Even though it’s true.
If there’s one thing tobacco companies are really, really good at, it’s finding ways around a seemingly endless series of government rules. For instance:
Some time ago, the FDA announced that they were going to ban tobacco-makers from using the word “Light” on their light product lines. The rationale was that people are smoking these things under the false impression (an impression encouraged by tobacco companies) that they were a healthier alternative to full flavor cigarettes.
Manufacturers substituted “Gold” for “Light” and “Silver” for “Ultra-light” in the names of Marlboro sub-brands, and “Blue”, “Gold”, and “Silver” for banned descriptors in sub-brand names. Percent filter ventilation levels, used to generate the smoke yield ranges associated with “Lights” categories, appear to have been reassigned to the new colour brand name descriptors. Following the ban, 92% of smokers reported they could easily identify their usual brands, and 68% correctly named the package colour associated with their usual brand, while sales for “Lights” cigarettes remained unchanged.
Fortunately, this doesn’t work with beer, or they’d start serving Bud Beige.
In this scene from the 1955 Broadway run of Cole Porter’s Silk Stockings, Gretchen Wyler demonstrates that first, you have to get their attention:
As Janice Dayton, America’s Swimming Sweetheart, Wyler is attempting to persuade Russian composer Peter Boroff (Philip Sterling) to work his magic on her next picture: a musical version of, um, War and Peace.
Wyler, born Gretchen Patricia Wienecke in Oklahoma City in 1932, was also Chita Rivera’s replacement in Damn Yankees. Appropriately, the first track on this 1959 LP is “Whatever Lola Wants”:
She died in 2007 from complications of breast cancer.
This event with the Malfunction Indicator Light was a pain in the wallet, as they always are, but for the first time in eight years, it managed to cost less than $600: a meager $431, in fact.
Lasted nineteen miles before throwing another or perhaps the same code.
A discussion with the service consultant suggested that it will be, yes, around $600, if it’s what he thinks it is.
Of course, the guy who came up with the idea that it should require Specialized Equipment just to read these damnable codes is, one hopes, doing synchronized swimming in the river Phlegethon. And truth be told, I don’t much care with whom he’s synchronized. I am sorely tempted to set up a GoFundMe or some such.
Steve Webb, the Pensions Minister, said retirees need to gain a sense of how long they might live to help make such financial decisions.
He said many people underestimate how long they will live. “If you are thinking about this, what do you do? For best guidance you probably think about how long your grandparents lived. But that is two generations out of date.”
The minister is asking pension providers to give people an estimate as part of guidance which will be rolled out in April next year.
Some estimates have already appeared:
Glasgow City has the worst life expectancy, 72.9 years, compared to Kensington and Chelsea in London on 82.4.
Report co-author Professor Danny Dorling said he could not be certain what had caused the increase, but it was most likely to be poverty.
He said: “As with all these things it is hard to explain why it is happening, but we know that income inequalities have increased and it seems this has been mirrored by health inequalities.
“If that is true, we might see a narrowing of the gap as the latest income figures show that has narrowed recently.”
I, of course, am taking no bets as to the date of my Ultimate Demise.
The Grizzlies obviously worked on two concepts between Game 1 and tonight: hit the damn free throws already they knocked down all of their first twelve and keep the ball as long as possible. And by “as long as possible,” I’m talking 21-23 seconds into the shot clock. This lugubrious pace is Memphis’ signature style, and the Thunder typically has a great deal of trouble dealing with it. They certainly did tonight, trailing most of the way, finally squeezing out a one-point lead with 1:14 left when Zach Randolph, pestered by Kendrick Perkins, gave up the ball to Thabo Sefolosha, and Kevin Durant was waiting at the door to Dunk City. Mike Miller, brought in for long-ball marksmanship, replanted a Mike Conley miss from 24 feet, burning, yes, 21 seconds. The next two Thunder possessions came up empty, Conley hit three of four free throws, and the crowd nodded off. Then Durant knocked down a trey, accompanied by a body bump by Marc Gasol, and the subsequent foul shot made it 98-97 Griz with 13.8 left. Next Memphis possession, Conley hit one of two free throws; Russell Westbrook missed a trey, Perkins slapped it back in at the horn, and suddenly there was overtime.
