Valentine's Day has never done a damned thing for me, and this little Oklahoma Gazette item won't help:

Oh, sure. Drive a steak through my heart, why don't you?

Every psychedelic record ever made, according to Lileks:

Which argues forcefully for less-portentous fare. Cue Betty, Veronica, Archie and Jughead Ron Dante and Toni Wine:

Wasn't a sugar cube, either.

Hard to envision this as a dialog box. This was found by a local technician working on the production of recovery disks:

He didn't mention whether the system complains if you don't answer quickly enough.

Weaselspeak, says Lynn, has infected weather reporting:

It's not just weather, I suspect: everything imaginable is an "event" these days. Is anything less important than an "event for television"? Since most of us get our weather from TV, we inevitably get TV's inflated sense of self as part of the package.

This is not, of course, to knock the meteorologists themselves:

But the trappings of television give minor annoyances like this particular "winter weather event" prominence they simply don't deserve. And I always wonder if fear of litigation is written into the script: it wouldn't be the first time a weatherman was sued for being wrong — although this guy was actually sued for being overly dramatic.

The late Molly Ivins was the editor of the Texas Observer for six years, and for now they're devoting the front page of their Web site to her memory.

I remember this passage — it was in her last Observer before moving to The New York Times — and it still sounds wonderful:

And people will remember Molly, with a smile the size of Texas.

"So this is what being a crack addict is like," Trini mused as the Woot-Off entered its 64th hour. And it's a nerve-wracking experience, to say the least. At least I was able to snag a couple of things that sold out quickly.

Whatever my speed, though, it was unfortunately not sufficient to secure for myself a bespoke orange Cadillac.

And after 68 hours, Woot had unloaded more than 52,000 items and taken in something like $2.2 million, which would pay for about one-twentieth of the therapy needed by all the wooters struggling for their very own brick owl cages.

In 1947, a Taipei street vendor and an agent of the government of the Republic of China got into an argument over black-market tobacco, which outraged observers; within a day, said outrage had grown to a full-fledged uprising in the streets, which the government did its best to suppress. Casualty counts vary, but are generally in five figures. The incident was dubbed the 228 Incident, since it began on the 28th of February, now a national holiday in Taiwan.

Not quite a national holiday, but a reasonable cause for celebration, is the Carnival of the Vanities #228, now playing.

Which means I don't have to:

"Oh, indubitably," as Daffy Duck used to say.

This AutoWeek test for automotive idiocy has its charming moments, but ultimately it's aimed at the sort of tweedy folk who drive twee English wrecks with Lucas electrics, which describes very few of the people I see on the road around here. At the suggestion of Autoblog, I present herewith a list of indications that you, too, might be an automotive idiot.

1. You react as though you were slapped in the face when someone mentions that your Lexus is after all just a juiced-up Toyota. (Similarly for Acura/Honda and Infiniti/Nissan.)

2. You feel compelled to boast about the superior quality of German engineering while your Jetta is in the shop for the third time in six months.

3. You pretend not to notice that your ride quality has gone to hell since you installed those ridiculous 19-inch wheels.

4. You believe that four-wheel-drive makes you immune to the effects of winter precipitation.

5. You think it's good for the car to spend ten minutes in the driveway warming up. (It's not, and what's more, you're getting 0 mpg while you're doing it.)

6. You believe that going 56 in the left lane in a 60 zone is proof that you are a Good Person.

7. Your speed decreases as you move up the onramp.

8. You put a load of stuff in the trunk to improve winter traction — and you have a front-wheel-drive car.

9. You have no idea what you're going to do now that you've missed your exit.

10. You'll just take this one phone call, it might be important.
    

I could probably go on all day, but that would take all the fun out of the comments, assuming I get any.

One Gersh Kuntzman (like there'd be two Gersh Kuntzmans, or Kuntzmen, or whatever) complains in the Brooklyn Paper that Miss America always seems to come from some place like, well, Oklahoma:

Let the record show that Bethlene Pancoast is indeed hot. (Actually, every woman from Brooklyn I've ever met has been hot, but this is too small a sample to be considered Useful Data.)

And I wouldn't for a moment suggest that there's any connection between the following isolated factoids:

• The Pageant is carried on Country Music Television.

• Ms Pancoast lives in Brooklyn, one of five boroughs of the City of New York, which has no country-music radio station.
  

Nor does she herself suspect a fix:

I admit here that (1) I haven't watched one of these things in thirty years or so, inasmuch as they always seem a tad creepy to me, and (2) Kuntzman may well be right about the notion of American beauty having been "hijacked" — certainly the last time I was in Los Angeles, where beauty is a primary currency, all the Major Babes looked more or less alike.

Still: nyah.

Venomous Kate, on Monday:

Life is like that sometimes, and by "sometimes" I mean "more often than not."

Then again, I have a serious distrust for anything billed as "International": if you utter the word "International" in my presence, it will have to be followed by "Harvester" or "House of Pancakes" to merit my attention.

And a painful pas de dix it was for a while, as the Hornets, up seven after the first quarter, were colder than Minnesota winds for the next twenty minutes or so. The Timberwolves, fortunately, were not much better, and by the fourth quarter the Bees had this figured out and pulled away at the end, 90-83.

There's a tendency to think of Minnesota as Kevin Garnett and however-many dwarves. Not so. Garnett was a tad off his game tonight — for which we thank Tyson Chandler — but Mark Blount, scoring 21 points, took up the slack. And there wasn't that much slack, either: Garnett had a double-double with 17 points (including a last-minute trey) and 13 rebounds.

