Super freekuency

This is worth the link just for the title — “On That List of Excuses for Not Having Sex Floating Around the Interweb” — but the discussion is not at all frivolous, and the last paragraph is highly quotable:

[A] mismatch must be seen as just that. There’s no right amount of sex to have, so someone agreeing to it three times a month must be accepted as much as someone wanting it several times a day or never at all. It just is what it is. A mismatch is a problem for both the person not getting as much as they desire, and for the person denying the request, but it’s only a problem at all if people hold sex in their relationship as more important than care, respect, and love. If you care enough, you can become attuned to one another’s needs. It might mean not asking even if you’re feeling it, and it might, for some people so inclined, mean doing things you’re not really into right now. Love isn’t about giving everything of ourselves to another person, though, or solving all their problems ourselves, it’s about caring about their issues enough to be there while they find their own way.

So there.

In fact, it’s not even necessary for the schedules to be out of sync for there to be a problem, as Woody Allen noted back in the day:

[Alvy and Annie are seeing their therapists at the same time on a split screen]

Alvy Singer’s Therapist: How often do you sleep together?

Annie Hall’s Therapist: Do you have sex often?

Alvy Singer: [lamenting] Hardly ever. Maybe three times a week.

Annie Hall: [annoyed] Constantly. I’d say three times a week.

Never you mind why I’d remember this after, oh, thirty-seven years.

Oh, this is the list being referenced.

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Fan disservice

Bayou Renaissance Man and Miss D. are once again Not Sweating:

To my surprise (and irritation), we learned that modern A/C motors are no longer the simple units of old. Apparently one has to tell the supplier the type of unit (manufacturer, model, etc.) in which it’ll be used, and it’s then “programmed” to work in that particular system. I can see how making a single motor that can be programmed to work in 20 or 30 different units is easier from the factory’s perspective, but it means one can’t just walk in, buy the motor one wants, and take it out the door. Now one has to provide the necessary information and wait two to three hours until the supplier can put it through the programming process — and pay rather more for the motor as a result. I’m not sure this is an improvement from the user point of view.

It’s not. Then again, the last motor I had to buy (back in 2009) was specifically designed for this oddball unit: there are others, much more common, with exactly the same specifications, but the output shafts are something like a quarter-inch too long, so they won’t actually fit. This could not possibly have been good for the price. (I asked an HVAC tech once if the shaft could be filed down a bit: he looked at me as though I’d asked him for a Federal unicorn license.)

The only time I’ve come close to this sort of predicament before was with my old Toyota Celica. Apparently at the beginning of model year 1975 they changed the starter design, and then midway through the year changed it again because the newer design sucked the Japanese equivalent of donkey balls. Replacements, therefore, were difficult to come by. In the twenty years between Off The Showroom Floor and Off My Hands Entirely, little Dymphna went through four starters, and judging by the scratches in the paint, her fourth one was her first one, rebuilt. Too bad they can’t rebuild air-conditioner motors — or at least they say they can’t.

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Why is this month different from all other months?

By now you’ve seen this, probably stuck into your Facebook feed:

Claims about August 2014

Ancient Chinese secret, eh? I’ll have you know I’ve lived through half a dozen of these already, and I may well be around for another one in 2025.

You don’t have to believe me. But Cameron Miquelon has done the heavy lifting already.

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Tanks for the mobility

So I’m sitting here, wondering if my knees are going to be acting up again next week, as they often do in the presence of serious damp, and it occurs to me: Why shouldn’t someone who uses a wheelchair be able to go way the hell off-road?

And this is why I’m thinking that:

The low-suds version — there are three in the line — packs a 16-hp electric motor. And it can take a 60-percent grade, something I can’t do walking these days. Yes, it’s expensive, and Medicare won’t pay for it. I don’t care. (Yet.)

(Via Autoblog.)

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Because terse

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You’re watching GOTV

Does the process of Getting Out The Vote require that you, you know, actually get out once in a while? I’m one of those weird people who thinks it does.

