Archive for Dyssynergy

Speaking truth to V-Power

I had a hard time at the gas station this week, probably because I went after work and was wearier than usual, with occasional bursts of irritation at the premium-to-regular gap, which is now back to 60 cents a gallon. I survived, somehow. I don’t know, however, what I’d have done if I had had to face this:

I drive to the other station and get out, and remember one of the other reasons I don’t go there often. It has a TV screen that plays celebrity news and sports. Nothing makes you feel stupider than watching TV on a gas pump. You can’t help it. Even if you don’t watch, you hear it. You’re standing alone in the cold and a TV is yelling at you.

The graphic on the screen says “Thanks for making us the #1 gas station entertainment network.”

There are others?

There are ratings?

I know, I know: captive audience. It’s perfect. But if they’ll do that to you, they’ll do this:

They’re someone who jumps in your path and starts talking about air freshener. That’s why GSTV believes it has a niche: you can’t leave their programing. You can’t stop it. You can’t hit X or Skip Ad in 4 seconds, because you are a captive audience.

These people would put screens in an MRI machine and sell ads.

Imagine, if you will: something that could make an MRI worse.

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As the fakers go rolling along

Another one of those “things have changed, and not for the better” stories:

Back in the Jurassic, the only accepted way to get a makeup exam / extension on the paper’s due date — aside from being legitimately, documentably ill, of course — was to throw yourself on the prof’s mercy. Most profs were pretty understanding about this, because a) they’d been in college themselves, back when “going away to college” was a novel experience, not a pop culture template, and b) because “going away to college” wasn’t yet scripted, very few kids abused the system. Only someone who really was having a rough time would show up at office hours begging for an extension, and that unshaven tousle-haired pajama-wearing wraith who’d lost (or gained) thirty pounds over the course of the semester was his / her own justification.

But time marched on, and everyone got an email account, and now you can’t assign a throwaway quiz without getting five Dead Grandma Stories.

The interesting (=suicidally depressing) thing, though, isn’t the plague of grandparent mortality (note that the original “study” was done in 1990). It’s that in the majority of cases, the kid has no intention of actually doing the work, and everybody knows it.

Could this get worse? But of course:

Snowflakes are now bypassing us mere professors entirely, and going straight to the administration. If the Dean buys their sob story, he’ll order the registrar to let Snowflake take an incomplete in the class … which means I have to waste my Christmas / summer waiting for a final that we all know will never come, and do a bunch of paperwork when it doesn’t. Note that the Dean has every incentive to buy the sob story, and no incentive not to — the griping of mere profs over a bit of extra paperwork is nothing compared to the drop in revenue if Snowflake fails out. And it’s worse the higher you go up the academic food chain — state schools can afford to lose a few undergrad idiots, but when tuition is $50K/year? Fugheddaboudit. If you’ve ever wondered how privileged nitwits manage to stay in college for seven or eight years chasing their “gender studies” degrees, wonder no more.

Meanwhile, it takes two days (or longer) to get a plumber.

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On second thought, don’t beam me up

I’m not sure I trust that thing:

And in fact, I may have to burn all my red shirts.

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Consider yourself warned

Do not even think about driving while inebriated in Wyoming, Minnesota:

I mean, they’re serious.

(Via @Wombat_Socho.)

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And it’s off to Voldemart

This showed up yesterday afternoon:

About half an hour later, I was pulling into the local Supercenter to pick up my groceries. All you need to know about that trip is this: the order was placed Monday, and 5 pm Wednesday was the earliest I could schedule a pickup that didn’t conflict with either work or sleeping. That said, I was out of there before 5:15, so I can’t really complain. Still, I can see a good reason to confining future grocery runs to Saturday afternoon, when there’s less of a crowd. (This particular Walmart store has six pickup points; this was the first time I’d ever seen all six in use.)

So I did not fail at Walmart the day before Thanksgiving, unlike some people.

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The way we weren’t

Roberta X has a better eye for these things than I do:

[T]here was something else that bugged me about the reporter area and the “pit” where researchers toiled. Last night the light finally dawned: nearly everyone has their typewriter sitting front and center on their desk, just where you’d put a computer keyboard!