The Bees didn't shoot all that well, either — subtract the two leading scorers (who were 17-22 between them) and you're looking at 32 percent. They did, however, play some decent D; they pulled off eight steals (four by Chris Paul) and blocked nine shots (four by Tyson Chandler). Chandler continues to get serious numbers: he had 16 points and 18 boards despite having to guard Garnett. CP3 was in good form, rolling up 24 points and eight assists. Devin Brown started at shooting guard in place of Rasual Butler; neither of them had an especially-good night. And Jannero Pargo had another one of his late-game bursts off the bench, scoring 13.

Coming up: three road games, at Houston (Saturday), Sacramento (Monday), and Denver (Wednesday).

You won't want to stop at one: Faster Than The World is collecting your votes for Worst Song of the Seventies through early Sunday.

I am happy to note that no fewer than four items from my list of regular barf inducers made it to the ballot.

As of this morning, there are a bit over 45,000 search results for "vista sucks", and you can be sure this did not go overlooked in Cupertino. In my mailbox this morning:

I don't need a new computer, and I'm not thinking of upgrading to Vista, but sooner or later Microsoft will stop patching the leaks in XP — and that, I think, will be the optimum time to move.

I admit up front that there are streaking incidents on my CV — no actual arrests or anything — and that today I am older and wiser and, most important, slower.

I must emphasize, though, that those schemes were better thought out than this one at an Arkansas IHOP:

"I'm sure it sounded like a good idea at the time," says Rita.

Tax returns completed and submitted. (This is actually two weeks ahead of last year's submission.)

Elapsed time: 50 minutes, which would have been less were it not for some particularly dumb things I did (read: "misplace list of donations" and "close browser at inappropriate time"), and an internal argument over whether I should revive the "1040 or Fight" title for this post.

As before, I used an online third-party filing service; I am persuaded that it's not possible to create one that has a completely un-clunky user interface so long as the forms themselves are discouragingly convoluted. They extended me some sort of loyalty discount for using them again, which didn't hurt. (I am insufficiently broke to get one of the full freebies, it appears.) I've printed out copies for reference, and now I don't have to think about it for another year.

First quarter: cold shooting, hot tempers. Rockets point guard Rafer Alston and Hornets small forward Desmond Mason were sent home after some harsh words, eight minutes in. The score at the time was 9-8 Houston, and the quarter ended with the Bees up 17-15. Second quarter: cooler heads, still cold shooting. Score at the half: Hornets 33, Rockets 30. In the second half, things started to open up a bit, but they opened wider for the Hornets, who led by as many as nineteen points and won by thirteen, 87-74; it was only the seventh loss at home for the Rockets.

No, I wasn't expecting this either. Yeah, Yao Ming was inactive, but Dikembe Mutombo has proven himself worthy at the post; yet Mutombo, while he got six rebounds, scored nothing. Tracy McGrady poured in a respectable 18 points, but nothing much else seemed to work for the Rockets.

With Mason gone, the Hornets' bench had to work that much harder, and tonight they did, combining for 38 points: Bobby Jackson and Jannero Pargo scored 12 each. Chris Paul picked up 12 points and served up nine dimes; Devin Brown, in his second start as shooting guard, had 18 points, five assists and seven boards. Tyson Chandler? Yep, another double-double: 11 points, 12 rebounds.

No games tomorrow — supposedly there's some big football game or something — and the road trip resumes in Sacramento Monday.

Okay, a screen for your projection TV is no big deal, even at 90 inches diagonal.

But an inflatable screen for your projection TV: well, there's no middle ground. Either this is exactly the sort of thing you're looking for, or you wouldn't buy this in a million years even if you won the lottery and your significant other demanded that you put a home theatre system out by the pool you're supposed to put in.

I tend to lean toward the latter, if only because Woot buyers are the fastest frickin' clickers in the online shopping universe, and it took almost nine minutes to log one sale. (As of now, twelve minutes later, there's no second sale.)

Update, 10 am: It appears they've now moved four of them. Perhaps this is their way of making sure they have nothing to do while the game is on.

What are the odds on a favorable outcome? If you believe the Magic 8-Ball^®, about even.

(Via Vincent Ferrari.)

Forget all these honey-flavored breakfast cereals: Dave is holding out for steak-flavored Cheerios.

(Yes, he posted this before, and I mentioned it then. The question remains: will someone have to bundle up in the dead of night to pick up an emergency half-gallon of Worcestershire sauce?)

The Fitworld (now that's a name) gym in Heteren, the Netherlands, starting the fourth of March, will offer Naked Sundays for clients who wish to work out without that tedious workout gear.

The major worry seems to have been addressed:

It might not be a bad idea to offer really dark glasses to the customers.

This weekend has proved to be somewhat less unproductive than I had anticipated: not only did I finish off my tax returns, I got the car washed, the kitchen restocked, a new mix CD assembled, two blogs (not this one) updated to WordPress 2.1, and three loads of laundry done.

In other words, I did just about everything but, um, post.

About five thousand people land on this site every week. Sometimes it's deliberate; sometimes they're just looking for something. And sometimes the something they're looking for is worth mentioning here.

god of refrigeration:  Hail to thee, O mighty Freon. R-134 is but a pretender to thy mighty throne.

the river that shares its name with the city of san francisco:  Hint: it's not the Columbia.

hal cash atm:  "I'm sorry, Dave, I can't allow you to overdraw your account."

gamma girls:  Do they take beta blockers?

which females has the nicest and biggest breats [sic] according to astrology?  Gemini. Think "twins."

potable cd-r recorder:  I find that a little hard to swallow.

what does a woman with 36B bust look like:  Migod, you'd think they were rare or something.

compelling reason for your marriage to be unpublicized:  You're marrying Paris Hilton.