Apparently that was all the Department of Miracles had available: the Griz struck first, and also second, in overtime. Perkins, attempting to block a Randolph shot, drew his sixth foul; Z-Bo obligingly missed the free throw. With 1:15 left, a Durant trey pulled OKC to within one; a Sefolosha steal gave the ball back to the Thunder, Gasol, guarding Durant, fouled out, and Durant tied it up on the second free throw. The Griz took over from that point, with a Randolph layup, two freebies by Courtney Lee, two more by Randolph, and that was it: Memphis 111, Oklahoma City 105, and the series like the last three MEM-OKC playoff series is tied at 1-1.
Griz ball movement was excellent: 30 assists and only nine turnovers. Z-Bo had lots of points (25), not so many rebounds (six), but Memphis wasn’t hurting for boards, what with Tony Allen collecting 8, Gasol and Conley seven each. (Conley also had 12 assists to go with his 19 points. Why does this man get so little respect as a point guard?) Tayshaun Prince, not ill tonight, was still not a factor; Beno Udrih did most of the bench scoring, with 14.
On the Thunder side, you figure Durant with 36, Westbrook with 29, Ibaka with 15 and then it rapidly tails off. Shooting 39 percent will do that to you. Both Durant and Ibaka snared 11 rebounds; Serge blocked five shots and bothered a few others. None of the reserves played much, and only Derek Fisher made as many as two shots.
Game 3 is in Memphis Thursday night. Expect things to be boisterous.
Personally, I wouldn’t have thought that these would have been much of a draw, but what do I know?
This store also carries crickets, rats, and bearded dragons.
(Via Bad Newspaper.)
By now, you know the territory, or at least you’ve figured out the map:
One Christopher Tognotti, evidently a full-time resident, decided to cry into a HuffPo microphone about it:
You’d be shocked how easily the thought I really like you as a person but I’m not attracted or interested in dating you can be conveyed with just the flicker of an eyelid.
Trust me, I wouldn’t be shocked. I know this land like the back of my hand.
Perhaps you’ve heard this story before, of a self-proclaimed “nice guy” who feels miffed by the romantic inattention of a close female friend. But assumptions that the alleged “nice guy” may be making feeling aggrieved, maybe even angry, that she couldn’t be more open-minded, or see how great a couple they’d be fall perilously short of anything describable as “nice.”
Vehemently complaining that a woman is dating somebody else instead of you hinges on the assumption that she’d want to date you otherwise. I understand the impulse, even the drive to convince oneself that such a romance could flourish.
Self-described “nice guys,” as a rule, have a tendency to fall back on that old saw about women being attracted only to bad boys | douchebags | asshats [select one or more]. It does not occur to them that the problem is not in the stars, but in themselves, that they are underachieving.
The problem is not their superficiality, but his.
He’s basically a stalker, a romantic voyeur, dishonestly using the “friend zone” as an excuse to get close to women in a non-sexual context, secretly hoping that he can then exploit this proximity to convert a girl friend into a girlfriend. But when he finally works up the gumption to express his secret purpose, not only are his overtures unwelcome, but his female friend feels understandably betrayed: If she had known his interest in her was erotic, she never would have let this pitiful scrub into her “friend zone” to begin with.
One might reasonably ask if there’s any substantive difference between Mr Tognotti, author of that wail, and yours truly, author of several dozen such. Well, there’s one that comes most immediately to mind: I know who’s to blame for my predicament. And unlike Tognotti, I don’t, in McCain’s phrase, “overestimate my range”:
Suppose a guy’s overall attractiveness including all possible factors, including income, personality, etc. is 5 on a scale of 10.
As a general rule, a 5 male’s romantic prospects are seldom going to include women who would rank as high as an 8. The best such a guy can realistically hope for is to catch a 7 in a vulnerable moment and if he doesn’t want to be hopelessly lonely while waiting for that lucky shot to come along, Mr. 5 would be wise to seek companionship among females ranking 5 or below. The very nature of Chris Tognotti’s “nice guy” complaint tells you that he’s not playing that way.
Faced with these daunting odds, I opted for the only rational choice: I gave up hope altogether. And I feel better, though admittedly not to the extent I’d like.
(Venn diagram via Notre Lien Quotidien.)