No, no, a thousand times no. Those desks have, I’ll bet, perfectly good pull-out or swing-out typewriter shelves, set lower than the desktop and with good reason: typewriters are way taller than computer keyboards. Many of the reporters have IBM Selectrics, the ne plus ultra of its day and still mighty desirable, if your desires turn that way. But the Selectric’s spacebar alone is a good three inches above the surface it sits on, if not more! Nobody who writes for a living (and most who do so for fun) can comfortably use one on top of a thirty-inch high office desk for long. And yet every foregrounded character in the series does just that, with Selectrics or full-sized manual typewriters, even researchers who can’t be more than five feet tall in high heels. So here’s this wonderful set dressed with new-appearing period pieces and filled with wonderful people in 1969-70 clothing, a past recreated with nearly otaku-level devotion on three levels plus staircases, and on every level, you will need to look carefully to find a typewriter in its proper place. You might not find even one.

My own desk, old enough to be in a series about the late Sixties, has two pull-out platforms, one on either side, probably intended to accommodate a typewriter, though they seem a bit small for a Selectric. (Not that it matters; my sole typewriter these days is a late-20th-century Brother electronic with a spellchecker that I toggle off first thing every time it starts.)

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The opposite of “power play”

Have the Philadelphia Flyers sunk so low?

Bogus Philadelphia Flyers advertisement for a goalie

Apparently this has been an ongoing problem for the Flyers for several years.

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This might seem somewhat cruel

But hey, it went viral, so it’s okay:

(Via @EdnasDoor.)

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No accounting for these people

The story begins here:

As she tells it on FB:

Got a letter in the mail from ACS student loan processing. It seems my loan was dumped out of a special program that lowered my interest rate because “two payments were returned for insufficient funds.” They then warned that they were contacting the credit reporting agencies because I am such a deadbeat.

Well, given that that loan payment was $100, I was curious as to how that happened, because I don’t think I’ve been that broke since I actually *was in law school.* So I look online — all on-time payments; I hadn’t had a late payment since *2014.*

Until October of 2016.

It turns out, at that time, my loan had a mere $.15 left on it. But ACS can’t process a check for less than $1.00. So every time they tried to process my payment of $.15, the computer registered a problem and the payment got declined.

So, for two months, I was a deadbeat ACS client. Over $.15. And they were going to put my account in default and tank my credit.

Now, it turns out, they still can’t take payments of less than $1.00. So I have to *overpay* on a student loan that is almost completely paid off by $.86, so that the payment will be $1.01.

I told them they should put it toward a new computer.

Or to hire someone with half (0.4 to 0.6, anyway) a brain.

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No smack to the gob

On the 2016 Consumer Reports Buying Guide Issue:

Last year they claimed to have “1,999+” product ratings. This year, “2,000+.” I promise to be properly gobsmacked if the hitherto-unimagined 2017 edition contains “2,001+” of them.

“Hitherto-unimagined” references an old prediction of mine to the effect that the Buying Guide would be Web-only after 2015. Said prediction was, um, wrong.

Still “2,000+” rated products, and still 224 pages. The magazine’s new Colored Dots, however, don’t work so well in black and white.

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Nobody told you to shut up

And you’re not obliged to do so even if they do:

I gave an opinion that was, for me, uncensored. From the heart and heartfelt and, let me assure you, not given in cruel or hateful way. See, usually I am woefully chameleon in my dealings with people. I try, when asked the dreaded “So what do YOU think about that?” to tailor my answer to either vaguely enhance the asker’s already-formed stance or failing that, to turn the conversation aside to more neutral targets, like “Nice weather we’re having” or “What kind of lube do you like best?”

Luckily, due to years of subtle indoctrination toward all I encounter, most people don’t ask my opinion because they think I’m about as dumb as a box of hair. This suits me fine, and in fact enhances my calm.

Still don’t know what the three seashells are for.

The result of this honesty was an abrupt and complete shutting out. Bang. Social media door slammed in my face and block, block, block around the clock on all other fronts.

Okay then.

Now this is the surprising part. I’m not dead. It didn’t kill me. It didn’t even really inflict a lot of damage — emotional, psychic, mental, metaphysical, existential, or oatmeal. (Just testing to see if you’re paying attention and gods love ya if you are.)

So I’ve decided that while my opinion might not be popular, or accepted, or even couched in terms the receiver can dig, I’m still going to give it.

Like Alice says, no more Mister Nice Guy.

Number of people I have stricken from my social-media connections this year for having Improper Opinions: zero. Because that’s the way I am. I don’t want a freaking echo chamber; I don’t want a procession of parrots telling me I’m so right.

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Lackluster video

[Note: This originally appeared on 11 January 2006 and was subsequently deleted; I’m bringing it back here.]

