Nothing at nevermind dot whatever

One of the requests I see fairly often on Yahoo! Answers is “How do I get a professional email address?” This, I suspect — I admit I haven’t checked, and Yahoo! doesn’t always disclose such things — is likely to come from someone with a name like “shiggity99,” perhaps at gmail.com, and who suddenly realizes that a proper, or at least proper-looking, curriculum vitæ is something worth having.

The providers of freebie-ish mail, however, aren’t interested in dealing with Shiggity:

One of the big things about the major services is that, because they are major and there are so few, it’s really quite hard for people to get the email address they want. Unless you have a really unusual name, chances are pretty good that the common versions of your name are taken. Nicknames, too. I was able to get “trumwill” but others, including nicknames that aren’t words, have been taken by people somewhere.

The usual suggestion is to get your own domain name, but this process seems daunting to some. Tucows (remember them?) has introduced Hover.com, which is dedicated to providing domains and email to people who aren’t even slightly interested in Web-hosting accounts; perhaps this might be the solution for young Shiggity. (I simply can’t imagine old Shiggity.)

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Too mobile a home

Lisa Margonelli writes in Pacific Standard:

One of the biggest questions facing the nation with regard to aging boomers is: Where are they going to live? The options amount to a tangle of euphemisms and politically correct titles: independent living, nursing homes, aging-in-place, naturally occurring retirement communities (NORCs), retirement village, memory-care units, age-restricted communities. All this complexity disguises a simple fact about money, happiness, and aging: Seniors who can live on their own cost the country relatively little — they even contribute to the economy. But those who move into nursing homes start to run up a significant tab — starting at $52,000 a year. People who are isolated and lonely end up in nursing homes sooner. Hence, finding ways to keep people living on their own, socially engaged, healthy, happy, and out of care isn’t just a personal or family goal — it’s a national priority. Among seniors’ living options, there is one we overlook: mobile homes. Time-tested, inhabited by no fewer than three million seniors already, but notoriously underloved, manufactured homes can provide organic communities and a lifestyle that is healthy, affordable, and green, and not incidentally, fun. But in order to really see their charms, we need to change a mix of bad policies and prejudice.

Ms Margonelli lives in Oakland, where this might actually make sense. But in Oklahoma City, a manufactured home creates nightmares from March through September: the very thought of Gary England calling on his bevy of storm trackers puts occupants into a severe case of night sweats — even if it’s daytime.

Of course, my little stick house can just as easily blow away if Mr Fujita assigns a 4 or 5, as he did fourteen years ago. But it’s never actually caused me any fright, except maybe that one time when the ground began to shake like a bowl of Jell-O — which California folks presumably might be used to.

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Get in line on the 30th

I mentioned the new online auto-tag renewal system way back in 2010, and praised it with faint damns:

[T]his counts as progress of a sort, even if it’s probably not going to change my particular habits.

The Oklahoman notes editorially that most people’s habits remained unchanged:

Oklahoma tag agents howled in 2010 when the state Tax Commission began making some tag agent services available online. The commission was complying with legislation directing all state agencies to offer online services. At the time, a lobbyist for the Oklahoma Tag Agent Coalition complained about the Tax Commission “spending money to put the state in competition with private enterprise.” (Horrors!) Turns out the concerns were for naught. The Tulsa World reports that three years later, the number of online license tag renewals has grown but business conducted over the Internet comprises less than 1 percent of total tag agent-related revenue. In 2012, tag agents collected $817 million in taxes and fees. Online transactions amounted to just $427,287. For now at least, it’s clear folks much prefer to conduct these transactions in person.

The state giveth, and the state taketh away. But it better not taketh away from those to whom it giveth, or there’ll be hell to pay.

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Where size really matters

Would this actually work? The technology seems logical enough, and I can appreciate the thought behind it, but…

“What if your abuser is Lord Farquaad?”

(From DIYphotography.net via this @OpenBookJen tweet.)

