Andrea Harris finds another instance of color blindness, subset green:

[D]oes anyone but me think it’s odd that mercury batteries, commonly used in cameras for years, were banned a while ago to great fanfare (thus forcing most people [to] ditch their cameras), only for the People That Care to turn around and declare that the world was in Danger™ once more and this time the only thing that could save it was switching from regular incandescent light bulbs (which produce little to no pollutants) to light bulbs that contained… mercury? (Added note: yes, I know that they now make replacements for the mercury batteries that are supposed to work just as well; I bought three of them. Still, I think it’s hilarious that mercury is bad in a tiny metal battery that stays inside a camera made of metal and heavy plastic, but okay in a fragile glass container that hangs above your head.)

The advantage of the old mercury battery, which generally had mercuric oxide (HgO) as the cathode, was considerable: 1.35 volts, more or less constantly, right up until the moment it died, which generally took several years. Try that with any of your overadvertised alkalines.

The usual suspects are effusive in their praise for what was House Joint Resolution 1002, which puts a measure on the ballot to change the existing property-tax cap from five percent to three percent. An example thereof:

State Sen. Jim Reynolds was effusive this morning (Wednesday, April 20) after passage of House Joint Resolution 1002. By a vote of 77-16, with five members excused and three taking constitutional privilege, the measure sailed through the House of Representatives. The final overwhelming bipartisan majority approved sending the constitutional measure to a statewide vote of the people.

If passed by voters, the proposal will limit property tax increases to 3 percent of fair cash value.

Well, actually, no, it won’t. Like the previous 5-percent cap, this measure imposes a limitation on the increase in taxable assessed value. It has absolutely nothing to say about the tax rates themselves, which will continue to be set exactly as before. If you happen to live in, say, the Crutcho school district in Oklahoma County, the tax rate went up 20.4 percent this past year, mostly due to a $1 million bond issue passed last year by eleven of fourteen actual voters. The tax rate in my own area, by comparison, went up just under 0.8 percent.

I’m guessing someone lent Jim Reynolds a hat to talk through for this:

“At the 5% cap, property taxes essentially double every 14 years. With this new 3% cap, it will take at least 24 years for taxes to double.”

At least he knows the Rule of 72, which puts him a notch above some of the innumerable innumerates who seem to get themselves elected these days. The facts of the matter, though, from someone who’s done the homework:

Since I’ve been here, the market value of the house has risen by a third; the tax rate has bobbed up and down, and while 114.33 is the highest it’s been, the lowest (for 2008) was 106.08, so we’re talking a fairly-narrow range here. The [Oklahoma County] Assessor’s online records go back to 1983, at which time the tax rate was 83.63; the tax rate has therefore risen 37 percent in 37 years. Market values, of course, have risen faster, especially considering that the local real-estate market in the early 1980s was in a deep, dark hole.

Leonard Sullivan, who is the Assessor for Oklahoma County, understands the rule. I understand the rule. I’d like to think there’s at least one more person in this state who understands the rule. I suppose I’ll find out when this shows up as a State Question in 2012.

Then again, Stuart Weitzman isn’t trying to sell me a shoe called “Blog” either:

Nancy Friedman, doing another guest article for the Manolo, describes this as “a conservative pump no blogger of my acquaintance would ever wear.”

But don’t we all hate blogs with too much Flash?

My own take, in two parts:

• Zappos sells this for $335, a sum I tend to think of as “three years of hosting”;
• In addition to “quasar patent,” as seen above, “Blog” is also available in four different blacks, and a navy so dark it might as well be black.

I expect to spend entirely too much time wondering which, if any, of my blogging acquaintances would ever wear this.

Not a gardening technique to keep plants from climbing the walls, but a strange ailment that occasionally affects those who have attended certain universities:

It didn’t dawn on me that there might be a few holes in my education until I was about 35. I’d just bought a house, the pipes needed fixing, and the plumber was standing in my kitchen. There he was, a short, beefy guy with a goatee and a Red Sox cap and a thick Boston accent, and I suddenly learned that I didn’t have the slightest idea what to say to someone like him. So alien was his experience to me, so unguessable his values, so mysterious his very language, that I couldn’t succeed in engaging him in a few minutes of small talk before he got down to work. Fourteen years of higher education and a handful of Ivy League degrees, and there I was, stiff and stupid, struck dumb by my own dumbness. “Ivy retardation,” a friend of mine calls this. I could carry on conversations with people from other countries, in other languages, but I couldn’t talk to the man who was standing in my own house.