I haven’t set foot in a Cropduster Blockbuster Video store in about a decade, and apparently I haven’t missed much:

Blockbuster has always charged as much as it imagines the traffic can bear. Its late fees were brutally high, and it raised the price of rentals substantially when it removed the fees. Did it think we wouldn’t notice?

Blockbuster employees hereabouts are teenagers who don’t give a damn. There is no avenue whatever for customer feedback to get to anybody who cares. If, in fact, there IS anybody who cares.

Worst of all, Blockbuster drove out the independent video stores in our area — stores which had knowledgeable and entertaining movie buffs behind the counter and which carried lots of old movies, foreign movies, documentaries, and other things I actually wanted to see.

Blockbuster has instead arrogantly stocked its stores with hundreds of copies of the most idiotic current releases, ignoring “long tail” customers altogether. It followed the old Henry Ford business model: “You can paint it any color, so long as it’s black.”

I made my first forays into home video in 1981, buying a Beta VCR and a CED videodisc player; I followed with a LaserDisc player in 1982. I split my business between Buttons, a video cousin to the Sound Warehouse chain, which was quick to get hardware goodies, and Kaleidoscope Video, a local store with two locations and enormous quantities of nonhits on tape.

But that was then. Now I rent nothing; if I want to see it badly enough, I’ll actually catch it in a theater, or if it doesn’t play here — too common an occurrence, alas — I’ll figure out some way to get the DVD. (And I’m not above writing to the producer if I have to.)

And should I have actual time for rentals at some point, I’ll probably sign up for something like Netflix. Less hassle, better selection.

Update: And now I’m signed for Amazon Prime, but I don’t think I’ve watched a single video from them. No actual time, perhaps.

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Metered out

Morgan Freeberg left this notion hanging around:

The metric system is all about preening. “Ooh, look at me!! I designed a starship, and to show how advanced it is I’m measuring the hull length in METERS!!” Silly. The meter is just as arbitrary as the yard, which is rumored to have been the distance between King Henry I (Beauclerc)’s nose to his thumb with his arm extended. The meter is 1/10,000th the distance between the equator and the North Pole. So it divides by ten, big whoop, it’s still arbitrary.

How you going to cut a 1m board into three equal pieces? Metric is for multiplying, imperial is for dividing. When you’re REALLY building something, it’s much more commonplace you need to divide. Metric system sucks.

The meter has since been redefined — it’s now based on the speed of light, which is probably less changeable than the size of the planet — but it’s still kinda clunky: how far that light travels in 1/299792458 second. (Especially when you consider the definition of a second: the duration of 9192631770 periods of the radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the cesium-133 atom.) By comparison, King Henry’s arm seems almost, um, real.

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Sleekly done

Is this the prettiest dog on the planet?

Tea the Afghan Hound

Well, maybe:

Luke Kavanagh always thought his gorgeous Afghan hound Tea was “far too pretty to keep at home”. He reasoned her beauty, those black long locks, should be appreciated. But even he was a bit surprised when Tea’s picture he posted on social media was shared 1 million times … “I guess people were mostly drawn to [the photo] because of her silky coat coupled with that dignified look that Tea has, but that’s just her being her,” Kavanagh told NewsLocal.

After Tea became an Instagram sensation, Kavanagh was approached by a dog food brand Royal Canin who asked if she would be their “spokesdog.” She also booked herself a gig in an ad campaign for Harriot and Hounds dog perfume. “I am seriously blown away by how far this one photo has gone and the subsequent stories on Tea,” Kavanagh told Bored Panda.

“Even our weekend walks draw a crowd. She pretends she doesn’t need the attention, but she definitely loves it, just like any supermodel.” But other than a few jobs here and there, Kavanagh says Tea is already in retirement.

As is seemingly required of show dogs these days, Tea has a rather complicated registered name: Aust Sup Ch Karakush Black Gold Texas Tea.

(Via The Local Malcontent.)

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Cross-species metamorphosis

This could only happen in Lost Wages, right?

Vegas is despicable because it’s a place where ants become grasshoppers. You know the parable: the ant works all summer while the grasshopper screws off. When it’s time for winter, the ant has food and the grasshopper has none. Most of us would like to believe that we are the ants of the parable, not the grasshoppers. We drive used cars, we have a budget, we plan and invest and scrimp and save. Then we accompany a friend to Vegas to celebrate his second marriage and we leave $5,000 poorer. Nobody ever brings anything home from that city. Your bags and your wallet lose weight; the flight home occurs in a sort of subdued greyscale haze.

You may recall the tale of the chap who arrived in Vegas in a $2,000 econobox and departed in a $40,000 bus.