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Strange search-engine queries (379)

Nothing says “Monday” like a batch of freshly squeezed search strings, straight off the meter. The question of whether you’d want “Monday” said in the first place remains unanswered, on this page anyway.

names of people houses that byrned in California wildfires?  I think we can eliminate David Byrne; he’s an ordinary guy, but he’s not burning down the house.

did Jessica Rabbits underwear fall off in a car crash? (For example — you can Google that one for yourself):  I think you can make the case that she didn’t have it on in the first place.

where are the 1992 ford escape engines and transmissions manufactured?  
Somewhere over the rainbow, since Ford didn’t actually make any Escapes until model year 2000.

catmax show all s.u.v. at $8000.00:  How about this lovely ’92 Ford Escape?

chelsea triple access account is it passbook operated:  Are you kidding me? Passbooks went out with the ’92 Escape.

methamphetamine oven cleaner:  Works up to 70 percent faster, but it eventually rots the door seal.

princess cadence and shining armor sex:  Well, yeah, I assume so, they’ve been married for over a year.

I hope both of you are fine:  Although I hear one of you is occasionally coarse.

is there a sensor:  There’s always a sensor. And it always costs at least $100.

friend keeps concern trolling me:  What you need is some new friends.

Jason would really like to become more clueful than clueless, but he daydreams a lot and can’t seem to finish anything. He is irritable most of the:  time and is tired of being concern-trolled by his friends.

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A shortage of warm

There is “climate change,” and there is climate change, but neither provides much in the way of inspiration:

I think I’m just resentful of being cheated out of a spring yet again and knowing there is nothing I can do about it. No one to complain to, no one to make fix it, just gotta put up with it. I do believe that the climate is changing (I think that can be illustrated quite well by actual science). Like as in Ice Age, Medieval Warm Period kind of change though. Not as in SUV exhaust, carbon pollution, fully solvable by humans kind of change (that is only illustrated well by politically driven consensus, not science). And that, in a way, makes it suck even more. There truly is nothing anyone can do about it. Except move. I’m still pushing for that. I’ll put up with perpetual summer if it means I never have to see lingering winter again.

I think it was Mark Alger who first complained that everyone’s all agog about the temperature of the earth not being what it should be, but nobody has a clue as to what that temperature actually should be.

Addendum: For example:

I submit that this shows that we do not even know the global temperature. I further argue that we cannot know the global temperature in any meaningful fashion, that even if we could construct a network of recording stations of sufficiently high resolution and reliability as to allow us to get an accurate record of global temperatures, the sampling would still be inadequate for determining with any degree of certainty a global “average” temperature, and that, still further, as such the very concept of such an average is thermodynamically meaningless.

As for myself, I usually start thinking kindly things about winter around the second week of August — weather permitting.

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The quill is taken up again

I’d been working on this one story — a further extension of an existing three-story arc — for two months, and I got to the point where I had to tell myself, “Self, either you get this chapter into shape and submit it to the repository, or you abandon it altogether.”

“Into shape” is perhaps arguable, but I did submit the darn thing. Now I’m going to be on pins and needles waiting for the initial response — though that won’t come until the moderators pass their judgment, and that could take a day or two.

Word count is 5696 (mine) / 5946 (theirs).

Addendum: The approval came while this post was still in the can. Go figure.

Update: Reaction from the crowd was uniformly negative. I pulled the piece.

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Grindhouse 3.0

After the first quarter, it was Memphis 16, Oklahoma City 14. Just what you might have expected: a slow grind with not a whole lot of offense, especially from the Thunder, who missed ten consecutive shots. And then things were inverted in the second, OKC outscoring the Grizzlies 33-30 to take a one-point lead at the half. Then the Thunder went cold in the third, and the Griz went up nine after three; OKC forged several ties, but never actually regained the lead until 11.1, when a Derek Fisher steal followed by a Kevin Durant pullup put the Thunder up 91-90. At the 3.5 mark, Marc Gasol, passed the ball to Mike Conley at halfcourt, but the momentum carried him out of bounds, and the Thunder got the ball back. Reggie Jackson wound up with the inbound and the inevitable immediate foul; Jackson calmly dropped both freebies, then fouled Quincy Pondexter. Unfortunately, he fouled him on a trey attempt. Pondexter missed the first, got the second, and deliberately missed the third; Durant got a hand on it, Fisher dribbled it away, and that was the game: OKC 93, Memphis 91.

