Archive for Dyssynergy

As usual, I’m late

But you already knew the drill, right?

Remember: one of these days is Centaxday.

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Nice arachnid

Useful household advice:

Yep.

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Neighborly warning

On admittedly the thin side of “heighborly”:

So there.

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Nobel recommendation

The person who comes up with a hospital bed in which more than 5 percent of the population can sleep comfortably deserves everything in the world.

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The rules are known

I remember when I had to learn them myself:

Nearly all of us had security clearances. The process of getting them involved an education in the requirements of the National Security Act. That Act makes anyone with access to classified information personally responsible for it. Whether through malice or negligence, if it escapes from his hands to uncleared hands, then regardless of his intent, he is guilty of a felony violation of federal law.

At the time, no allowances were made for political considerations. But we were honest then.

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Unnecessary blowback

Erin Palette is the founder of Blazing Sword, “a project launched in order to provide firearm familiarization and basic training to anyone in the LGBTQ community who wishes to learn more about gun ownership in the wake of the Orlando tragedy. There are chapters now in nearly every state. And, perhaps inevitably, there are complainers:

What I did not expect — and what I keep getting, and what fucking ASTOUNDS me — is the amount of allegedly friendly fire Blazing Sword has gotten from gun owners. And I don’t mean the typical “How dare you ask us to pay for range fees and a box of ammo” whinge; I mean that there’s a thread over at one of the many JFPO groups (https://www.facebook.com/groups/20551025434/) where several straight people (although not all of them — thank you, Rebecca and Carl) are bitching about how Blazing Sword somehow *discriminates against or hurts heterosexuals.*

This is my mouth hitting the floor.

Really, guys? Really? Because it’s SO difficult for straight people to reach out to other straight people for firearms training? Because gun ownership is a huge stigma within the straight community? Because the very last thing that the gun community needs is diversity across voting demographics?

Let me spell it out for you turds who take offense that your special private club is being invaded (oh, I bet you pitch a shitfit when you hear about women-only classes, don’t you? If you do, then you’re an elitist prick, and if you don’t you’re a fucking hypocrite): If you can’t see the innate moral value in reaching across the political divide to teach ANOTHER HUMAN BEING how to defend themselves when their community is teaching them that’s more virtuous to be a dead sheep than an armed wolf, then how about you ponder the selfish implications of teaching an LGBTQ person how to shoot, and they end up enjoying it, and then maybe, JUST MAYBE. they will end up buying a gun and joining the NRA and start voting pro-Second Amendment?

GEE IT’S ALMOST LIKE BEING A DECENT HUMAN BEING ACTUALLY BENEFITS YOU PERSONALLY IN THIS CASE.

Goddammit. I have no problem with straight people (everyone in my family is straight, and I love them), but the whiny “OMG teh gheys are getting something I don’t” whinge has to stop. It’s not like ammunition is a rare commodity or that the number of lanes at a shooting range is so small that taking an LGBTQ person will somehow prevent you from shooting. This is taking an extra step to welcome other people into our family, and if you don’t want more shooters because they’re the “Wrong Kind” of shooters, then YOU are what’s wrong with the gun community today.

This screed is, of course, almost infinitely extensible to any activity engaged in by Teh Gheys, or by any group one prefers to disfavor.

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Surprisingly, not a Hamburglary

You may grimace just the same:

This was no happy meal.

An argument outside a Sonic Drive-In restaurant in North Carolina turned violent Thursday when a man named Ronald McDonald was shot, police said.

The 35-year-old — who happens to share a name with the mascot of Sonic’s fast-food rival, McDonald’s — was treated for non-life threatening injuries following the shootout in Lumberton, WNCN reported.

In a statement, Lumberton police said McDonald was arguing with 24-year-old Sonic employee Telvin Drummond around 7 p.m. when things turned ugly.

McDonald briefly left the fast-food restaurant, where his wife is a manager. When he returned, things got serious.

Um, Ron, if I may call you Ron: this is not how you Sonic.

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Such behavior will not be tolerated

This is the kind of thing that gets you suspended these days:

An eighth grade student at Killeen’s Gateway Middle School was suspended after taking a classmate who was having an asthma attack to the school’s nurse, and the boy’s mother isn’t happy about it.