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The point being gotten to

Back in ought-seven, I did a brief writeup of something called Short Attention Span System Radio, which sought to compensate for listeners wandering away by cramming twice as much music into the same space. The results were curious:

I sampled some SASS, and I think I’d notice that they’d boiled down Manfred Mann’s take on Springsteen’s “Blinded by the Light,” which runs around 7:05 in its LP incarnation and 3:48 as a single, to a startling 1:45 — but it would take probably half a minute for it to sink in, and by then they’re a third of the way through the next song.

Truly revved up like a douche, as the kids used to say. I imagined there might be a place for such a format, but I couldn’t imagine where.

The answer, it turns out, is Calgary:

Top 40 station 90.3 Amp Radio has started to cut off the songs played on air halfway through, allowing for twice the number of songs to be played each hour in a bid to cater to their listeners’ ever-shortening attention spans.

“We’ve got so much more choice, we’ve got less time (and) our attention spans are shorter,” Amp Radio’s Paul Kaye told CTV Calgary. “We are observing people with their iPods, playing their favourite songs and skipping them before the end because they get bored.”

The station used to play about 12 songs an hour, but the new “QuickHitz” format allows for 24 songs each hour by re-editing the tracks.

It was a lot easier to do 24 songs an hour, I submit, when (1) songs were barely over two minutes and (2) you didn’t have to sell 15 minutes of ad space.

Still, having created what I think is the definitive two-minute edit of “In-a-Gadda-da-Vida,” which runs seventeen minutes if you don’t put your foot down, I’m probably the wrong person to complain about this.

Admittedly, I’ve gone the other direction as well. Once upon a time, after listening to the Gentrys’ 1965 version of “Keep On Dancing,” which came out of the studio running barely 90 seconds, prompting the producer to start the song over and run just enough of it to break the two-minute mark, I hacked up a 3:42 extended version in which I did the same thing the producer did, only twice. Amp Radio wouldn’t play it, of course, but at least they’d have an obvious place (or two) to edit it.

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Sentenced to retention

There is no way I could do this:

I was not even a retention specialist. Part of my job, though, was to prevent calls from having to go there. Which is to say that someone would call in wanting to either scale back or cancel service, and my job was to either (a) convince them not to or (b) wear them down to increase the chances that the retention specialist would succeed. As near as I could tell, if they wanted to cancel the account, I would present a whole bunch of reasons why they shouldn’t, and then if I failed they would go to a retention specialist who would then say all of the same things (maybe in a different order, maybe not).

It is generally believed that it costs less to retain a customer than to acquire one, which, if nothing else, makes me wonder how much it costs to acquire one.

I am temperamentally unsuited to this sort of job, and I am not alone:

There were a lot of things that I didn’t like about the job. I am not a phone person to begin with. I am not the most social or friendly person, and I was in a job where both were expected of me. Over the phone. I had angry customers, demanding customers. I was cursed and yelled at. Even one guy who liked me started cussing me out when he found out that he could not direct future customer service calls to me specifically.

Fortunately, no one calling the organization to complain has demanded an audience with me. The spectacle would not be pretty.

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LED astray

Last November:

I escalated to LightCon 3, installing a pair of funky-looking but still bulb-shaped LED lights, with approximately the same brightness — 800 lumens — and 12-watt power consumption. Color temperature, at 3000°K, is slightly higher (therefore less “warm” — go figure), and assuming three hours’ usage a day, these critters are supposed to last eight years. I’m not entirely sure I’m going to last eight years.

Admittedly, they got more than three hours’ usage a day — six was typical — and yet one of them has died at the pitiful age of nine months. It also made a weird blat and emitted a strange smell, like I don’t get enough of that in the kitchen already.

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Dream yon, autocorrupt

As more and more mobile users enter the fray, you’re going to see stuff like this:

Yahoo Answers screenshot: Where is the speed control sensor for a 2000 Nassau maximum?

At least, I think he means “speed control sensor.”

Still: “Nassau”? Could this actually be the bitchin’ Camaro his folks drove up from the Bahamas?