Chance of dying at 49:  In my case, zero.

is this a lasting treasure, or just a moment's pleasure?  If I tell you now, will you promise not to ask again?

Is it okay to use an epilator on the face?  If you don't mind feeling like you've been smooching a Weed Eater, sure.

women as doormats:  No way to get them to look up to you, believe me.

clueless men what women want:  I don't claim to know what women want, but I suspect it's not clueless men.

zip code 78666 satan:  Um, no, San Marcos.

impacts of improper disposal of chicken:  Imagine a giant beak pecking at a face — forever....

As conspiracy theories go, this has to be one of the best:

Here's where it gets convoluted:

This sounds like a good argument for a Swiss bank account. Then again, if you want to deal with, say, Credit Suisse, you might as well go to Singapore.

Believe me, I know from this:

It is not a fate worse than death, though it pretty much guarantees you an empty bed, which some people consider the practical equivalent thereof. Me, I am unwilling to be led around by glandular secretions.

I look at it this way: without this particular complication, I am managing to keep my emotional curve just slightly above the X-axis. Why would I want to drop back into the bottom of the graph in the hopes of an occasional half-hearted caress?

Many years ago, for the OAQ File, I wrote that "I will encounter someone of prodigious desirability who wouldn't have me on a bet." I consider this a hazard of life, an unavoidable hazard at that, and indeed I was correct in this prediction. If anything, I underestimated the number of such encounters; if there is any contentment to be derived from having known it all along, I herewith lay claim to that contentment.

I suspect I'll be addressing similar subjects a number of times this month, inasmuch as this month is February, which contemporary culture has inexplicably chosen to dedicate to lovers. By the mercy of the Almighty and the wisdom of the Caesars, it is the shortest month.

Sam Smith of the Chicago Tribune analyzes the Oklahoma City NBA situation:

The Rochester Royals, you may remember (I didn't), drifted to Cincinnati, then to Kansas City (as the Kings), and ended up in Sacramento.

"Oh, you have to have the printer plugged in to install the ink cartridges?"

Duh Scale (1 to 5): 4.5

Excuse me while I guffaw at this:

Apart from the question of what there could possibly be on God's green earth for which Comic Sans is "moderately appropriate," I plan to ignore this entirely; anything you get from me will be in your mail client's default typeface because I think HTML-encoded mail is an abomination unto the Lord and a pain in the ass generally. With the exception of one monthly newsletter which is sent to me as a Word document (which I open in OpenOffice.org because I refuse to install Microsloth Office), I read everything in plain text; if nothing else, it creates the illusion of less spam.

(Via Swirlspice.)

The former Rochester Royals are quite at home in the California capital: the Kings jumped out to a 40-24 lead after the first quarter, 63-50 at the half, and while the Hornets drew to within one in the fourth quarter, the Kings held on for a 104-99 win.

Sacramento had six players in double figures, led by Ron Artest with 21; Mike Bibby dropped in 19. The Kings shot over 70 percent in the first quarter and were still over 50 percent at the end.

The Bees had some serious offense: Chris Paul got 24 points, Desmond Mason 17, David West 16. The difference? Both teams made 16 free throws, but the Hornets missed eight — and the Kings missed only two.

To Denver, for a round with the Nuggets on Wednesday; the Bucks will be in Oklahoma City on Thursday.

This one was swiped from Suburban Lesbian.

1. The phone rings. Who are you hoping it is? You, of course.

2. When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart? Always.

3. In a social setting, are you more of a talker or a listener? I start out listening, and maybe talk towards the end.

4. If abandoned alone in the wilderness, would you survive? For a few minutes, anyway.

5. Do you like to ride horses? Haven't done it enough to develop a taste for it.

6. Did you ever go to camp as a kid? Once, but it wasn't my camp.

7. What was your favorite board game as a kid? Scrabble, because I hardly ever lost.

8. If a sexy person was pursuing you, but you knew he/she was taken what would you do? I can't imagine this happening — the first part of it, anyway.

9. Are you judgmental? Extremely. Also unapologetic.

10. Would you date someone with different religious beliefs? That depends. Is she hot? *

11. Are you continuing your education? Not in the formal sense.

12. Do you know how to shoot a gun? Adequately, but not much better than that.

13. If your house was on fire, what's the first thing you'd grab? Am I inside the house or outside when it happens?

14. How often do you read books? Just about every day.

15. Do you think more about the past, present or future? Of course I do.

16. What is your favorite children's book? I dunno. I was reading ostensibly-grownup stuff in elementary school.

17. How tall are you? 1.82 meters.

18. Where is your ideal house located? It's probably this one once I get it, um, customized.

19. Last person you talked to? Trini.

20. When was the last time you were at Olive Garden? 1985, I think.

21. What are your keys on your key chain for? Things with locks, obviously.

22. What did you do last night? Listened to a basketball game on the radio.

23. Where is your current pain at [sic]? Right knee.

24. Do you like mustard? In small doses.

25. Do you like your mom or dad? Well, yeah, but they're both gone now.

26. How long does it take you in the shower? About five minutes, unless it's summertime and I'm cleaning up after yard work, in which case more like 10.

27. What movie do you want to see right now? Idiocracy, which I just got on DVD but haven't opened yet.

28. Do you put lotion on your dog or cats? Not applicable, but Huh?

29. What did you do for New Year's? Slept through as much of it as possible.

30. Do you think The Grudge was scary? Didn't see it.

31. Do you own a camera phone? No.

32. What's the last letter of your middle name? Y.

33. Who did you vote for on American Idol? Never actually watched it.
    

* SL had exactly the same answer to this one.