The boy, Anthony Ruelas, said the girl who sits next to him complained about not being able to breathe.

The teacher, following school protocol, emailed the nurse, but in the meantime, the girl fell out of her chair, he said.

He said he feared the girl could die, so uttering an expletive, he carried the girl to the nurse’s office, which is in a separate portable building on the school’s campus.

When he returned to class, he says, he was suspended for one day for leaving class.

Pretty obvious what message the school is trying to send:

“Kids, let’s not have any more of these life-saving, caring about your fellow classmates shenanigans!”

Live by the rulebook, die by the rulebook.

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Gatherers, not hunters

What kind of people sign up to become part of the Mainstream Media these days? This kind, says Kurt Schlichter:

Instead of the colorful ink-stained wretches of the past, today’s journalists are social justice twerps whose daddies can shell out north of $59,000 to get a degree in what old school reporters learned on the job — though old-school reporters didn’t have the dubious benefit of leftist indoctrination and diversity seminars. Today’s cloistered creeps utterly missed the anger among normal Americas that led to Trump, but then they don’t think much of normal Americans. Recently, Karen Tumulty of the Washington Post took umbrage at one of my tweets and sneered, “Beginning to understand why you will never #readabook.” Her bio indicates I have more degrees than she does. Nice reporting there, Scoop.

No wonder public regard for journalists hovers somewhere between “Raw Sewage” and “Herpes,” yet they still assume they are better than everyone else. I’ll remember that when I toss Karen a quarter out the window of my fine German sedan as she and her pretentious dinosaur media pals stand by the freeway off-ramp with a sign reading, “Will Reinforce the Leftist Narrative for Food (Locally Sourced Only).”

As a general rule, people who want to Change The World don’t actually want to go to the trouble of seeing how the world works in the first place.

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Oozing source

If there’s a Rule 1 of Research, it’s this: “Don’t cite Wikipedia as a primary source.”

I think Rule 1-A is now in effect:

Just because it’s a procedural, doesn’t mean it can tell you the procedure.

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Where the feck is

Remember when reporters for New York papers were tough, street-smart, hard-bitten folks? The last vestiges of that image spiraled down the drain this week when some feckless wuss from the Daily News got some serious sand in his vajayjay from exposure to an AR-15.

To contrast with his total lack of sack, we present a seven-year-old girl:

I was heartened when Dad explained that “this is gonna be harder than your .22, okay?” And the very last line is pure gold.

(Via Steven Crowder.)

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A Bear of Very Little Vision

It wasn’t the bear’s idea, I’m pretty sure:

Bear with a coffee can on its head

Reporting from the scene:

A black bear that wandered onto the Alaska Highway near Tok with a coffee can stuck on its head Monday drew a helpful response from passers-by, with one even attempting to remove the container before state biologists arrived.

Randy Rallo, the owner and operator of Tok-based 40-Mile Air, said he was en route to Midway Lake to do maintenance work on one of the company’s floatplanes when he encountered a semitrailer stopped — its driver still in the cab, but not pulled to the side of the road — near Mile 1297 of the highway, about 15 miles from Tok.

“So I pulled up alongside him, and he said there was a black bear walking around with a can stuck on his head,” Rallo said.

The bear was shot with a tranq dart, and then the can was cut away:

Official statement from an official biologist:

[Jeff] Wells emphasized that anyone who encounters a wildlife issue should contact the nearest Fish and Game office rather than deal with it themselves.

“The bear may have looked small, but at the end of the day a 100-pound black bear can certainly do some damage,” Wells said. “If they had removed the can, the first thing they had seen would have been that person.”

Hence the tranq dart.

(Via Amy Alkon, who quipped: “I just want to say that it is totally rude to tweet this picture of me in the morning.” Not buying it. It’s a black bear, she’s a redhead. Although “100 pounds” sounds about right.)

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You can’t spell “toilet” without “to let”

They say it’s purely voluntary, and maybe it is, for now. But I suspect this is the future of apartment hunting, like it or not:

The personal data you share with Facebook and other social platforms is a treasure trove of information that can, according to one UK startup, prove whether or not you would be a good tenant.

Score Assured wants to take the data you share privately and publicly with social media and sell it to individuals, employers, and landlords. Tenant Assured, the first tool in the company’s potential suite of data mining-and-selling resources, will connect with your social accounts and give landlords a report based on your data.