I don’t think of myself as sufficiently abstemious for proper anthood, but I have a great deal of trouble imagining myself as a grasshopper.

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Aspiring to permanency

Severian remembers the options:

A tenure track job, in case you don’t know, looks like a decent bit of scratch on paper — 40-60K, depending on where you go, and of course the chance of guaranteed lifetime employment for no further work. But it’s also about an 80 hour a week gig, when you factor in grading, endless “university service,” committee work, directing dissertations, advising students, etc., not to mention your own research (publish or perish). You can’t make that kind of dough out of the gate as a letter carrier, but — short work hours, decent bennies, an even easier set of job duties than preaching Marxism at hungover undergrads, and of course once you’re on that G pay scale, guaranteed lifetime employment, all for the low low price of some union dues and a pledge to vote Democrat forever (and bring three or four of your deceased relatives to the polls with you). So, you know, the same deal as getting tenure. Being a quasi-numerate sort of guy, I’d rather work 20 hours a week for $1K than 80 hours a week for $2K. And that’s just delivering mail!

Many years ago, I actually went through the official government training routine, at my own expense yet, in the hope of getting to operate one of those mysterious machines that sort the mail; ultimately, I was not selected, on the basis of what boiled down to “We think you’re weird and unstable.” Weird and unstable? I should have gone, um, postal on them.

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We were warned

Two Sundays ago, there was an email from the Oklahoman apologizing for late delivery: “You may be aware that as of Monday our production and manufacturing of the newspaper is now being completed in Tulsa.”

Inevitably, this additional hour or so of processing time — I assume the content is delivered to Tulsa electronically, but the actual papers have to come back down the Turner Turnpike — leads to this sort of thing:

Editor's note from the Oklahoman 10-22-16

So this might have been predictable:

And likewise this, the following morning:

But hey, they saved some money, so it’s all good.

Oh, OU beat Texas Tech, 66-59, which sounds for all the world like a basketball score.

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It’s all cat videos

And the cats darn well know it, too:

A morning TV show in Turkey’s southwestern Denizli province was interrupted by an uninvited guest on Tuesday when a stray cat, who secretly entered the studio through an open door, popped up on screen.

Presenter of “Good morning Denizli” show Kudret Çelebioğlu on Denizli Radio and Television (DRT) was dumbfounded when he saw the cat climb onto his desk and sit on his laptop during a live broadcast as he was reading the headlines for dailies.

Shortly after he realized the cat was in the studio, he said that he had a ‘surprise visitor’ and continued with his program.

After the cat climbed on the desk, Çelebioğlu reminded viewers that winter is coming and that they should remember to feed stray animals on the streets and keep their doors open as cold weather arrives.

(Via Miss Cellania.)

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Not ready when you are

Priorities, always priorities:

Delta Airlines contracted with clothing designer Zac Posen to create new uniforms for Delta ticket agents, flight attendants and gate attendants. This means that the flight attendant who offers you three peanuts and a glass of water, the gate attendant who has no patience with how long it takes you to produce your boarding pass and the ticket agent who laughs when you ask why your connecting flight is seven hours late will all look really snazzy. The new uniforms won’t actually go into service until 2018, which may prompt you to suspect that I will make a joke about them being delivered on a Delta flight. Consider it done.

It occurs to me that the airlines most revered for stylishness — Braniff, Eastern, Pan Am — are all dead. (Well, okay, the remains of Eastern have apparently signed up for the Lazarus treatment.)

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Poor, poor, pitiful she

“Why does nobody follow my social media?” she wails:

Well I tell a little lie, I do get a few followers now and then, on Instagram, Twitter and so on, I don’t use Facebook anymore, but I don’t have as many as some people and when I do get followers, they don’t even appreciate what I have to post, otherwise what was the point in them following me in the first place? I don’t what I’m doing wrong. Everyone else just seems to have it easy. They can get away with posting selfies of themselves and gets lots of likes and comments for them, I’ve never gotten anything like that in my life. I think I must come off as fake to people. But nothing about me is fake at all, whatever I post is true to what is happening in my life in the present moment. People seem to be inspired by others’ happiness but my own. Say I post a picture of me smiling, nobody gives a damn. It doesn’t feel fair. I’m a human being too with interests, passions and hobbies like everyone else.

I’ve always assumed that my vast social-media following has been due to my mad grammar skillz.

Still, this is worrisome, because someone who thinks she’s entitled to X amount of attention on screen probably thinks she’s entitled to comparable levels of attention in Real Life. Of such is madness born.