Seen at the woot.com community board:

If you're wondering "What about those people who ordered the tape measure?" they were issued refunds in full and a $5 certificate off their next woot. I know this because I am one of those people.

Oh, well.

A car dealer around these parts used to bray about all the free stuff they threw in with the deal, with the tagline "What could be better than free?" I'd like to think this would have shut him up. (Endless.com is an Amazon.com offshoot that deals in shoes and handbags, but not even Amazon Prime is offering a shipping deal this remarkable. It expires on the 28th of February. I have been so far unable to identify this specific shoe; I spotted this ad on Go Fug Yourself.)

News Item: Ford Motor Company will rename its slow-selling Five Hundred model the Taurus, a name that Ford had previously used for a car that became the nation's top-seller, company officials said Tuesday.

Top Ten Names Also Considered for the Ford Five Hundred:

10. Three-Eighty After Rebate
    
9. Flathead
   
8. Not A Lincoln
   
7. Fonda
   
6. Felcher
   
5. Festivus
   
4. Excrescence
   
3. Prefect
   
2. Fairmont II
   
1. Camry (hey, they're desperate)
   

(Via Jalopnik.)

This is perhaps an oversimplification of things, though it does reflect the expected bell-curve distribution. Presenting PDB's Five Levels of Attraction:

Of course, there's always that eye-of-the-beholder factor to consider, which tends to skew results. But I've got a hunch that no one is going to pay any attention to anyone below 2.

Inspired by Lastango, here's a list of things I have that simply refuse to die:

• Ace Clipper 702: Ace describes this as "the stapling plier that all others are modeled after. It's perfect for laundries, dry cleaners, checkout counters and factories. Built to Ace's traditional high quality standards for commercial use, the Clipper features all steel construction, chrome finish and 2½" throat depth. It loads a full strip of Clipper undulated staples which have twice the holding power of normal staples." I bought mine in 1969; I'm convinced it will outlive me.

• Hewlett-Packard DeskJet 720C: This came out in the late 1990s, before HP had perfected the art of the disposable printer. The drive belt on this model can shred, I am told, but so far mine's going strong after nearly a decade.

• Onkyo CP-1036A semiautomatic turntable: This 1980s relic is as smooth and quiet today as it was when it was new, despite constant cartridge changes (and head swaps to make those changes simpler), and short of actually screwing around with the leads, it's seemingly impossible to get it to produce any of the dreaded 60-Hz hum that indicates improper grounding.

• Realistic 12-181B "Weatheradio": The infamous Radio Shack VHF receiver in the shape of a cube, tuned to the National Weather Service. (Photo here.) I've had this for about twenty-five years; it asks only for a fresh 9-volt battery twice a year.

• Hoover 1248 upright vacuum: I bought this new in 1976. It's on its third drive belt ($3), and God knows how many bags (type C, not too hard to find) it's been through. It's getting less use now that I have hardwood floors underfoot, but it still knows how to deal with a rug.

• Casio SA-53 digital watch: Purchased circa 1984. A succession of crummy bands, though the current one has now lasted ten years. (Photo here.) It keeps fairly indifferent time, and 362 batteries are no longer ubiquitous, but I refuse to start buying watches on Woot.
  

Addendum: While rooting around in the bedroom, I found the original Casio clasp-type watchband. I have no freaking idea how this thing ever worked.

It is apparently the will of the gods that our Presidential candidates have execrable musical taste. This quote seems to have upset E. M. Zanotti:

This seems innocuous enough, even though it sounds like "jazz" and "George Benson" are two entirely-separate concepts, a view which I suspect Zanotti endorses:

That said, may I commend unto you George Benson's The Other Side of Abbey Road, recorded right on the heels of that Beatles masterwork in the fall of 1969, and easily the best thing ever put out under Benson's name. It's a classic Creed Taylor production with Rudy Van Gelder twiddling the knobs and Freddie Hubbard contributing some great trumpet bits here and there. Originally it came out as A&M SP-3028, disappeared too quickly, and was reissued when Breezin' hit for Benson at Warner Bros. in 1976. If I ever find myself at a watch party, I'm bringing this along.

This is Foxkeh, the Japanese spokescreature for Mozilla Firefox. Unlike the critter-grasping-the-globe logo used elsewhere, this Fox has a different fire entirely:

Jumpin' Jack Flash was not available for comment.

(Via Miss Cellania.)

A fortyish Brit, mother of four, poses for some Italian art students, and the first thing anyone sees? Butterflies:

But one must rise to the occasion regardless:

We will not mention that upon her return to Blighty she dropped fourteen pounds.

(Seen here; this link may not be safe for work.)

In this month's City News, enclosed with the utility bill:

If you're in the habit of making cell-phone calls while you're driving, I suggest you're just asking for problems far greater than mere potholes.

As prime numbers go, 229 is one of the prime-est: it's a twin prime (with 227), a cousin prime (with 233), and even, yes, a sexy prime (with 223). I hesitate to make any feng shui judgments.

This week's prime bloggage, of course, can be found at Carnival of the Vanities #229.

Beating the Nuggets didn't look like it was on the agenda. The Hornets trailed most of the game, managed to tie it late in the third, fell behind by three at the end of the quarter, and then Denver, apparently irritated, put the squeeze on the Bees. With one minute left, though, the Hornets had fought back to a 101-101 tie. With three seconds left, it was 103-103, and that's how regulation time ended.

At some point during the overtime, the Hornets noticed that they'd won three of the four quarters, and turned up the heat a little, though missing three free throws didn't help. Ex-Hornet J. R. Smith tied it up at 112 with 20 seconds left; Desmond Mason nailed a bucket at the buzzer to win it, 114-112. And it ended with Smith and Byron Scott, never the best of friends, in a hug by the sideline. You can't write scripts like that: no one would believe them.

