Russian literature. It’s my opinion, and my opinion is backed by no credentials whatsoever, that too much Russian literature aspires too hard to be too important. Russia has everything you need for a good story; empires, misery, impoverishment, war, famine, and death. Add in bad weather and a bloody history involving Stalin, war with Hitler, and occasional epic madness which mows down peasants wholesale and you’ve got plenty of chances for heroic deeds and whatnot. Maybe sex it up with a groovy back story involving Mongolian raiders charging off the steppes? I’m just spit-balling here but there’s much to work with.

The tremendous effort expended in growing and caring for his beard made Tolstoy a sad and beaten man.

Good grief, some yahoo yanks a sword out of a rock and you’ve got the skeleton upon which they’ve fleshed out Arthurian legend. A story I just told in nine words can become vivid. That’s what writers are for; to cunningly entice a full story out of naked ideas. Surely Russia can do that? Alas, no. I just can’t grok Tolstoy. The guy needs to lighten up.

You know who else needs to lighten up? Ayn Rand.

Yeah, I said it!  You were thinking it too but were scared of her objectivist minions!

The intellectual hero of libertarians everywhere had good ideas.  In fact they’re excellent.  But she’s chosen to serve teaspoons of spice on giant plates of “duh”.

This is tragic.  I’ve tried to enjoy her works. They would appear to be relevant to my life. (I believe I’d “Gone Galt” before “Going Galt” was cool.)  I should love it!  But the text is like being locked in a monologue factory.  It’s stewed spinach and tap water in a world meant for steak and whiskey.

If you looters change one word of my text I'll beat you to death and sell your bones on e-bay.

I don’t care how good her point may be… she needed an editor.

I have to admit. That's a bitchin' cover! However, I suspect that anyone who says they avidly read this book cover to cover are either lying or boring. The link goes to Amazon.com where you can order it. Feel free to leave it on the coffee table with all the other books you don't read because you're busy watching Cops.

Actually she needed an armed editor. With no fear and balls of steel. I suspect that any editor who suggested she change one word would be pummeled to death with a 90 page monologue and then some tall thin woman with icy cold eyes would stomp on his spleen with stilettos.  If there were editors who would appreciate such activities Mrs. Rand never availed herself of their services. I blame it all on the circumstances of her Russian youth and think it inexplicably ties in with Tolstoy.

Why am I telling you this? Because last winter, I parked in a comfy chair in front of a roaring fire trying to read Atlas Shrugged and it just plain wore me out. Eventually I thought, “What am I doing? I’m not a college student being forced to read this. Screw it!” I put Ayn Rand down and played a video game. I’m pretty sure I heard a shriek of agony from the afterlife (assuming Rand the Athiest is there…which wouldn’t be pleasant for anybody involved).  The earth’s rotation shifted as her body started spinning in it’s grave.  Yes…I chose Nintendo…sue me.

Stalin: One of the most evil men to have ever walked the face of the earth. Never trust a man with a waxed mustache!

I haven’t played video games in decades. Yet her book drove me into the waiting arms of Super Mario Brothers Wii. This is Stalin’s fault for screwing up Ayn Rand’s youth. The bastard!

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Word For The Day: Triage Mowing

Posted on May 23, 2011 by AdaptiveCurmudgeon

Winter held on doggedly and springtime was as cold and unforgiving as an accountant’s frown. Farmers whined about unplowable fields, the woodpile ran out, and the dirt road turned into a quagmire. (Global warming my ass: this is all because nobody sank a truck through the ice.)

Finally, when all hope seemed lost, the sun came out and everything started growing; fast. Fifteen hour days on saturated soil turned the barren northland into a twitterpated orgy of frenzied growth. The aspen buds didn’t break…they exploded. Brushing against a spruce causes a pollen attack. And the grass is a bamboo/kudzu hybrid threatening to take over the homestead.

Skip mowing the lawn and you'll regret it.

As required by economic law and Country music, the tractor wasn’t running. I used my favorite method of mechanical repair; swearing. The poor tractor coughed to life in terror when I waved wrenches at it. Then I made the initial strike in the summer long battle of the grass. A half hour of pleasant mowing.

Nature doesn’t give in easily and soon it started raining. Defeated, I parked the decrepit tractor. It kept raining all week. By day two I was depressed. I’ve done my time in the Pacific Northwest and that’s enough rain for one lifetime. Besides, I paid my weather dues on -30 degree January nights. Raining on my summertime bliss is just plain mean! I grumbled. Nature rained. The grass kept growing. At least there was beer.

Meanwhile my calendar filled up and I’m scheduled to travel hither and yon. If I leave with unmowed grass I’ll return to a rain forest. I began to fret. Sunday the skies cleared briefly and I set out to rectify the situation.

Which brings me to the “word of the day”; Triage Mowing.

“Triage mowing is when you give up all pretense of a finely manicured lawn; usually due to time constraints.  ‘Triage mow’ is an attempt to flatten the maximum acreage of grass in the shortest time. It is a ‘holding pattern’ action intended to buy time.”

I triage mowed like a madman. Trim was ignored. Areas that require delicate maneuvering were ignored. Any branches too small to damage the mower deck were run over like a tourist at Pamplona. I swerved around larger obstacles; leaving miniature grassy wilderness areas for the chickens to explore. My kid left a plastic toy out on the grass…crunch. The only reason the cats are alive is because they know how to run.