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Send in the clowns, if any

Creepy clowns in Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania? “People need to chill,” says Hilde Lysiak of the Orange Street News:

Everyone in Selinsgrove has been freaking out over people dressing up like clowns. How ridiculous! What are they going to do? Squirt people with their flower?

This is what happens when people start reporting things without knowing the facts. I’ve investigated every one of these claims and couldn’t find any actual evidence of people dressing up like clowns going around scaring anyone!

That’s the editorial in the print edition. Online, we find this:

Among all the creepy clown rumors in Selinsgrove, Sara Moore, director of the Clown Conservatory in San Francisco, CA, is standing up for real clowns.

People wearing creepy clown masks do not deserve to call themselves clowns, according to Moore.

“Bad individuals wearing masks who are scaring people. Those individuals are not clowns just like someone wearing a scary nurse costume is not a real nurse,” Sara Moore told the OSN.

And that would seem to be that.

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Low lights, big city

Holly Brockwell goes one up on Paul Simon:

Besides, she’s prettier than that Disturbed guy.

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Accentuate the negative

An Amazon reviewer described this shoe as “the most badly designed piece of footwear I have ever come across in my entire life,” and how could I not read that?

When I read that they have long straps that don’t tighten enough, I thought maybe I’d be OK since I have quite a high instep. In fact my feet are pretty chunky and wide too (I’m between a 4E and a 6E). But at their tightest pull, the straps on these STILL leave a noticeable gap above my foot, enough to stop them being secure when I walk. In fact the only way to get them anywhere near tight enough is to pull some of the velcro through the eye. And by that point, as people have pointed out, you have an absolutely ridiculous amount of excess strap to the point of it looking stupid.

So here am I, with quite a high instep, chunky and wide feet, a problem with swelling — and at least once a day, a strap pops out of position because there’s not enough of it. I ordered a pair. Problem solved. And yes, I gave him a “Yes, I found this review helpful,” because I did find it useful, even if my reaction is the exact opposite of his.

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Myopes are better than your opes

Dorothy Parker certainly didn’t say so; but what if the alleged male aversion to women who wear glasses was due, not to the glasses themselves, but to those women’s mental superiority?

Glasses-wearers are smarter than those with perfect vision, according to researchers at Mainz University in Germany.

According to The Times, scientists in the department of ophthalmology at the German university found that short-sighted people were more likely to be brighter and better educated than people who don’t need glasses.

Researchers were investigating the increase in myopia across Europe, which is as high as 50 per cent in groups of professionals over the age of 40. The study looked at 3,452 people, giving them eye examinations and intelligence tests and recorded their age and level of investigation. The research paper said: “A higher cognitive ability was identified in myopes compared with non-myopes.”

Then again, crummy vision doesn’t necessarily make you a visionary:

But the experts said there was a closer link between intelligence levels and length of time spent in education.

Duration of education is also linked with near-work, where proximity to books and screens can have an impact on eye health.

I note that my own vision deteriorated to mandatory lensing level once I started believing all that crap about how smart I was supposed to be.

(Via Interested-Participant.)

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Expected item

Apparently this happens to everyone at the self-checkout counter:

I get ALMOST DONE when the machine says that I didn’t bag the item — or maybe it said there was something in the bag that didn’t belong, I don’t recall. The point here is that I had been doing everything properly, with everything that ought to have been in the bag actually in the bag, and nothing in the bag that shouldn’t have been in it.

So the machine doesn’t like my arrangement, fine. I take the item out and put it back in to make it happy. It still doesn’t like it. Okay, fine, I will take out ALL THE ITEMS, cancel the entire transaction, and do it all again but slower because apparently this machine is special needs.

I try to cancel out, and the machine basically throws a fit by saying that it requires an associate to void the transaction. In other words, now am I not only going to have to deal with a human, I get the added pleasure of looking like either an idiot who doesn’t know how to self-checkout, or some shady bitch who’s trying to scam the Mart of Walls.

At this point, I just threw my hands up and walked the fuck away. Yes, I abandoned all my items; there weren’t that many and an associate was going to come over anyway, and frankly I was tired of the whole thing. All I wanted was to buy my crap and leave, and instead I was dealing with technology which couldn’t understand that I had indeed properly scanned and bagged my crap.

I think it’s a safe bet she’s not the only woman who’s done the same.

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A letter from the newspaper

From today’s email, slightly after noon:

Today, Sunday, October 9th, our team experienced delays in delivering your newspaper. You may be aware that as of Monday our production and manufacturing of the newspaper is now being completed in Tulsa.