Of course, what that man most wanted to know was “So what’s wrong with the pipes?” Once that question is answered, not a whole lot else needs to be said.

Then again, if the plumber is the chatty type, I can hold my own. Apparently this is always not the case for those suffering from I.R.:

Some people are smart in the elite-college way, some are smart in other ways, and some aren’t smart at all. It should be embarrassing not to know how to talk to any of them, if only because talking to people is the only real way of knowing them. Elite institutions are supposed to provide a humanistic education, but the first principle of humanism is Terence’s: “nothing human is alien to me.” The first disadvantage of an elite education is how very much of the human it alienates you from.

James Joyner is a bit dubious about this himself:

Many people who have chosen a life of books, myself included, have a tendency to be socially awkward. And, while I have no trouble making small talk with the plumber, handyman, and exterminator, there are doubtless subcultures in the country that I’d have difficulty relating to.

Still, I know plenty of rich kids who went to great schools and they don’t strike me as any more removed from society than the average professor I ran into at UT-Chattanooga or Troy State.

I am reasonably certain that there are subcultures to which I can’t relate in the slightest. I suppose it’s a sign of my own latent elitism that I don’t particularly worry about that.

Disclosure: One of the Ivies actually attempted to recruit me. I did not go there.

Most of us on this side of the pond will get our first look at actress Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey in Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, in which she plays the mermaid Syrena.

As a rule — Daryl Hannah in Splash is the major exception — mermaids don’t give us skirtwatchers a whole lot to work with, so here’s Àstrid in an actual dress:

She’s also interviewed in the May InStyle, in which she volunteers the following information about her six-year-old sister:

“She’s obsessed with mermaids. She’d call me during filming and ask if my hair was red and if I had shells on my boobs.”

Which, I suppose, you have to blame on Disney.

Ontario’s Regulated Health Professions Act, enacted in 1993, specifies, not unreasonably, that health-care providers are not allowed to have sexual relations with their patients. Unfortunately, this apparently means that dentists cannot treat their spouses:

Burlington dentist Larry Pedlar … for half a century, counted his wife among his patients. A year ago, he was mortified to learn that if he continued doing this he could be found guilty of sexual abuse and have his licence pulled for five years.

That’s when the Ontario Court of Appeal issued a decision saying that the province’s Regulated Health Professions Act makes it clear that health professionals cannot have sex with their patients. The appeal court was ruling on a case involving a Waterloo chiropractor who had treated his girlfriend. The chiropractor was found guilty of professional misconduct for sexual abuse and lost his licence.

Will Truman says he, personally, wouldn’t want his wife to be his physician:

I wouldn’t want one relationship to interfere with the other… But dentists? I don’t see a real problem there. They just clean and fix your teeth and mouth. Obviously, there are stories of dentists doing bad things while a patient is under anesthesia, but that’s something of a different bird.

Ontario Health Minister Deb Matthews has asked the pertinent Advisory Council to make recommendations for possible changes to the rules.

Lady Gaga has apparently been keeping “Weird Al” Yankovic dancing in the dark:

I wrote and recorded what I thought was going to be the first single off of my new album: a parody of “Born This Way” by Lady Gaga called “Perform This Way.” But after hearing it, Lady Gaga decided not to give me permission to release the song, so… it won’t be coming out commercially anytime in the near future. Sorry.

Does this mean you’ll never get to hear it? Of course not:

My parodies have always fallen under what the courts call “fair use,” and this one was no different, legally allowing me to record and release it without permission. But it has always been my personal policy to get the consent of the original artist before including my parodies on any album, so of course I will respect Gaga’s wishes. However, given the circumstances, I have no problem with allowing people to hear it online, because I also have a personal policy not to completely waste my stinking time.

So I uploaded the song to YouTube, and will be making free mp3 downloads available on weirdal.com shortly. Hope you enjoy it.

This is consistent with Al’s previous practice: “You’re Pitiful,” a parody of a certain James Blunt song, was left off the album after Atlantic Records — not Blunt himself — complained, but was duly made available for download.

But Lady G. is finally coming around, which proves one thing: even a Fame Monster is no match for Weird Al.