The company says it uses machine learning software to predict what your data means—from your personality to “financial stress.” It also rates the “risk” you would be as a tenant. Cofounder Steve Thornhill declined to tell me how exactly the company pulls private data from Facebook, claiming it was part of the company’s intellectual property.

Piece of cake. They went up to the Zuckerborg and said “Can we have a custom API? Here’s a whole bunch of sterling.”

In order to scrape your data and assess your worthiness, you have to give the company full access to your social accounts, from news feed posts to messages to tweets to employment data. You can pick which accounts you permit to be scraped, but if a landlord is asking for it and you’re desperately trying to find a new place to live, then you’re probably going to succumb to their requests, no matter how invasive.

“Users can feel reassured that this is not an invasion of privacy but always done with their explicit consent,” Thornhill said in an email. “We are empowering tenants to make a choice as to whether they would like to use their social media information to support their application for a rental property that they have got their eyes on.”

Another reason to justify why I’ve pretty much thrown the book open on everything I do: I figure I’m probably no worse off than anyone else, and data jackals aren’t getting paid for my life history.

(Via @SwiftOnSecurity.)

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With a single jerk

I’m not entirely sure this individual has a grip on the concept:

Yahoo Answers screenshot: How do I find uploads that have been deleted from the internet?

The operative word, apparently, is “loads”:

For the longest while I’ve been told that you can never delete something from the internet. I was browsing pornhub the other day with the intent to pump one out; I had intended to use reliable material to get the job done. To my dismay I found that the said material had been deleted from pornhub. So there you have it, I’m on a quest to find this video so I can get my rocks off.

Shake hands with a loser. Or, better yet, don’t.

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Improving precision

I’m sure you can see the necessity for this Wikipedia correction:

They should be so careful with all their entries.

(This is the Talk Page in question. Via Holly Brockwell.)

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Get lost, but stylishly

There’s no argument about Florence’s claim to being the Cradle of the Renaissance, but God help you if you’re looking for something other than the standard tourist traps:

Finding an address in Florence can be confusing. It has a unique address system with two number systems running side by side. Generally speaking, residences have a number in black or blue, while businesses have numbers in red (rosso in Italian), which is usually written with a little ‘r’ following the number. This gets confusing not only when the same number appears twice on the street (in red or in black) but also when you are trying to find an address and the door numbers appear mixed up.

For example, the office address of Walkabout is Via dei Neri, 30/32r (red) to signify a business and it is next door to number 6 (in blue on a white background), which is a residence.

This is about to change for the better, or at least for the easier:

The red numbers were introduced to Florence in the early twentieth century to differentiate businesses from houses. To this day they have remained one of the city’s curiosities, although twenty or so ‘red numbers’ are removed every year.

In an article in Corriere Fiorentino, city councillor Andrea Vannucci commented, “The city administration would like to do away with the red numbers … which complicate life for postmen, delivery men and taxi drivers, with red numbers that are sometimes hundreds of metres away from their corresponding black number. When new businesses open we assign them a black number accompanied by a letter: a ‘5 rosso‘ will always be next to a ‘5 nero‘.”

Vannucci continued: “Anyone can ask to change their red number into a black one. All you need to do is apply at the Comune. And I invite everyone to do so in order to speed up the process towards a more continuous and linear numbering system.”

There are about 23,000 “red numbers” still in Florence.

(Via Nicola Williams.)

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Some sort of thingamajig

Regular visitor Georganna Hancock has one of these contraptions, and she’s not quite sure what it is:

It might be a tire gauge, or it might not

She explains:

The well-made, apparently stainless steel object has an opening at one end, pocket clip at the other, and a sliding gizzie with two fixed settings. I’m guessing it’s a fancy tire pressure gauge, though the setting part confuses me. I haven’t tried it out.

What frustrates me is that I remember actually encountering a similar device, and I thought it was a tire gauge, and I was assured that it was not. What it was, though, I can’t recall to save my unworthy soul.

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Can kicked slightly further

I wasn’t all that surprised to find a Washington Post app on my tablet; the tablet came from Amazon, and Amazon chair Jeff Bezos is the owner of the WaPo through his Nash Holdings operation. Six months, no charge. This is the follow-on deal offered me:

We hope you are enjoying your 6 months of free access to The Washington Post. Your limited-time trial will expire on June 17, 2016.