All five Denver starters finished in double figures. Carmelo Anthony, of course, was huge: 27 points, nine rebounds, five assists. Allen Iverson, maybe slightly slowed by a twisted ankle, dropped in 22 and served up nine dimes.

The starting Hornets also finished in double figures, led by Mason with 23; Tyson Chandler got yet another double-double with 10 points and 16 boards. Bobby Jackson got 15 off the bench.

Tomorrow night: the Milwaukee Bucks come to the Ford Center.

Addendum: The Denver Post reports a sighting of the Birdman:

A year from now. I hope.

I've covered this before, but I admit I didn't think of this angle:

Do I admit that I do look? (Not that it makes the slightest bit of difference, of course.)

And are there any statistics on the success rate of public-transit romances?

The Metropolitan Library System is now offering downloadable audio books to which you can listen.

Maybe. Dwight is not impressed:

Probably won't work with the Zune, either. And yes, there are workarounds, but:

Careful now. They might start putting DRM on e-books.

Oh, wait ....

You probably know this play under a different title.

(Via Fark.com.)

Addendum: Steph Mineart has a better idea.

Excuse me while I whimper in the corner:

Dr Charlat was actually talking about butterflies, but this still spooks me.

(Via Lip Schtick.)

HBN Shoe, LLC is the manufacturer of something called Insolia, which pulls off this remarkable feat:

The developers of Insolia included podiatrist Howard J. Dananberg, founder of HBN, and Brian Hughes, an actual MIT rocket scientist.

It's stuff like this that gives me hope for the future.

All spammers are nasty farging dweebs, but some of them are just a shade nastier than their scum-sucking brethren.

This little jewel popped in today with the dubious headline "How not to be a Grammy fashion don't":

Said URL actually lands on worldwidebonus.com, the domain record for which was posted this week by registerfly.com, a generally-respectable registrar who probably hasn't noticed this yet.

The last time the Hornets were supposed to play the Bucks, ice on the runway kept them from taking off. Tonight the Bucks were here, and the Hornets brought their own ice for the fourth quarter while Milwaukee was running a 16-2 run; up ten after the third quarter, the Bees managed a mere sixteen points in the fourth but rallied to force a 90-90 tie at the end of regulation. Apparently everyone was tired after 48 minutes; it was still tied after 53.

And so there was a second overtime, and the Hornets remembered that they were 3-0 in overtime and held the Bucks to four points in five minutes, winning 109-101.

Good Bucks: Mo Williams had 30 points, and Ruben Patterson got 28. (Patterson also records a double-double, with 16 rebounds.) Not So Good Bucks: Both Charlie Villanueva and Earl Boykins fouled out.

No fewer than seven Hornets scored in double figures, and three of them had double-doubles: David West had 21 points and 19 (!) rebounds; Tyson Chandler had 11 points and 22 (!!) boards; Chris Paul scored 14 and delivered 10 assists. Desmond Mason picked up 24 points; Linton Johnson and Bobby Jackson had 10 and 12 respectively off the bench; Jackson's 56th-minute trey put the game out of the Bucks' reach.

The Grizzlies will be here on Saturday in the first half of a home-and-home; the Bees play at Memphis Tuesday.

You may remember this story from Wednesday; I suggested that the blog where I found it might not be safe for work.

The blogger responds to this characterization:

Well, "anyone," maybe. I don't know if I can pull this off, so to speak, or not, but this is more likely due to the fact that I usually have to work late on Friday than to any particular fear of bringing up the subject.

More to the point, I'd hate to go to "family night" by myself.

For the second time this week, someone has asked if I'm losing weight. I honestly don't know: I don't own a scale. I certainly don't feel any lighter.

Still, there is some evidence which might support this premise. For the last ten years, I've bought the same size trousers from the same source. The last couple of batches — I usually buy two or three at a time — were just slightly snug with the standard five-hole belt fastened at the middle hole. Those same garments are now distinctly loose: even with the belt tightened to the max, if I take more than a couple of steps I can feel them sliding downward, putting myself awfully close to the dubious distinction of being able to pants myself without using my hands. It is true that as of the first of the year, I am on a cholesterol-reduction drug; but the slippage was taking place even before that. Fortunately, I don't work as a plumber.

Frank Sinatra, 24/7? Siriusly:

The Interested-Participant is skeptical:

Not to worry. When it comes to the Chairman, I am Board-certified.

Last year I made up a list of "Phrases I never want to hear again," and prominent on that list — to the extent that it was the only item that drew a reproach in comments, anyway — was this:

In the wake of Vickie's demise (that was her real name, and I always liked it better anyway), I have decided to append a note about it to that post. (Unlike some denizens of blogdom, I have never suffered from the delusion that I could cover my tracks.)

Meanwhile, were I inclined to do one of my infamous pop-culture sendoffs — and believe me, if I couldn't come up with something heartfelt for Frankie Laine, I surely wouldn't be able to say anything about Ms Smith — I'd be better served just ripping off this item from Tam:

I'm readying a New York strip for the grill this evening.

The insistence of Forrest Gump's mother notwithstanding, there's rather a lot more to life than a box of chocolates, especially this time of year:

Inasmuch as this adds up to 128.8 percent, you have to figure that some of these fellows are hedging their bets.

I'm slightly suspicious of that $154 figure, if only because it's far too low to include any meaningful amount of therapy.

The nearest gas station/C-store has one of those coin-operated air compressors, and it is cunningly designed to run out of time at the beginning of one's third tire. I took all the precautions I could — removed all the caps first, took all the pressure readings with my handy-dandy gauge, carefully dekinked the hose, and only then deposited the coins — and still, two tires completed, third tire only just begun, and dead silence.