It was ugly.  It was brutal.  It was necessary. Hopefully next time around I’ll have a chance to do better. Homesteading homeownership Life is all about compromise between the ideal and the attainable. That, folks, is the heart of triage mowing.

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Because Leaving People Alone Exceeds The Scope Of Their Thinking

Posted on May 21, 2011 by AdaptiveCurmudgeon

Incandescent lightbulbs are a canary in the coal mine.  I’d given them up for dead.

But from Small Dead Animals comes this:

“The Conservative government wants to postpone pulling the plug on incandescent light bulbs, saying it needs more time to allow for technological innovations and to deal with concerns about compact fluorescent lamps.”

I decided to do a Curmudgeonly re-write of the headline:

“The electorate might hand them their ass on a platter but nanny state busybodies can’t change their minds.  Therefore a fig leaf delay was invented to bide their time until things blow over.  In a couple of years they’ll automatically try again to push their bullshit plan.”

Then I did a “imagine a perfect world” re-write:

“Following an epic global electoral beatdown, nanny state busybodies found themselves out of work.  You can continue to buy any damn lightbulb you want because the government simply doesn’t give a shit about your lighting preference.”

Sigh…a government that doesn’t hassle people about petty things like lightbulbs…such a beautiful dream.

A.C.

Note: When the link refers to “conservative” government they’re referring to Canadian parties.  I’m pretty sure parliamentary government, like the metric system and hockey, isn’t inherently understood by Americans.

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The Unstoppable: Chesty Puller

Posted on May 19, 2011 by AdaptiveCurmudgeon

In honor of a good friend’s birthday I present something he will appreciate: Lieutenant General Lewis Burwell “Chesty” Puller.

Chesty Puller was the ultimate Marine.

Just looking at this photo makes me think I should get a haircut and hit the gym.

If you haven’t heard of Chesty Puller, stop what you are doing and start reading about him. Now! Click the links in this post or search the web yourself. Ideally you should find a Marine and buy him (or her) a beer. Do whatever it takes to hear the stories. Do it immediately. You must. It’s an order damnit! If you haven’t heard of Chesty you haven’t heard of the mightiest testosterone soaked Marine warrior of the 20th century. And you’re probably a big whiny loser hanging out in a patchouli of hippies. Put down the arugula and tofu salad, rip open an MRE with your teeth, and get with the program!

You’re back. Already? I hope you really read the stories because I wouldn’t want to piss off Marines who revere him. You were warned!

When I think about his exploits they seem so superhuman that they almost defy explanation.  If you wrote a screenplay of his life it would sound unbelievably exaggerated. If it was a book it would be an over the top pulp fiction kill-fest. If I describe him as a Superhero hybrid of Captain America, the Hulk, Thor, Chuck Norris, a herd of Ninjas, and possibly Godzilla…well that’s understating the case. There is an unhinged level of badass toughness that you just can’t type without pounding the keyboard to dust. Puller was that tough when he entered boot camp and he pretty much kept getting more unkillable each year.

I ran though all the adjectives I could muster but words fail me. Finally I gave up.  All I can say is “Holy Shit”.

Puller truly was unstoppable. He put hurt on anything in his way.  Whenever there was a chance to get threatened, attacked, bombed, shot at, or otherwise maimed and pummeled Puller was in his element. It’s as if the guy couldn’t enjoy breakfast without being out gunned and attacked in overwhelming numbers. Then, having annihilated everything that threatened him and his soldiers, he’d be ready for a brisk cup of coffee.

Some quotes:

So they've got us surrounded, good! Now we can fire in any direction, those bastards won't get away this time!

Puller was the most decorated U.S. Marine in history. Including five Navy Crosses and a Distinguished Service Cross, the Army’s second highest decoration. What does that mean? It means he was steel…inside and out. He probably scraped shit off his boots that was tougher than me. I suspect all those medals were merely a distraction from his real love; which was apparently kicking ass and outliving incredibly bad odds.

I am not a Marine but I heartily applaud Puller’s balls out studliness because it reminds us that real heroes exist. This isn’t some bullshit fictional character. He really was all that and a bag of chips.

Good night, Chesty Puller, wherever you are.

A.C.

Hat tip to Never Yet Melted and Badass of the Week.

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Word For The Day: Patchouli

Posted on May 18, 2011 by AdaptiveCurmudgeon

Tragically, Nancy at Excels at Nothing was exposed to hippies in their natural environment (a protest of course).

She coined a superb term to use when referring to a group of hippies.

On another note, it was determined that a group of hippies, like a murder of crows or a parliament of owls, should be referred to as a “Patchouli of Hippies”

Posted in Where vocabulary goes to die, Word For The Day | 1 Comment

A Phrase For The Ages

Posted on May 14, 2011 by AdaptiveCurmudgeon

Tam at View From The Porch alerts us to a new and improbably named weapon called the “Elite Tactical Advantage Devastator Shotgun” and then comments as follows:

“We have officially crossed the mall ninja marketing buzzword event horizon.”

That’s some of the wisest snark to have ever been written in the English language.  It should be preserved in written tomes and archived in the Smithsonian. It should be stored in time capsules and beamed into space. It should be carved in marble. I consider it the antidote to tacti-cool marketing drivel.

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