The Tall Trees of Memphis stood as tall as ever, Gasol with 20 points, Zach Randolph with 18, and each with ten rebounds. Tayshaun Prince contributed extra defense. Still, the Griz could not muster any more than four second-chance points, and Tony Allen, normally a major pest, turned out to be a non-factor, playing barely 20 minutes and scoring 3. Pondexter, who hit three treys in the third, and Jerryd Bayless took up as much of the slack as they could.

In the post-Westbrook era, the big lines belong to Durant and Whoever Will. Today Whoever was Kevin Martin, who had another 25-pointer, including three from long distance. (Durant, of course, had the best line in the house: 35 points, 15 boards, six assists and two steals.) Those who argued against Fisher’s alleged “intangibles” getting him undeserved minutes are keeping discreetly silent: his eight points may seem modest, but Fish’s gift for being in the right place at the right time got him +14, tied with Martin for game-high. Serge Ibaka was pretty good on defense (five rebounds, three blocks), not so hot on offense (1-10, five points).

At some point — say, right after Game 6 against Houston — you could hear cries of “Even if we survive this, how will we ever beat the Grizzlies?” It’s the same way you always beat the Grizzlies, when you can. Second try is Tuesday night.

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Non-repeating pattern

It is said that life sucks, and then you die.

Tangential: During an effort to find the source of this notion, I happened upon Life Sucks… And Then You Die! by British thrash outfit Cerebral Fix, which contains such upbeat ditties as “Product of Disgust” and “Existing Not Living.” Says Wikipedia: “To support Life Sucks…, the band toured the UK with Bolt Thrower, Deviated Instinct, Doom, Electro Hippies, Concrete Sox, Bomb Disneyland, Hellbastard, Energetic Krusher, and Hard-Ons.” Cerebral Fix followed up with the easy-listening classic Tower of Spite.

Anyway, if you’ve decided your life sucks, you may well be correct — but there’s no guarantee that you’re using the proper metrics:

As explained by psychologist Daniel Kahneman, “…the score that you quickly assign to your life is determined by a small sample of highly available ideas, not by carefully weighting the domains of your life.”

For example, in an amusing experiment conducted in 1983, a team led by noted psychologist Norbert Schwarz asked subjects to rate their overall life satisfaction on both sunny and rainy days. Those interviewed on a bright, sunny day reported being more satisfied with their lives in general compared with those interviewed on an overcast, rainy day.

In another, more sly experiment, Schwarz’s team set up a situation whereby half of the subjects would — by apparent luck — discover a dime on a photocopy machine before being interviewed. Though the good fortune was meager by most standards, the respondents who stumbled upon it reported significantly higher life satisfaction than those who did not.

Unusually for me, I did a load of wash Friday night, and subsequently found a dime in the tub. I perked right up, only to slide back into the ooze of despair when I realized that obviously I had done a poor job of emptying all the pockets beforehand, and my net gain on the transaction was nil. Dr Schwarz would have understood.

Oh, and Dr Kahneman has been mentioned in these pages before: his book Thinking, Fast and Slow, whence came the above quote, was sort of ripped off at Amazon by a rival “book” with a similar title, intended to garner sales to shoppers who weren’t paying close attention. Now that well and truly sucks.

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Future dullard

And I probably won’t be alone in that classification, either:

The whole concept of the Singularity is centered on that moment when “intelligent” machines become intelligent self aware machines able to take control of their own destinies. At that point, on the bell curve of cognitive ability (intelligence) every single human alive will be relegated to the lowest of the left-hand (hopeless dumbass) side of the curve, and the machines will take up permanent occupancy of the rest of that real estate.

Every year, IQs a few points higher than the year before are shifted over to the left hand side, and those already there pushed further down. The Singularity Point is estimated as being from 17 years hence (2030, Vernor Vinge, the creator of the concept) to 2045 (Ray Kurzweil, its most prominent current apostle), to never (many naysayers).

I admit to having my doubts about the whole concept, but then I look around me and see smart people getting dumber, and dumb people getting dumber still, and I wonder: what else is there that could be causing this? High-fructose corn syrup? The Rothschilds? CNN? We’re on the brink of something, and while I’m tolerably bright, I suppose, I don’t think I can keep up with a machine that never gets tired and doesn’t need input from me anyway.