This is the sort of thing that makes me think "Geez, I ought to get a compressor of my own," and then I calculate how many trips I can make to that store for that amount of money.

Did you ever try to sing along with a song despite the fact that you obviously didn't know all the words?

Certainly one of the all-time tongue-twisters in the land of karaoke is "Life Is a Rock (But the Radio Rolled Me)," a project of producer-songwriters Norman Dolph and Paul DiFranco that at first no one would even try to sing. Enter bubblegum veteran Joey Levine — you heard him mentioning love in his tummy once upon a time — who actually could deliver this seemingly-endless string of namechecks without going slowly (or quickly) insane.

The disc, issued under the nom de disque "Reunion," was an enormous hit (#8 in Billboard); the pseudonym was then promptly retired, inasmuch as there was no way on earth to come up with a followup. Nineteen seventy-four being way before the death of the radio star, there was no video.

And then:

I might also note that hardly anyone dared to remake this song — with the notable exception of the always-fearless Tracey Ullman, who did a creditable job on her 1984 LP You Broke My Heart in 17 Places, done for one of those "all the others" labels. (The Reunion original was on RCA.)

Heavens to Betsy (not her real name), can this be true? A virtual valentine?

(Found on a blog. In an effort to minimize total embarrassment, I am not providing a link.)

Who's missing from those "I'm a PC/I'm a Mac" commercials?

Right you are.

(Via Fark.)

CT reports on a report about New York's pricey Kobe Club, and this (well, apart from the check) is the scary part:

"If Akira Kurosawa hired the Marquis de Sade as an interior decorator," says the reviewer. I'm generally in favor of edgy design, but not with this many edges.

The Saturday Oklahoman has a column on the second business page which lists major office leases. (This is separate from the major real-estate transactions, which is usually one page over.) This item from today's list gave me pause:

This threesome works for CB-Richard Ellis Oklahoma. The first thing that struck me was, well, who is "VS"? Most likely, I reasoned, a typo: this is really CVS. And inasmuch as there's a Walgreens on this corner, a CVS should be considered inevitable: these two chains chase each other all over.

But wait: there's a CVS at the far end of the complex, near 48th and May. And they surely don't occupy sixty thousand square feet, which means that this is probably not a renewal of their current deal.

Which can mean only one of one thing: the oft-rumored displacement of the Mayfair Market, which has sat on this corner for decades. I am, of course, outraged, not so much because of the historical importance of this store (not much) but because this is the only place I know of that actually stocks Kellogg's Pop-Tarts in the plain (unfrosted) blueberry variety. I am so screwed.

But wait! The market isn't 60,000 square feet either. According to the County Assessor, it's 19,600, and there's no way they can scrape it off the pavement and replace it with a building three times its size without getting in the way of Union Bank. That Walgreens is listed as 15,396 square feet.

If nothing else, this gives you an insight into the sort of things I worry about while the rest of the world concentrates on ephemera.

With essentially no time left in the first half, Chris Paul managed to work the ball into the basket.

From behind the backboard.

They waved it off, of course, but expect this on highlight reels for days to come. And it fit in: a lot of things were falling into the bucket tonight, especially for the Hornets, who shot a startling 55.8 percent from the floor (and 50 percent from the 3-point line) en route to a 114-99 win over the visiting Memphis Grizzlies.

The Griz stayed close through most of the first half, and Pau Gasol was his usual efficient self, picking up a double-double for the night (21 points, 11 rebounds), but the Bees opened it up in the third quarter, outscoring Memphis 35-24.

Six Hornets in double figures during the shootfest: Chris Paul had 23 (and 11 assists), David West 22, Desmond Mason 16, Tyson Chandler 15 (and 16 boards), Devin Brown and Bobby Jackson with 11 each. Hilton Armstrong is starting to pick up more minutes, and while he still makes the occasional rookie mistakes, he's getting to be a tough competitor. And to everyone's relief, no overtime.

Tuesday the Bees fly to Memphis to play these same Grizzlies, who are now thirteen games below .500.

Back in December I made some offhand remark about variations on the Oreo theme, including such wacky ideas as an Oreo with no discernible chocolate whatsoever, which I pronounced my favorite of the bunch.

This week, an edition I hadn't seen before turned up on the shelf at Albertson's, and I was sufficiently weirded-out to buy. It's the traditional Oreo, but it's organic.

Really. Here's the Ingredients list:

Of this list, only cocoa, soy lecithin and baking soda show up in standard-issue Oreos. The Nutrition Facts are almost identical — the organic version lists 13 grams of sugar and 75 mg of potassium (presumably from calcium phosphate), versus 14 grams of sugar and no potassium at all in the standard version.

Of course, what you want to know is "How does it taste?" To these jaded taste buds, it's slightly less sweet than the usual Oreo, and the cookie seems just a shade more resistant to breakage. I'd rate it a percentage point or two above its brandmates. Its price, unfortunately, is more than a percentage point or two higher: I paid $3.49 for an 8.5-ounce box, while its corporate cousins were going for $2.99 (in fact, on sale for $2.50 yesterday) for 18 ounces. And it's still an Oreo, which means you're not going to be able to pass it off as some kind of health food — but at least it's a whole lot less artificial. And that's an accomplishment of sorts: it's not often you can get something with more-or-less "natural" origins to come off as purely synthetic.

Assuming I'm reading the kosher certification correctly, this is a dairy product.

Philip Stanhope, Lord Chesterfield, sneered at sex: "The pleasure is momentary, the position is ridiculous, and the expense is damnable." I might suggest that his lordship might have been happier had he tried other positions, but his other two premises are well-nigh unassailable.