In order to continue enjoying the same access to The Washington Post, we would like to offer you the following special subscription rate: 6 months for only $1.00. Once your 6 month promotion comes to an end, your subscription will continue to renew for just $3.99 monthly.

Since Amazon has been dealing on lots of things, even sacred Prime, lately, I suspect the price this December might actually be a tad less than $3.99. I mean, I wasn’t expecting any kind of discount at this point.

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Tried and retried and true

It wasn’t her idea, but Fillyjonk has gone back to a normal thermostat:

The new one is not programmable or wi-fi linkable, but I am okay with that. I figure fewer brains in the thing means less chance of those brains getting scrambled by power blips. Also, I used the programmable feature for a while when I first had the thing, but I quickly learned that if we had a power outage of anywhere from 30 seconds to five minutes, the thing “forgot” what time it was and I had to reset the clock, and if the power was out for more than five minutes, the thing forgot ALL its programming and I’d have to go through and painstakingly reset the times (there were four times per day: wake up time, leave-house time, return-home time, bedtime) and the temperatures for them. And the thing would default to a temperature of 85 F (if the ac was on) or 60 F (if the heat was on) if it lost its programming and you didn’t reprogram it. So that would not be too cool when you were away for an extended time.

It was 1953 when Honeywell introduced the T-86, better known as the “Eyeball,” thermostat. It is programmed by turning a knob to the desired temperature. More than that, I will not ask of a thermostat. Yes, they do make the fancier stuff. I don’t care.

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We got your counterexamples right here

Everybody and her sister knows Rule 34 of the Internet: “If it exists, there is porn of it — no exceptions.”

They say you can’t prove a negative, and maybe that’s true, but there are at least 34 known exceptions to Rule 34. Now whether they will remain exceptions, we do not know.

(Via Selena Larson.)

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An actual Trump success

Warren Meyer has kind words for Donald Trump’s International Hotel Las Vegas:

I have in the past been a fan of his hotel on the strip in Las Vegas. The hotel provides a screaming good value (you can almost always get a huge discount off rack rate) for an exceptionally nice room in a good location — and in a non-casino hotel to boot. I used it for years as a low-cost location for manager meetings. The staff there is great — the only problem is one has to look past the tacky gold gilding on everything and the goofy Trump-branded swag in the gift shop. I will add, though, apropos to this post, there is no way on God’s green Earth that this hotel makes money, at least if it is paying all of its capital costs (it is possible there was a bankruptcy at one point where Trump said “you’re fired” to the bondholders). If you ever stay there, by the way, it has the best view of the strip in Vegas because it is right at a bend and can look straight down the street. Ask for a high room on the south side.

Curious about the lack of casino — hell, even Chevron stations in Vegas have slots, or so I’ve heard — I went searching, and turned up this quote:

“We have no problem getting a gaming license, but we wanted to do something different here,” said Eric Trump, Donald and Ivana Trump’s third child. “We wanted a true luxury resort experience. It’s hard to have a high-quality product when you walk into ‘ding, ding, ding’ and there are people walking around in Hawaiian shirts with big plastic drink mugs.”

And while there doesn’t seem to be a specific bankruptcy, there were lawsuits, which were resolved in Trump’s favor.

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Vacuum abhorred

Four hundred miles down Interstate 35, there’s the uncomfortable arrival of reality:

Surprising exactly nobody who is not an economic retard, black market ridesharing has popped up to replace Uber and Lyft, which famously quit Austin after voters sustained onerous regulations imposed by the city council. So reasonable regulation and corporate oversight is now eclipsed by no oversight. But we got international humiliation out of it so that’s something.

I include this for the benefit of the members of our local Whining-American community, who simply can’t understand how our own little metropolis (population 630,000, about two-thirds that of Austin) is failing to keep up with the Texans. Then again, we are surely awash in economic retards.

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Redefining “top-loader”

The New York Post, its finger on the pulse of America, gave us half a minute of video of a Chinese man with his head stuck in a washing machine. To their everlasting credit, they didn’t make jokes about it.

Unlike, um, some of us:

The chap survived. The machine, not so much.