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Fark blurb of the week

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Harvey Fiersteins at Foggy Bottom

In the post-Reagan era, says Robert Stacy McCain, foreign policy is guided by narcissism. How it got to that point:

Encountering people who hate us, liberals think, “It’s about us.”

This error was what crippled liberalism during the Cold War. If the Soviet Union wanted to destroy America, liberals imagined, this must be because of something wrong with America, rather than something wrong with the Soviet Union. So liberals wanted to change American foreign policy — détente! — in a more pro-Soviet direction, accepting the Leninist critique of “Western imperialism” as essentially accurate, so that you had Jimmy Carter claiming (and evidently believing) that a U.S. commitment to “human rights” would somehow repair the damage to American international prestige.

If you would see what the “world community” thinks of human rights, you need only look at the people the United Nations puts in charge of it. (George W. Bush, in one of his sentient moments, refused to have anything to do with that particular scam; the Obama administration happily rushed back into it.)

Except it wasn’t about us. It was about them.

Ronald Reagan understood instinctively that the Cold War wasn’t America’s fault, and that it couldn’t be ended by making American policy less “imperialist” (mainly because imperialism was a propaganda accusation conjured up in Vladimir Lenin’s imagination). The Cold War could only end with the destruction of the Soviet Union, and so Reagan made that the object of his foreign policy.

And then Reagan rode off into the sunset, and State began filling up with whiners who just want to be loved, and is that so wrong? (Short answer: yes; you guys are being paid to represent the interests of the United States, rather than the interests of every jackwagon from Central Casting who yells “Oppression!” in front of a microphone.)

So the foreign policy of the United States became twofold: (1) pay the Danegeld, and (2) try not to piss off the Dane too much. This latter was doomed to fail, because the Dane is always pissed off:

Ask yourself this: Why should Muslims from Pakistan and other places far away from the Middle East espouse the same anti-American and anti-Israel grievances as Palestinian radicals in Gaza and the West Bank? Why was the Soviet Union — fanatically devoted to an atheistic and internationalist ideology — nevertheless favorable to Arafat’s nationalist cause and to the Ayatollah Khomeini’s Islamic revolution in Iran?

The answer seems clear enough: the Soviet Union may be gone, but there are still people who long for its unbridled, unabashed anti-Americanism. Your kid probably has one of them for History 2102 (first semester).

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Ongoing Zooeyfication

Back in September ’11, when New Girl was, um, new, I found myself echoing this thought from Fishersville Mike:

We know it’s not reality-based. Cute girls just drop in on a group of guys and bring their friends. All. The. Time. Big Bang Theory started with one girl and now has one for every nerdy guy. Zooey’s new show has Hannah Simone as the first of many potential models to visit the apartment.

This may be why I never watched Big Bang Theory: I never could believe the notion of one girl for every nerdy guy. (I blame Jan Berry, who swore that in “Surf City” it was two-to-one, though those guys presumably weren’t nerdy.)

And I don’t think this scheme is going to work for New Girl, since Hannah Simone seems to be turning into Zooey Deschanel. Take a look:

Hannah Simone at Fox promo for New Girl

Were you to put tights on Hannah, the illusion would be complete.

Just to hammer the point home, here’s the whole cast, with the real Zooey at center, or so they’d like us to believe:

Fox promo with New Girl cast

Now when the guys start looking like Zooey, then I’m gonna worry.

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Meteorillogical

If you think the weather here has been weird — and let’s face it, if you don’t, you haven’t been paying attention — it’s been equally so elsewhere. This is what was going down in the 417:

The Ozarks broke a record today in measurable snowfall. According to John Gagan, a meteorologist with the National Weather Service in Springfield, the last time the Springfield-area saw measurable snowfall this late in the spring season was May 2, 1929.

But that’s not the only record expected to be broken today.

The last time there was even a trace of snow in May — meaning flurries, but no accumulation — was May 6, 1944.

The temperature will also be significant. Currently, the record low for the coldest day in May was May 4, 1935 at 43 degrees.

Actually, a trace of snow does not necessarily mean flurries, but that’s not the problem here. This is:

One must infer, then, that on May 6, 1944, and on May 2, 1929, it snowed when the temperature was 44 degrees or warmer, must one not? If May 4, 1935, was the coldest low temperature on record, then these other recorded days must have had higher low temperatures, ainna?