Now Terry comes forth to assail one of them, and right on time, too:

It probably wouldn't hurt if a few more women had this insight, either, if you know what I mean.

Now does anybody have any ideas to stretch out the "momentary pleasure"?

There's a technique to this?

Actually, I usually avoid looking in that direction, ostensibly as a safety precaution, but mostly because I figure it's just so much wasted effort, and I'm too tired for that sort of thing.

Laura Lemay plugs in a new drive, and she has more space than she ever dreamed of:

This can't be right, she reasons:

Still, you have to figure that eventually we will all have drives that hold four times as much as Google's entire datacenter does today, and that shortly thereafter there will be some version of Windows which requires that much.

Jeff Shaw puts in a good word for something uniquely Tulsa:

That's scary. I live down here at the other end of the turnpike, and I can find the Gilcrease quite easily: I've been there twice in recent years. It's a splendid place, one Tulsa can be proud of. It doesn't get the press of the Philbrook, perhaps because some folks around these parts are still faintly embarrassed by that whole Western and/or Native American business. Fine. If you can't deal with the Old West, perhaps you can handle the gardens, which are lovely in their own right.

Or maybe it's just the Tyranny of the New. Thomas Gilcrease donated his collection of Western art to the city of Tulsa way back in the 1950s, and to some people, it might as well be ancient Sumeria. Distracted by shiny things, I suppose.

I didn't invent this concept, but I daresay, I've gotten the maximum mileage out of it. And with traffic now on the (slight) upswing — well, see for yourself.

weird search queries:  You're looking at them.

sports enema:  What, is ESPN expanding again?

jessica alba is really ugly:  You're no prize yourself.

cisco alcoholic beverage:  Not the choice of those who program routers for a living.

how to apologize to a woman when she just wants to be friends:  Wait a minute. You're apologizing to her?

bewitched kidman legs:  Which you hardly got to see in the actual movie, dammit.

nba penis size:  Let's just say it's harder to hit from the 3-point line.

when will you meet your soulmate:  About the time Satan starts banging on the pipes because the heat's off.

engine mayonnaise:  If you're actually producing this sort of thing, see your authorized dealer pronto.

dexy's equivalent meth:  Geez, Eileen, slow up a little, wouldja?

should I worry about a P0420 error code on the I30:  Depends. Can you spare $1200 for a new front tube and oxygen sensor?

"literary editor" "stuff magazine":  Finally, something to beat out "jumbo shrimp" on the Top 10 Oxymorons List.

cool minivans:  Finally, something to beat out "jumbo shrimp" on the Top 10 Oxymorons List.

lyrics: duh duh duh duh ... duh duh duh:  So I'm supposed to name that tune in fifteen Duhs?

Infinite Dress, invented by Linda Silvestri:  Anyone know what size this is?

We will entertain no jokes about graduation gowns:

Criteria:

I looked at the application form, and there's an essay question at the very end: "Write a 250 word essay listing your goals in life, future plans, chosen profession, and explain how social nudism has affected your life."

I suppose the only thing truly remarkable about this is that I was surprised to find it.

The Southwest Region includes the four states with ZIP codes beginning with 7, although there are no AANR member clubs in Arkansas, due to legal constraints.

Autoblog reports that automatic transmissions will outnumber stick shifts worldwide in 2007.

Which, of course, will make it difficult to outlaw the infernal slushboxes in the name of all that is green and holy, but hey, you can't have everything.

Disclosure: I have been driving for 32 years, and the majority of those years were spent with a stick, but my present vehicle has, yes, an automatic.

Are there social strata in blogdom? Neil Kramer goes to the heart of the matter:

I don't think so. I have only the vaguest idea what most of my friends make, and don't give much of a damn one way or another.

Of course, I don't know anyone (1) living on the streets or (2) building a second mansion, either.

You know, I might have to try this at one end of the next World Tour:

If nothing else, it would give me an excuse to stay at the Skirvin (or maybe the Colcord).

Not that anyone is asking, but no, I haven't been wondering if maybe I could land one of those campaign slots, and this explains why as well as anything:

Sauce for the gander, and all that.

Forbes has another one of its goofy lists, this time What Your Car Says About You — provided, of course, that your car is the sort of pricey conveyance that is most easily affordable to, well, readers of Forbes. Since they didn't venture far enough down the automotive food chain to get to what I drive, I'm filling the gap here with what my car says about me, which is simply this: at a point where I was in bad need of new wheels, I chose to buy a six-year-old luxoboat for 40 percent of its original sticker price, with the hope of getting eight to ten more years out of it.

Not everyone reacts as blandly as this. My children asked if I were suddenly acquiring a veneer of snootiness (I almost typed "snottiness," which fits equally well); a couple of people asked if this climb up a rung or two of the perceived automotive hierarchy constituted some form of therapy (perhaps it did, in some way); one reader of this site accused me of being some sort of "grown-up," perhaps the scariest prospect of all. (The American male is not unique in his desire to perpetuate adolescence, but he goes to the most trouble to see it done.) But ultimately I can no more explain my choice of vehicle to others than I could my choice of girlfriend, had I a girlfriend, which of course I don't, and this model has no particular reputation as a crumpet-collector anyway.

If I've learned anything from the experience, it's that a lot more things are negotiable than I had imagined. I am not overly fond of leather, and I absolutely despise fake wood; Gwendolyn is outfitted rather generously with both, and I shrug when people point this out.