You could tell things were going to be furious on the floor tonight: Kendrick Perkins pounded Wilson Chandler to the tune of a Flagrant-1, and George Karl got T’d up, all within the first few minutes. The Thunder were up 31-15 after the first quarter and ran the lead to as much as twenty-six in the second before the Nuggets started to mount a counterattack, and while Denver was fairly efficient at finding holes in the Thunder defense, the Thunder offense was maintaining a double-digit lead. With 2:10 left and OKC up by nineteen, Karl knew he was licked. Oklahoma City 106, Denver 89, and we’re off to climb the mountain for Game 3.

The plan for Game 1 — stand back and give the ball to Russell Westbrook and/or Kevin Durant — clearly wasn’t going to work a second time. This time around, the Thunder had five in double figures, Serge Ibaka landing the night’s only double-double (12 points, 12 boards), Durant and Westbrook combining for a modest 44 instead of 72, and Perk reeling in 11 boards before fouling out with four minutes left. And speaking of boards, Denver hardly got any; OKC outrebounded the Nuggets, 54-31. Robert Vaden, called up from the 66ers, didn’t see any playing time, but hey, he got to see a real NBA playoff game.

So did the Nuggets, and they were not liking it much. They executed where they could, Ty Lawson flashed to a quick twenty, and Nenê was, well, Nenê, but they left nine points at the stripe and shot only 39 percent. And unlike the case in the first game, neither J. R. Smith nor Chris Andersen was much of a factor: Raymond Felton and Al Harrington got almost all the bench points, and only Harrington got even a single rebound.

Still, there was anxiety before the game, especially when NewsOK stuck this on a story:

Migod, you’d almost think KD was dying or something.

The Olive Garden finds itself in deep minestrone:

A new marketing ploy advertised that the restaurant sent cooks to Italy to learn how to prepare authentic dishes. Now, a former employee is cooking up trouble by claiming that Olive Garden’s Tuscan cooking school in Chianti is merely a ploy to sell more breadsticks.

Olive Garden claims on their website that: “More than 1,100 Olive Garden chefs and managers have traveled to Italy and learned the essential skills for creating traditional Italian cuisine and popular Italian great dishes.”

The ex-employee, who attended the Olive Garden’s Tuscan cooking school in 2007, explained that there wasn’t much learning involved. The annual trip turns out to be more of an off-season Italian holiday than a training experience.

Chef Boyardee was not available for comment.

Wiggin Properties has made a proposal for development of the old Mercy Hospital site on the edge of Midtown, which at least one detractor described as “Eastern bloc” architecture.

Not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that, suggests Nick Roberts:

Stalin may have been the most evil man to walk the planet, but at least he hired some impressive architects.

Here’s 13 Mokhovaya Street, Moscow, by Ivan Zholtovsky:

(Photo source.) Apparently this building, its façade recently restored — God knows what happened to the back of it — housed the US Embassy until 1950. Doesn’t look half bad, if you ask me. Your mileage, of course, may vary.

Perhaps it’s not worth it to be distinctive anymore:

Nordstrom has been gradually cutting back on its in-store pianists in recent years. The Nordstrom store at Brea recently laid off many if not all of its piano players — an in-store manager declined to comment — while the store at South Coast Plaza in Costa Mesa also has terminated a number of people from its musical team. Some newer Nordstrom stores lack pianos altogether. Last year, the Orange County Register reported that the new Nordstrom at Fashion Island in Newport Beach opened without a piano.

My first impulse was to blame it all on people listening to their iPods while shopping nordstrom.com, but the company tells it differently:

A spokesman for Nordstrom said in a statement that the company has “learned that most customers like the energy and environment that a more contemporary, recorded music offering helps create.”

The spokesman also said the company is “not getting rid of pianos in our stores completely, but the fact is that most of our stores across the country don’t feature a piano… We’re really sorry if some of these changes may disappoint some of our customers.”

There is apparently no truth to the rumor that Walmart will be recruiting kazoo players for their new West Coast Supercenters.

(Via Laura’s Miscellaneous Musings.)

Unfortunately, that utterance, in and of itself, is insufficient:

Scientists from Keele University found that letting forth a volley of foul language can have a powerful painkilling effect, especially for people who do not normally use expletives.