Just to clear this up: The record low for the coldest day in May was 29 degrees, on May 6, 1944. What happened on May 4, 1935 was the lowest high temperature ever reported for any day in May, which was 43 degrees. (May 3, 2013 will break that record; the high that day was apparently 36.) The meteorologist at NWS Springfield knew this, or could get the data quickly enough — it didn’t take me too awfully long to find it, and my weather-geek credentials are just a hair above marginal — so I conclude that this was just another case of Gannett wetting their nest.

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Coldmail

According to Microsoft, Hotmail is most sincerely dead:

When Outlook.com came out of preview in February, it already had more than 60 million active accounts. However, Hotmail was still one of the most widely used services, with over 300 million active accounts. This made the magnitude of the process incredible, maybe even unprecedented. This meant communicating with hundreds of millions of people, upgrading all their mailboxes — equaling more than 150 million gigabytes of data — and making sure that every person’s mail, calendar, contacts, folders, and personal preferences were preserved in the upgrade. Of course, this had to be done with a live site experience that was handling billions of transactions a day. With your help, we were able to do all of that in just about 6 weeks. We’ve spent the last few weeks ensuring that everything was completed in line with our high quality expectations.

It’s certainly seemed seamless to me, since I’m still actually using POP3 via Windows Live Mail, the replacement for Outlook Express; I’ve noticed no difference whatsoever. (Then again, I have five different accounts running through WLM, and four of them look exactly the same; the one exception is AOL Mail, which never was intended to work on POP3 in the first place.)

Still: 150 petabytes of mail? I’m feeling better about my mere 900 meg.

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Splashdown

It really had to end this way: a jump between Kevin Martin and Patrick Beverley with a fraction of a second left, meaning nothing except to show that the chip on Beverley’s shoulder hadn’t shrunk. That’s fine. The kid will have the rest of May to fume, as the Rockets suffered the usual fate of #8 seeds: a first-round exit.

And that fate wasn’t at all certain: once again, Houston got an early lead, and once again, Oklahoma City came out for the third quarter breathing something other than actual air. You can’t blame the kid for being cocky; hell, those crazy Okies were putting Derek Fisher on James Harden, they must be desperate, right? And there’s the Beard, shooting 7-22, and there’s Fish, swiping the ball from him twice. They said Harden wasn’t feeling well, but Harden isn’t the kind of guy who makes excuses for things. Then there’s the Houston bench, which scored 11 points, or just about as many as, um, Derek Fisher. You had to figure that if Martin showed up, the Thunder might just wrap it up. “Remember me?” said K-Mart, knocking down 7-13 and eight consecutive free throws for 25 points. And the Thunder, thus fortified, did indeed wrap it up, 103-94, earning the honor, if such it be, of playing the second round against the much-scarier Memphis Grizzlies. Patrick Beverley wishes he were as badass as the Griz.

Still, the Rockets made a fight of it. Twenty-six points for Harden, 25 for Chandler Parsons, a nicely-balanced double-double (13 points, 13 rebounds) for Omer Asik, who just incidentally got to put up 12 foul shots. (He made seven, about his average.) It did not help that stalwart reserve Carlos Delfino had fractured his foot and was not available. And Beverley, while plenty busy, was not so effective this time around, shooting 4-11 and managing not a single assist. (The Rockets had only 16 dimes, and Harden and Francisco Garcia served up most of them.)

But let’s go back to Asik for a moment, who missed those five free throws. His teammates had six more clang away to no avail. That’s 11 points Houston gave away. (The Thunder put up only 16 free throws all night, but hit every last one of them.) When you lose by nine, you think about such things — when you’re not thinking “Wait ’til next year,” anyway.

Scott Brooks, it appears, is apparently capable of learning. Kendrick Perkins disappeared after four minutes, which allowed Nick Collison some actual playing time, which I have to believe helped Kevin Martin out of his slump; those two are downright deadly together. And while Kevin Durant had the game high of 27 points, he didn’t have to go play Hero Ball to get it; for once, everyone was playing at the same level, and it worked. Whether it will work against the Grizzlies — well, we start finding that out Sunday afternoon.

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