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Vergrößerungen

I have no idea why this should be so, but evidently this is so:

Germany is the world’s leader in penis enlargements, with five times as many people in the country undergoing the procedure than anywhere else in the world…Figures released by the International Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery showed Germany performed 2,786 of the 15,000 penis enlargements across the globe in 2013. The second highest country, Venezuela, performed 473.

Then again, the other half of the species, in their search for Teutonic firmness, ordered twenty times as many bewb jobs, and probably got 0.05 percent as much spam suggesting same.

Side note: Twelve Iranian men ordered wangoplasty, the lowest number in the Society’s tally. Write your own joke.

(Via Interested-Participant.)

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Gimme rewrite

Rachel Ann Nunes has written forty-six novels and published thirty-seven of them. I have to figure somebody thought ripping off just one of them would go unnoticed. Somebody was wrong:

[A]n anonymous author on the Internet, who is known only by a logo and a fake name, had plagiarized my novel, A Bid for Love (formerly entitled Love to the Highest Bidder), which is the first of a trilogy.

It has been verified by four separate readers that Sam Taylor Mullens did, indeed, add steamy scenes to The Auction Deal, her revised version of my Christian novel, and claimed it as her own. Her subsequent emails to different people and contradicting statements online while trying to cover her tracks has shown a definite intent to do fraud. This path she has followed is far more outlandish than any novel I’ve ever read.

Fiction will never be as strange as truth. (No, I didn’t just make that up.)

Oh, and the advance reader copies of Mullens’ book?

When Mullens heard of my contacting the reviewers directly, she immediately requested that all the reviewers delete the ARC.

This is not the action of a person proud to defend her own work, if you know what I mean.

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A pretty good call

A vision of (some of) the future:

Unfortunately, morning email is still a chokepoint.

Well, at least he didn’t mention flying cars.

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Serving suggestion for March 15th

Caesar dressing by Kraft, stabbed in the back

(A reddit find from Miss Cellania.)

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A shortage of pixie dust

Is the economy well and truly dead? Well, no. But it’s fading. Think Tinker Bell, if Tink had to contend with the Federal Reserve:

The economy is an area in which belief equals reality or, at least, belief has an important effect on behavior which produces the reality. That’s what John Maynard Keynes referred to as “animal spirits”, an important force in pulling economies out of recessions.

Welcome to roadkill. Where did all the spirited critters go?

Whatever his failing, Bill Clinton was a relentless and indefatigable cheerleader for the economy. His confidence built confidence in others… George W. Bush didn’t have that same quality and neither does Barack Obama.

Of course, neither W. nor BHO had the benefit of various 90s booms, and neither of them could conceive of a budget that wasn’t deeply in the red. And Clinton had had hard-nosed Congressional Republicans of the Newt Gingrich stripe who kept the pressure on. Today’s GOP, by comparison, has a collective proboscis made of rubber baby buggy bumpers or something.

And whatever Bill did in the 90s won’t redound to Hillary’s credit in 2016, since nobody can imagine her as a cheerleader, for the economy or for anything else.

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A conspiracy of northpaws

This post by Robert Stacy McCain has drawn over five dozen comments so far, of which this one by TheOtherAndrewB is my favorite:

Since the annual Airing of Grievances has come early this year, why don’t we move on to the REALLY important stuff? Only 2% of Americans are gay, but fully 10% are left-handed. How DARE we assume that this constitutes a majority! Sure, 90% is bigger than 10% in your cis-handed world, but that is just oppressive dexteronormative thinking. We should allow (and by allow, I mean force) children to experience the rich diversity of left-handedness. Make all children wear an enormous iron mitten on their right hands until age 18. And, while we are at it, lets force every manufacturer of doorknobs, light bulbs, sporting equipment, cars, industrial machinery and computers to reverse everything they make. At no cost to the consumer and with no unintended consequences.

Ned Flanders was not availididdlyable for comment.

(Why, yes, I do seem to be mentioning light bulbs a lot these days.)

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