To test the theory, student volunteers placed their hands in a bucket of ice cold water while swearing repeatedly. They then repeated the exercise but, instead of swearing, used a harmless phrase instead.

Researchers found that the students were able to keep their hands submerged in the icy water for longer when repeating the swear word — establishing a link between swearing and an increase in pain tolerance.

Given the mood of the moment, it shouldn’t be too long before some other researchers discover that there are in fact no “harmless” phrases, that there is literally nothing you can say that can’t offend someone. Like I give a flying fish.

(Swiped from Fausta, dammit.)

Apparently state law in Ohio forbids barking at a police dog:

[Ryan] Stephens, 25, of Mason, was charged with the misdemeanor taunting offense on April 3 after a police officer said Stephens was “making barking noises and was hissing at the police dog inside of the car,” a police report says.

Silly man. You’re only supposed to hiss at police cats.

Next question: Is Ohio one of the 16 states in which Happy Fun Ball is still legal?

We should all have moviehouses like this. Dennis Olson of Brands Are Opinions got this shot at Minneapolis’ Uptown Theatre in late March:

A couple of weeks later, look what they’re showing:

It is, indeed, the title.

Ford calls it the Third Age Suit, and it reflects the unfortunate (to me, anyway) reality that not all of its customers are young and/or lithe:

Restrictive apparel simulates the physical limitations associated with arthritic joints, failing eyesight and poor hearing. Since its inception, the suit has been instrumental in the design of cars with backup cameras and a more elderly-friendly “H-point,” known to us non-engineers as the point where your hips swivel when getting into a car.

The suit works by restricting the flexibility of the upper body with a corset-like harness that hinders range of motion. Similar harnesses make moving the elbows, knees and feet a chore, and the suit also simulates decreased dexterity and sense of touch with latex-lined fingerless gloves.

I have yet to figure out how this suit manages to disable the cancel switch on the turn signals, but then I’m not any kind of engineer.

The prodigious gravitas of Samuel L. Jackson notwithstanding, basic cable and broadcast TV are not about to let you hear a certain four-syllable word. Rick Paulas at Wired compiled a list (which presumably will be on their Web site next month) of substitutions that have been reported, including this endorsement from Ordell Robbie (played by, yes, Samuel L. Jackson) in Jackie Brown:

AK-47. The very best there is. When you absolutely, positively got to kill every Maryland farmer in the room, accept no substitutes.

But top honors, say I, go not to a Jackson derivative, but to the anonymous Fark submitter who came up with this:

Bruce Willis to sell New York apartment at a loss. Yippie-ki-yay, market failure.

Which, incidentally, links here.

(Title swiped from Max Shulman.)

Governor Fallin has signed Senate Bill 406, which basically doubles the restrictions on protest demonstrations at funerals. From the bill itself:

The Legislature finds that:

1. it is generally recognized that families have a substantial interest in organizing and attending funerals for deceased relatives,
2. the interests of families in privately and peacefully mourning the loss of deceased relatives are violated when funerals are targeted for picketing and other public demonstrations,
3. picketing of funerals causes emotional disturbance and distress to grieving families who participate in funerals, and
4. full opportunity exists under the terms and provisions of this section for the exercise of freedom of speech and other constitutional rights at times other than the period from one hour two (2) hours before the scheduled commencement of funeral services until one hour two (2) hours after the actual completion of the funeral services.

Also doubled: the distance at which pickets are permitted, formerly 500 feet, now one thousand.

The McCarville Report quotes the governor:

“Protesting a funeral for political purposes is an abhorrent and disgusting practice,” Fallin said. “While such distasteful protests have been ruled constitutionally protected and cannot be legally prohibited, this legislation will help protect grieving families from people who are looking to exploit their suffering.”

The measure takes effect on the first of November.

It is written, of course, that all of us must die, but there are a few I wouldn’t mind seeing go early.

Enough of this, I say. Several teasers, yet two whole months without a Zooeypalooza. In Colonial days, this would have been considered an Intolerable Act.

As always, you can decrease the reduction on any individual photo with a simple click.

Previous Paloozas: ZP 1, ZP 2, ZP 3, ZP 4, ZP 5, ZP 6, ZP 7, ZP 8, ZP 9.

You know who else didn’t like that Rebecca Black song? You guessed it. [Some captions might not be suitable for your workstation screen.]