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Like us or else

And they mean that “or else,” too:

Some tenants at a Salt Lake City apartment complex are fuming over a new lease agreement that requires tenants to “like” the complex on Facebook.

Tenants of the City Park Apartments told KSL that a “Facebook addendum” showed up taped to their doors Thursday night.

The contract requires tenants to friend the City Park Apartments on Facebook within five days, or be found in breach of the rental agreement, though some of the tenants already signed a lease agreement months ago.

The document also includes a release allowing the apartment to post pictures of tenants and their visitors on the page.

I’m assuming Utah law requires tenants to send two rejections of the contractual change, the second to go to “the horse you rode in on.”

(Via Keaton Fox.)

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For certain values of “year”

Not the ones with which you’re familiar, though:

An ill-bred and uninformed individual, blinded to their own ignorance by the Dunning-Kruger Effect, might foolishly conclude that purchasing a product that is good “All Year” would indicate that said product is implied to be good for between 365 and 366 days, or, alternatively, is valid for the rest of the calendar year.

Of course, a person of sophistication and nuance such as, say, an academic, understands that these two words are not so provincially constrained in certain contexts … such as the Old Dominion University Parking Services Department. As I’m sure you are aware Gentle Reader, a person of letters is astute enough to appreciate that an “All Year” parking pass is, in fact, not actually valid during the summer semester for reasons so obvious as to render any inquiry into the matter a troubling indicator of low intellect, as well as a degenerate worldview centered around the retrograde and problematic notion that words mean things.

Words mean what the authorities want them to mean. Everything else is doubleplusungoodthink.

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Getting snippy with the bucks

“Every man,” states Howe’s Law, “has a scheme that will not work.” Here’s one of many from Bill de Blasio:

New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio has proposed a solution to Staten Island’s burgeoning deer population. To keep numbers in check, de Blasio plans to authorize a three-year experiment in which all bucks are given vasectomies, then released back into their urban environment. Price tag: an estimated $2 million.

The logistics of this misguided form of wildlife management alone show the plan is doomed to fail. The number of deer in Staten Island has jumped from two dozen in 2008 to more than 700 in 2014 — certainly well north of that figure two years later. Capturing every buck is practically impossible, despite the intended use of air-dropped nets and tranquilizer darts.

And even if they could catch ’em all, it still wouldn’t work:

A researcher at The Deer Laboratory at the University of Georgia — because of course a university in the south is going to have at least one department connected to hunting — suggests that even if the city were able to trap and vasectomize all of the Staten Island male deer, the females would simply go back into heat once they proved to be not pregnant. At which point some non-Staten Island bucks would stroll in and say, “Hello, ladies,” cheap guitar music would begin playing and Staten Island bucks would all stand around and discuss how many painful deaths they could inflict on a certain group of veterinarians.

One per doctor, maximum. Trust me on this.

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Freedom within

Consider, if you will, the humble sewing machine:

A sewing machine, a pattern, a small degree of skill with them both, and personal fashion style is your oyster. One will never again be held hostage to the fashion trend of the moment, especially if said fashion trend is desperately unflattering, unfitted to make a good impression for the profession or occupation that you are in, otherwise unsuitable, and expensive. What brought this on was a discussion on another author website regarding certain fashion preferences, and a lamentation that it was so hard to find exactly what would be suitable, fitting, comfortable and all … and I am remembering how this was so not a problem for me, when I was working in an office and business professional was the order of my day and wardrobe. If I could not find exactly what I wanted — a black lightweight wool slightly-below-knee-length pencil skirt, to give one example — I could just buy a yard of suitable fabric and a seven-inch zipper, and go home and make it in an afternoon.

There’s an enormous freedom in being able to make exactly what I wanted, and make it to fit, and in a flattering color. Oh, usually it costs something to sew an outfit yourself, considering the costs for the pattern, the notions and the fabric — usually as much as just purchasing it off the rack on sale, but not near as much as full price from a quality outlet like Talbots or Neiman Marcus, and for a pittance in relation to having it tailored individually.

With fashion becoming ever more eccentric and sizing becoming ever more inconsistent, you might think more people would be persuaded to make their own. It doesn’t seem to be happening, though.