There is considerable amusement value in the current dust-up between TXU Corporation, which has announced plans to build a number of coal-fired power plants in northern Texas, and various opponents, including the Oklahoma Department of Environmental Quality and something called the Clean Sky Coalition, among whose mostly-Texan members you'll find Oklahoman Aubrey McClendon, chair of Chesapeake Energy.

The DEQ concern is specific:

TXU says the air will be cleaner when all is said and done:

And McClendon plays the "global warming" card:

Chesapeake vends natural gas, which produces lower carbon dioxide levels than coal, although natural gas, which is primarily methane, would be a pretty potent component of the greenhouse mix all by itself, were it running around loose.

But TXU says they're using too much gas already:

This might be an easier sell for TXU were they to throw another wind farm or two — they already have about 580 MW at their disposal — into the mix.

It was true then and it's true now: no one writes a software license like Microsoft.

(Thanks to wamprat.)

The Sun reports that 57 percent of British women wear a D-cup, making them, according to bra manufacturer Triumph, the bustiest in Europe.

I tend to question this survey for two reasons:

1. The Italians came in last, which seems utterly implausible;
   
2. This is England, after all, the world's leading consumer of spotted dick.
   

I wonder if anyone's done research on Kleenex sales in the E.U.

(Via Fark.)

The last time we saw these Grizzlies, they were losing to the Hornets 114-99. That was at the Ford Center, though; this time, the Griz were at home in Memphis' FedExForum, and revenge was on their minds. They got it, too: the Hornets won the odd quarters, but the Grizzlies won the even ones by more, finishing the fourth with a flourish to win it, 108-104.

Neither team shot especially well. The Bees dominated the boards, but the Hornet guards had a seriously off night. (Any night when Devin Brown and Chris Paul combined come up with only seven points has to be considered an off night; Jannero Pargo, at least, came up with 11.) Tyson Chandler snagged 23 boards, setting a personal record and tying a club record; he also dropped in 17 points. David West also picked up the double-double, with 22 points and 11 rebounds; Desmond Mason, still in sharpshooter mode, had 23 points.

The Grizzly guards, conversely, had their way: Chucky Atkins and Rudy Gay between them scored 37. Forward threat Mike Miller picked up 22, and Memphis recorded two double-doubles: Pau Gasol (11 points, 15 boards) and Hakim Warrick (15 points, 12 boards off the bench).

If nothing else, this should remind us that even cellar-dwellers win once in a while, and it's not wise to take them for granted.

The Bees will be back in OKC tomorrow for a Valentine's Day match with the Kings. I am told the home uniforms will reflect the holiday; I plan to listen to the game on the radio.

Apparently I've been neglecting my hardware duties for too long: last night I opened up the Old Box and stuffed into it a fresh new PCI card with four USB 2.0 connections thereupon, and I was so unbelievably clumsy I'm surprised I didn't drop-kick the tower into the corner. In fact, the machine wouldn't boot until I opened it back up and manhandled the card into a different slot; unless there was some vague grounding issue that I overlooked, I have no idea why.

And while it's probably a losing battle to keep a Windows 98 (albeit Second Edition) box going after all these years, it's either that or buy a new scanner.

The smallest of the Big Four record companies is contemplating dumping Digital Rights Management altogether, and at least one vendor is predicting a sales boom:

Maybe. I haven't run into too many DRM issues — well, one, actually — so I don't think I'm suddenly going to run out and download tons more stuff, presumably at the same price, just because it's going to be a tad easier to use. On the other hand, Microsoft just loves DRM, and anything that perturbs Microsoft can't be all bad, can it?

"Snipe me, you bastard!" I hissed as I looked at the screen and noticed that my final bid, placed fifteen minutes earlier, was still the high bid.

I believe what motivated this utterance was the collision of the memory that I'd dropped out of the bidding at $20 with the glaring fact that I'd gotten back into it at $46; I apparently expected to be punished for hubris, or at least foolish persistence, and sat on the item page pushing F5 at random intervals during the last two minutes of the auction.

I did win, and duly paid up, but there's still this nagging feeling: if nobody else wanted this so badly (there were 13 bids, but only four actual bidders), why did I?

And is there any way I can blame this on Valentine's Day?

On Sunny Googe Street:

Alternate title: The First Noel.

The Senate Rules Committee has voted to send SB 16, by Senator Debbe Leftwich (D-OKC), which would eliminate straight-party voting in Oklahoma, to the full Senate.

Jason McCarty over at OK Blue Notes explains the rationale:

This won't affect me: I've never used the straight-party option, and I can think of only one person who might. Is this option actually popular, and will it be missed?

The Hornets' bad shooting on Tuesday somehow turned into good shooting on Wednesday: the Bees hit 45 of 78 shots (57.7 percent) in the process of giving the Sacramento Kings a good old-fashioned Ford Center thrashing, 110-93.

The Kings were playing without Brad Miller, which hurt, but nobody rushed in to fill the Miller-sized hole in the lineup. Ron Artest got 18 points, as many as anyone tonight, and the Sacramento bench kicked in 44 points — but this means that the four other starters managed only 31. And the Kings offered little defense: only 34 rebounds and two blocked shots, versus 44 and 7 for the Hornets.

Tyson Chandler wangled still another double-double: 10 points, 15 boards. Desmond Mason tossed in another 18 points; David West, 16; Devin Brown, 15. The bench contributed 42, including a season-high 12 from Linton Johnson, who has been playing some serious D these days.

We now pause for the All-Star break. The next Hornets game will be Tuesday, at Charlotte.

The good thing is: it's over for another year. And it's just as well: for the last two days it's been colder than Maureen Dowd's heart around here.

I did, however, inadvertently hit on a line that actually sort of worked (though your mileage may vary): "Hey, you want to go for a ride in a G35?"

No, not <