You say you can’t stand sport-utility vehicles? Amateur. Here’s a guy who can’t stand sport-utility vehicles:
You’ll search long and hard to find someone else as firmly committed to the removal of the SUV from the American road as your humble author believes himself to be. Although I drove four different Land Rovers during the company’s BMW and Ford periods (a ’97 five-speed Disco, a ’99 Rangie 4.0S that I talked my father into buying, an ’00 Freelander, and an ’03 Discovery 4.6) I had what I felt to be a valid excuse: a BMX and mountain bike hobby that found me on dirt roads and fire trails nearly every weekend. As soon as my knees fired me from those sports, I fired the Rovers and got a Phaeton like decent people do.
The bulk of SUVs foisted on the American public have been irredeemable pieces of garbage, misshapen and deeply offensive embarrassments, gravid with the moist spawn of limitless profit yet crawling with the maggots of brand destruction, long-term customer disappointment, and, occasionally, violent death at the hands of a collapsing roof.
Not that a roof has hands, but you get the idea.
I figured that the shark was jumped, or at least driven over, once General Motors deemed that Saab should have SUVs, and brought forth three unsuccessful models, built from the Chevrolet, Cadillac and Subaru parts bins.
It’s Monday morning, and you all know what that means: time to poke around in the server logs until such time as we turn up something that might marginally qualify as amusing. Blather, rinse, repeat. Leaves your hair pretty much alone, actually.
overlord of the flies: Surprisingly, it’s the kid who pins them down and pulls off their wings.
teacher story locker numbers IQ: What they don’t tell you is that the kid in locker #172, thinking himself a genius, proclaimed himself Overlord of the Flies.
prono ghique photo: It’s not all ghiques; sometimes you see kneards and dorques.
94′ mazda 626 1st shift rpm high: Yeah, like you know anything about gear ratios.
can i replace automatic gearbox with manual gearbox on mazda 626: It would be cheaper just to fix the damn automatic.
i change two transmission in my 03 ford escape 4.4 because no shift and spdometer no work why: Because you’d rather spend $5000 on part-shuffling than pay someone $3000 to actually fix the bloody thing.
are women sunbathing in her backyard naked woman sunbathing in her backyard naked: Yeah, we get it. I assure you, if she’s doing it, she’s not doing it for your benefit.
ipop-neo results chart picture: Why, yes, charts tend to be pictorial. Does this surprise you?
light green bicycle Sena on Latuda advertisement: That’ll work, sure. “Why did you choose this brand of bicycle?” “I saw it in an ad for antipsychotics.”
is a 86 lx mx 6 a 6 cylinder: You tell me. Does a BMW 3-series have three cylinders?
stocking jerk: Good way to cause a run, if you’re not careful.
Everything you wanted to understand about Oklahoma weather was contained in a 30-second radio commercial yesterday, when Fiat of Edmond (which isn’t precisely in Edmond, but no matter) announced a Pre-Dent Sale.
“The hail’s coming, everyone knows it, let’s just get the promotion cranked up and go with it.”
I’m sort of hoping this works the same way my snow pusher did: rendered itself unnecessary for two years just by my going out and acquiring it.
Last October, Roger, having observed the signs of Imminent Death in his wife’s computer, ordered a new one, though for some reason he didn’t open it until March. And when he did, he may have wished he hadn’t:
I turn it on, and the first thing I say is: “Where the heck is the Start button?” I had to Read The (Online) Manual to figure out where it was, and that Windows 8 was installed on my computer. (A few days after I turned on the machine, someone told me, “Whatever you do, DON’T download Windows 8.”)
But then, of course, it was too late. And it gets better, for some definition of “better” that doesn’t actually imply improvement:
Anyway, I figure out, kinda, how this thing is supposed to work. I go to the Office suite button. It asks me if I want to buy the product. I have to BUY the product separately? Suffice it to say, it took another week before I could FINALLY use the contraption correctly. This involved, among other things having someone uninstall one of the security products I installed, because it actually made the computer LESS secure. Product A thought Product B was taking care of the bugs, so neither one actually worked.
I expect stories of this sort to continue
for all eternity at least for another year.
Not that Equestria is some sort of free-market utopia or anything, but this line jumped out of yesterday’s episode of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Take it away, Princess Twilight Sparkle:
[A]ll I’m supposed to do is settle disagreements over whether a trade is fair or not. And since the rule is that a trade is fair as long as both ponies get what they want, there’s never been a disagreement. So there’s really no reason for anypony to treat me as anything special.
“By virtue of exchange, one man’s prosperity is beneficial to all others.” Frédéric Bastiat, The Law, 1850.