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He was never a kid

Just the same, Thomas Thwaite was a goat, kinda sorta:

In 2014, the 33-year-old British freelance graphic designer was in debt, living with his father, and sending out résumés to no avail. With so much worry on his mind, he thought it would be wonderful to “step away from the complexities of the world and have a lovely holiday, not just … away from your job (if you have one), but away from your very self.”

After ruling out life as an elephant, he planned his entrance into goatdom:

After research, including embarrassing conversations with specialists, he constructed a goat outfit. He found doctors who work with prosthetics to help him construct legs that gave him a quadruped form, and placed 60 percent of his walking weight on his front limbs, which is how a goat walks. He made hinged arms that extended his forelimbs, wore a waterproof jacket made by his mother, and donned a helmet and chest protector, in case any goats should decide to head-butt him.

There was also — since digesting grass for nutrition, as goats do, is impossible for humans — an artificial stomach of sorts that, he decided as a compromise, he would spit chewed grass into, so he could heat the grass later in a pressure cooker to eat.

I’m hoping this is all just a giant scam. Not everyone is buying the story:

The Post notes parenthetically:

(It should be noted that his last project, 2012’s “The Toaster Project,” found him assembling a toaster completely from scratch, which entailed spending 250 times what a toaster costs and traveling two thousand miles to secure, and sometimes create, the parts. Malaise aside, he has an inclination for such projects.)

You gotta wonder what he’ll try next.

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Go peddle your papers elsewhere

This would be intrusive at any time of day, but at half past eight, it’s downright rude:

I decided that perhaps cleaning my toilet was more important than TV, so I was arm deep in the throne when it happened. The doorbell rang twice, not the ding dong of a normal person ringing my doorbell, more like ding a donga ding a donga. In a panic, I tried to rip my rubber gloves off but they were just stuck. The doorbell rang again. I proceeded to attempt to rush out of the bathroom but realized I had locked the door so the kids couldn’t come in while I was cleaning the toilet, and my gloves, that had decided they were all of a sudden my second skin, were too damn slippery to open the freaking door. Someone knocked loudly. I could hear it through the bathroom and my children’s bedrooms are right across from it. I was panicking. PLEASE DON’T WAKE UP MY KIDS, I screamed internally. The dog was pacing around, she hadn’t barked yet, but it was only a matter of time before she put on her “protection pants” and started warning me that there was someone that didn’t get the message the first time when I didn’t answer, incessantly trying to get my attention at the front door.

And for what? Of course, they were selling something.

My own rule is something like “If you come calling at 8:30, you better be delivering pizza.” Admittedly, this hasn’t happened a great deal in my neighborhood, and probably won’t be happening much: we are rather tightly networked around here. And I admit to occasional disproportionate responses, due to my somewhat-mercurial moods, though I haven’t done anything lately quite as drastic as, say, flashing the Jehovah’s Witnesses. (And hey, that was way back in 1977.)

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Presumably feeling their oats

Absurdity? But the steel-cut variety:

Apparently Quaker Oats is not busy enough handling the lawsuit disputing its “100% natural” claim, or busy enough recalling Quaker Quinoa Granola Bars “due to a possible health risk,” or busy putting out PR fires about rejecting an 80-year-old man’s recipe for a contest because it was handwritten. Now Quaker Oats is trying to sue actual Quakers for infringing on the company’s trademark.

The notice “Quaker Oats threatens to sue us” was posted on the Orange County Friends Meeting, which is a religious society of Quakers. Quaker Oats objects to the business name “Quaker Oats Christmas Tree Farm” and demanded the Quakers immediately stop all use of the “Quaker Oats name” because it says using the trademark is misleading.

Um, no. For one thing, they got the business name wrong, as the society tried to explain to Quaker Oats:

[Y]ou have misspelled our company name which is Quaker OAKS Christmas Tree Farm. Our farm was so named because religious services were held outdoors on this farm under a great oak tree until about ten years ago when we were able to move into our new Meetinghouse on another corner of our farm.

Our business is 100% owned and operated by Quakers. I suspect that your firm employs considerably fewer, if any, Quakers. We trace our Quaker ancestors back 320 years and they were mostly farmers, but I don’t know how many of them grew oats for your company. My guess is that you may be selling far more Lutheran oats, Methodist oats, or maybe atheist oats. Could your company be guilty of product source misrepresentation?

Shouldn’t have taken more than 3 minutes to clear this up.

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