This song still brings tears of joy to my eyes…
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Once a legitimate blog. Now just a collection of memes 'n menz.
This song still brings tears of joy to my eyes…
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He pulled the words right out of my mouth.
“People are increasingly lousy drivers—which I think goes hand in hand with people becoming increasingly lousy human beings. America’s litigiousness is a reflection of a larger entitlement problem in this country—everyone thinks they’re oppressed, and acts accordingly. And not oppressed in the civil rights way, but in the Republican way. For Republicans, oppression is ‘not getting your way 100% of the time, to hell with how your desires impinge on the rights of others.’ It’s selfish. And it’s destructive.
“It also doesn’t help that popular culture glorifies some of the worst dregs of society, that glorifies destruction—be it couples acting violently to each other on TV, or thugs being violent to their women, towards gays, and more. The trash who go on Judge Judy or Jerry Springer come to mind. Though Fox News and Limbaugh and the GOP play their part as well in teaching Americans to hate pro-actively.
“Starting around 2004, in the middle of the Bush years, I started to become increasingly concerned about the future of our country. My concerns haven’t lessened nearly enough with the Obama years. There’s a trashiness (and a meanness) to our culture, our politics, our driving, our health care system, and, more generally, the way we treat, and mistreat, each other.” ~ John Aravosis, AMERICAblog
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John Davis and the Monster Orchestra: Love Magic.
Accepting Ben’s initial invitation to meet in person over coffee.
You can’t. It’s already occupied. (See above.)
I’m not planning on having a tombstone. I want my ashes scattered.
I only get one? That’s not fair!
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Well Wisconsin, you really stepped in it, didn’t you? Thankfully you managed to put a Democratic State Senator in place to put the brakes on your governor’s fascism. But seriously, guys. WTH?
And when the shit hits the fan because thousands of Democratic voters were too lazy to get off their asses? Linda Clifford’s 1983 hit, “Don’t Come Cryin’ to Me” comes to mind.
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There are days I wonder how some of the people I support at work manage to get out of bed and dress themselves without assistance.
We have a dedicated laptop and projector for use with company presentations. The laptop has a local account called Presenter. There is a sticker on the machine, right below the keyboard, that has that user name and its password clearly displayed.
I set up the equipment this morning for a meeting. I logged in and made sure everything was working properly, like I always do.
A half hour later I received a panicked call stating that they couldn’t get into the system.
WTF?
The automatic screen lock (that I had to pull teeth to get approved, even though it’s a HIPAA requirement) had activated and no one knew the password.
Seriously? NO ONE KNEW THE PASSWORD.
I walked into the conference room, pointed out that the password was right there in front of their faces, logged the machine back in and left.
It is now abundantly clear why our country is moving in the direction it is.
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I used to sing the lyric, “Don’t put another dick through that glory hole, I don’t wanna suck those cocks no more.” Weird Al isn’t the only one who can change song lyrics, y’know. I always thought it would’ve made a great video.
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…if what I feel when I see this is anything like what the Romans felt as they watched their civilization collapse.