A decade and a half after Gwendolyn’s birth in Oppama, Japan, Infiniti is still sourcing auto audio from Bose, though things are obviously much different today. With a few days to fiddle about with a G37, I decided to do some exploration.
The first thing I spotted was a succession of weird variations in volume. Since the lowest volume seemed to occur at idle, I concluded that this was an effort to compensate for road and engine noise: crank up the RPMs, and the box cranks up the volume. If this actually worked well, I never would have noticed it. To do this correctly, there’d have to be a sensor located near the listener’s head to feed back sound-pressure level on a realtime basis, and I don’t think Nissan wants to spend that kind of money. Digging down in the audio menu, I found a toggle for the function, and switched it off.
Pushing the AUX button brings up satellite radio, which will tune but will not actually deliver a station unless there’s a proper subscription in effect. Curiously, there’s no formal three-connector AUX jack, just the USB port in the console, at an angle where it’s difficult for either driver or front-seat passenger to access while seated, unless you’re riding with Reed Richards. I attached my little Sansa Clip Zip, and smiled as the song titles rolled up on the screen. Downside: I have yet to figure out how I can get the Sansa’s 32GB microSD card to read; the menu only brings up the stuff from the resident memory. And while the device powered on and off when the car was shut off, which was greatly appreciated, the last restart was met with “Check Device Connections.” I’m thinking that Rockbox, puzzled by the start/stop command sequence, basically locked itself up. After a very long shutdown sequence, it started again normally. I’m thinking that if I had to deal with this on a regular basis and eventually, I suppose I will it would be easier just to plug in a 32GB flash drive.
I don’t think I’d trust this, even if “Jesus H. Christ” is written on the flyleaf in red:
— You had one job (@_youhadonejob) April 19, 2014
I heard St. Thomas the Apostle was putting one of these up on eBay.
The first half, the Thunder promised to make it a laugher: they led the Grizzlies by as many as 25 before James Johnson nailed a trey with two seconds left before halftime. Nobody was laughing in the third quarter, though: Memphis outscored OKC 31-13 in the third quarter to pull within four, and they narrowed it to two early in the fourth. This is approximately the point where I think Scott Brooks pointed to his wrist and mouthed the words “SPEED IT UP.” Which is what the Thunder did, going on a 13-1 run, and the Griz never regained their momentum. First game goes into the books: OKC 100, Memphis 86, on a night where three other teams with home-court advantage fell.
Seriously. The Raptors, the Clippers and the Pacers all were beaten at home. This, of course, means nothing at the moment. What this game means is something we knew all along: the Grizzlies are befuddled at any pace other than Slow Grind. They did a good job of protecting the rock, giving up only six turnovers, but otherwise they were largely at sea, missing nine of 11 treys, 13 of 31 free throws, and shooting only 36 percent. The statistic I’m staring at, though, is Zach Randolph’s line: he had a team-high 21 points on 7-21 shooting, 11 rebounds, and three assists, despite spending time on the bench with five fouls, and still ending up with 39 minutes. Mike Conley (16 points, 11 assists) also played 39; Marc Gasol (16 points) played 45. Apparently the only reason the bench got any burn tonight was because Tayshaun Prince took ill early and did not return. Tony Allen led those reserves with 13; Mike Miller, the three-point specialist, made exactly one of them.
It was a decent night for Kevin Durant, who knocked down 13 of 25 for 33 points. Russell Westbrook, officially off his minutes restriction, played 33 minutes, collecting 23 points and 10 rebounds; Serge Ibaka, who played one minute more, scored 17 and retrieved nine boards. (The Thunder was never seriously threatened on the boards, finishing 51-41.) Caron Butler and Reggie Jackson each kicked in nine from the bench.
If there’s anything I wonder about, it’s this: would this have gone any differently had Nick Calathes been available? The rookie Memphis guard is a pretty good shooter, but we won’t see him in the playoffs at all: he’s serving a 20-game suspension for violation of the NBA’s drug policy. The drug in question, tamoxifen, is usually prescribed for treatment of, um, breast cancer; Calathes isn’t suffering from that, but there’s an off-label use to reduce the effects of steroids.
Game 2 is Monday night at the ‘Peake; Games 3 and 4 will be played in Memphis, and as Beale Street Bears reminds us: “There is still a ton of basketball left to be played and the Grizzlies are still very much alive in this series.” These are, after all, the same Grizzlies who won their last 14 home games. If they can upset the Thunder at home even once but let’s not bring back that memory.