Last night we experienced some unusual system and equipment issues that delayed the newspaper from arriving in the OKC Metro area. Let me assure you, this was not an individual carrier issue. As a result of the issues experienced today, our call volume has been unusually high and many of our subscribers have experienced issues in getting through to us via our call center.

Late delivery of your newspaper is never acceptable. We are subscribers, too and it is important to us that a quality product is consistently received in a timely manner. While we are doing everything in our power to ensure that your delivery is not affected, this is change and change can be difficult. We sincerely apologize for the disruption that this late delivery may have caused you and your family. We ask that you would extend us your patience as we work through this transitional process.

We appreciate you being a loyal subscriber, and thank you for being a part of The Oklahoman family.

Please know that we are working diligently to ensure that this transition is completed as quickly and smoothly as possible.

Sincerely,

Eric Wynn
VP of Circulation
The Oklahoman Media Company

A few notes:

  • When I became relatively incapacitated, I gave up the hard-copy version of the paper in favor of a purely digital subscription. As of last week, they’re now sending me a notification when the Print Replica version is available.
  • Since the Tulsa World is now doing production for both papers, I have to wonder if any World subscribers had similar issues today.
  • Is it my imagination, or did the price of the dead-tree version just go up?

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It’s a Miss Fortune at the door

LeeAnn can hear you knocking, but you can’t come in:

1. I finally got all the insurance foofahrah done regarding the happy joy joy funtime that was having some dickwad try to drive to Taco Bell through the back of my car.

2. But I can’t even put the money in the bank yet because I am TERRIFIED of the very check it’s written on because I am CERTAIN as death and taxes that something “bad” will happen once I have a reasonable amount of money “available”. So the checks are in a coffee can buried in the back yard until I figure Bad Luck’s attention is elsewhere and I can risk it.

I should probably warn you that the entire article runs out to number 9.

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Perhaps she do lie

In Britain, if you’re buying cocaine, you apparently have the right to assume that you’re actually getting cocaine:

A conman who was found to be selling washing powder as cocaine has ended up in court for fraud.

Jamie Lee Taylor, 27, passed off the household cleaning product as Class A drugs for two months. His enterprise paid off in the short term as he made “a fair bit of money”, Teesside Crown Court heard. But he ended up in the dock as he had broken the law, despite never having sold illegal narcotics.

In vain did counsel argue that it’s not illegal to sell washing powder. Taylor, though, was busted for offering to supply cocaine and “possession of an article for use in fraud.” I suspect he came up with this scheme the last time he’d been imprisoned. And truth be told, I’m somewhat amused at the vision of someone snorting Daz.

(Via Bayou Renaissance Man.)

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Breaking snooze

I know this entirely too well:

I woke a bit after four, stumbled to the bathroom and then was unable to go back to sleep. So it goes. My ability to compartmentalize and shut down my brain at times in order to relax has left me along with my ability to throw a sharp curve ball. I tell my brain to “Shut up, Donnie,” but it just keeps bringing up more stuff.

I know the root cause of my inability to sleep. I just cannot get deep into REM lying on my back. Fifty-four years of habit won’t be changed in two and one half months. I snore more on my back, I wriggle around more. It is just the way of things. Hopefully, the Doc will let me sleep on my belly after my next visit later this month. If not, I will eventually get used to sleeping on my back. Or I will keep getting four or five hours of sleep. It gives me something to complain write about.

I do either left side or right side — and each side gets at least a dozen tries every night. And I can’t remember the last time I slept for six hours straight.

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In Uther news

It may take Sir Lancelot to straighten this mess out:

A druid who believes he is a reincarnation of King Arthur is to take court action against what he considers an “illegal charge”. King Arthur Pendragon is suing Wiltshire Council, English Heritage, and Wiltshire Police for having to “pay to pray” at Stonehenge. This involved a £15 charge, which he refused to pay, leading to his ban from the UNESCO World Heritage Site.

You mean there was a case when it wasn’t good to be the king?

He decided to challenge the “authorities” because of what he said was an “affront against my and many people’s religion, that is paganism”. King Arthur said: “I am banned from the site because I refuse to pay what I consider to be an illegal charge. Because of this I will be suing Wiltshire Council, English Heritage and Wiltshire Police under articles 9, 10, 11 and 14 of the European Convention of Human Rights.”

Remember when kings used to do things like, oh, defeat the Saxons? No more, apparently.

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