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Oh, I don’t think so.
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I’ve had a lot of unexplainable things happen during the course of my life. When I was in high school, we lived in a new, never-before-occupied house that I swear must have been built over an Indian Burial Site. Many times we’d all be downstairs and doors would slam upstairs—with all the windows in the house closed. Later, when I was away at college my mom would often sleep downstairs in my room because of my dad’s snoring. That stopped the one night the bed started shaking. More recently, I was working on the deserted fifth floor of Phoenix Memorial Hospital in a room that had been created for the unboxing and prepping of new computers. The door was closed, and I was happily absorbed in my work when I heard a loud knock at the door. I opened the door and no one was there. I looked out at the length of the hall. Not a soul in sight (and no one could’ve run away between the time I heard the knock and when I answered the door). It was shortly after that I learned the floor had at one point been the psych ward and that one of the patients had hanged himself there. Since that point the floor had a “reputation” for being haunted. Ghosts? I don’t know. I prefer the term, “Unexplained Phenomenon.”
As far as aliens are concerned, I believe there is definitely life—intelligent and Republican otherwise—out there; I just don’t believe they would travel tens or hundreds of light years to come here unless it was to simply observe a dominant planetary species gone insane.
Air. And Air.
Desperation.
The inside of a church. ANY church. Absolutely makes my skin crawl. Of course I have the same reaction when entering a WalMart or just about any airport after the TSA was formed.
I’m definitely a West Coast boy!
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You know what’s sad? Learning that all but one of the actors in one of your favorite TV shows from childhood are dead.
There was absolutely nothing on the television machine at all last night, so Ben and I started channel surfing and came across reruns of Hogan’s Heroes. Good lord, I grew up with Stalag 13.
“I see noth-thing! I know noth-thing! ”
In Internet parlance, “I has a sad.”
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Ray Bradbury, 1920-2012
Thank you Mr. Bradbury, for taking my gaze outward and upward when I was but a wee young thing. From The Martian Chronicles to The Illustrated Man to Farenheit 451 to I Sing the Body Electric and countless others, you had a profound influence on my life and will not be forgotten.
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“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time…like tears in rain.” ~ Roy Batty, Blade Runner
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When you were a kid, was there ever one toy that you wanted with all your heart and soul that Santa never brought you?
With me it was this:

That Christmas I implored the big fat man in the red suit to bring me this thing. Point a colored laser at your target, hold down the trigger and watch the thing disappear:
How cool is that? If only it really worked that way. Of course it wasn’t a real laser, and just because your target didn’t actually blow up made no difference to the imagination of a nine year old.
The fact that I never got this cool gun is one of those weird little things that stayed with me for years afterward. The fact that my parents absolutely lavished gifts on my sister and I that Christmas—and for many, many subsequent ones—never quite offset the disappointment of not finding a Plazer waiting under the tree.
Until a few weeks ago, I had completely forgotten about the Plazer, but then I stumbled across this site, and it all came rushing back. (And to be honest, rediscovering a hell of a lot of other toys that I did get that I’d completely forgotten about.) Further Googling led me to this—which probably explains why I never got the gun. I’m sure my folks tried it out in the store, discovered it was a piece of crap, and refused to throw away the $8.88 (which was a decent chunk of change back then) on something that didn’t work to begin with.
Santa, you’re forgiven—and thanks again for all the other amazing stuff you did bring me over the years.
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Why is it that all the elevators at my office are set to “rest” on the uppermost floor first thing in the morning (when people are arriving at work) and then “rest” on the lobby level in the afternoon (when people are leaving)?
If it’s to encourage stair use, it ain’t working.
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Wow. For the first time this summer I’ve left a movie not feeling like I’d been forcibly penetrated.

MIB 3 was a very fun romp, with an tear-at-your-heartstrings ending that was just about perfect. This is the type of movie that CGI was made for. It’s unobtrusively there to help tell the story, but not be the story. (Are you listening, George Lucas?)
Casting Josh Brolin as a young Tommy Lee Jones was sheer genius.
All I can say is go see it—especially if you liked its two predecessors.
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Having originally come from a classical music background, I of course loved this back in the day. Who knew Stravinsky could go disco?
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This guy.

Duh.
Is this your first time at my blog?
Vinyl records.
Neither.
Hate: it’s a toss-up between screaming children and my work phone. (The similarity is not unnoticed.)
Love: the surf.
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Another meme. That famous tool used by bloggers the world over when they’ve got nothing else worth posting.
I got a list of a hundred questions from somewhere. That’s way too much to tackle in a single post and some of them I just flat out refuse to answer (last four of my social security number, mother’s maiden name—Seriously?), but I’ll try to post a few every couple days until I get bored or make it through the list. I’m not tagging anyone, but feel free to play along.
Driving somewhere, most likely to or from work.
Fleetwood Mac from the mid-to-late 70s. They could do no wrong.
Telling one of my users that the reason her Adobe Acrobat was crashing was because there had been an auto-update overnight and she hadn’t rebooted since it had been applied. (In my defense, rebooting did solve the problem.)
As a strict Atheist, no. But I’d like to think that the ignorant assholes making other people’s lives a living hell do eventually get bitch slapped, even if there’s no grand design behind it.
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