In other news, Ted Kennedy is dead

Screen shot from the OklahomanWhich is what’s wrong with the heading on this otherwise mostly-innocuous blurb in the Sunday Oklahoman: how the hell is this still “Ted Kennedy’s seat” when Ted Kennedy has been dead for more than two years? And it’s not like Scott Brown, the actual incumbent, is nothing more than a placeholder; that would be Paul G. Kirk, who was appointed by Governor Deval Patrick to complete Kennedy’s term until such time that a special election could be held. (The circumstances, you may be sure, had their bizarre aspects.) Brown won that election in his own right, and even though he’s technically, as prescribed by law, adhering to the original election schedule — Kennedy, had he lived, would have served at least through 2012 — this seat is no more Ted Kennedy’s than it is Henry Cabot Lodge’s. (Or, for that matter, Henry Cabot Lodge, Jr.’s. Or JFK’s.)

And who took that picture of Elizabeth Warren? This is about as unflattering a photo of her as I’ve ever seen — okay, this one might be worse — and it plays right into the hands of the “Conservative Women Are Hotter” crowd.

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No one can heal your screen

The Disposable Society gets an unwanted boost:

Vizio, America’s second best selling LCD TV brand, is now telling some owners of broken sets that their televisions cannot be repaired. If the set is past the 12-month factory warranty, Vizio advises owners to buy a replacement set from the company.

HD Guru came across Jeff Bartran’s letter to Vizio CEO and founder William Wang complaining that the company’s service department had deemed “unrepairable” his 13-and-a-half-month-old, high-end $1868 Vizio 55-inch [set]. Bertran says Wang never responded.

HD Guru can’t make up his mind how to spell Jeff’s last name, apparently. But he did figure out that what Vizio means by “unrepairable,” of course, is “costs too much to fix”:

Vizio’s Florida customer service center confirmed in a phone call that defective set owners are indeed told that their TVs are unrepairable when the failure turns out to be the backlight unit (BLU), the light source within all LED and LCD flat panels. Bertran told HD Guru that, according to Vizio, his set’s problem was indeed backlight failure. He also stated Vizio offered him a replacement at a discount. However, the discounted price was still higher than one he could get from online retailers offering the same Vizio model.

Then again, Vizio doesn’t actually design any of their own stuff: they buy it off some Chinese dock somewhere and paste their name on it. It might be that they just don’t have the tech suds to fix these contraptions. I have a monitor by the now-defunct Soyo company, which apparently followed similar standards of procurement; I couldn’t even get non-electrical replacement parts — read “plastic base” — from them.

On the other hand, one of my two TVs is a Vizio LCD, and it has been unfailingly reliable during its three and a half years in service: not so much as one dead pixel, let alone a bad backlight.

(Via Fark.)

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The bucks accumulate here

Some observations on this year’s Forbes 400:

  • Harold Hamm (Continental Resources, Enid and eventually Oklahoma City, #36) has more money than Rupert Murdoch (News Corp, #38).
  • Philip Anschutz (new owner of Opubco, #39) is right behind Murdoch.
  • The highest-ranking Rockefeller is David (tied for #159).
  • S. Truett Cathy (tied for #375) has made a billion dollars off Chick-fil-A.
  • “Half of Oklahoma’s billionaires,” tweeted Brandon Dutcher, “don’t have college degrees.” I pointed out that this was a small sample; I am not drawing any statistical conclusions therefrom.

Perhaps the funniest thing: this canned Clear Channel story proclaiming five Oklahoma billionaires (presumably 2½ of which lack college degrees), which misspells “billionaires” and which leaves off the man with the most money: Tulsa oilman/banker/Solyndrator George Kaiser (#31).

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A wrinkle in newsprint

Or perhaps in journalism itself:

Detroit Free Press front page

(Original photo here; this is the Freep article.)

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A wrinkle in time

The loveliness of youth is not quite as persistent as we’d like it to be:

[T]hose who were spectacularly beautiful when young don’t necessarily age in a way that keeps them a few steps ahead of people who started out looking much more ordinary. And cosmetic surgery doesn’t necessarily help; sometimes the formerly beautiful are more strongly motivated to have ever-escalating interventions that end up making them look not only like a caricature of their former selves, but like aliens from another planet.

See, for instance, almost any page of Awful Plastic Surgery.

Those of us who started out at the other end of the curve — well, I’m not claiming to be cute or anything, but I think I look better now than I did ten years ago, lumbering gait and vanishing hair notwithstanding. It helps that I’m a bit thinner these days, which has made my face look more like a face and less like a leftover Have a Nice Day button. Still, I don’t think I’ve aged quite as well as Yahoo Serious, a few months older than I.

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Worth a darn

Apparently socks aren’t worth it anymore:

I remember once we were all out at the mall, she was trying to find darning cotton — black darning cotton, so she could fix some of my dad’s socks — and nowhere had it. Not even Woolworth’s, which normally seemed to have such things. My dad quipped: “Twenty years ago, when you got a hole in socks, you said, ‘Darn these socks’ and put them in the mending basket. Now, I guess, when you get a hole in socks, you say ‘Damn these socks!’ and throw them away.”

The best I can hope for, usually, is for the bad ones to disappear from the laundry and re-emerge somewhere in the dreaded Hozone, though I must here admit that I haven’t had a sock develop a hole in several weeks. I blame neutrinos.

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Now with Blackguard™

There is black, and there is — um, blacker?

This morning, the supplier wanted to know if I wanted black, or black/black.

“What is the difference?” I asked.

“Well, there is black, but the black/black is darker than the black,” she explained.

“What could be darker than black?” I asked.

“Black/black is darker than black.”

“Black/black isn’t even a color,” I accused. “Black/black is someone just saying black twice.”

I dunno. There are times when I have to side with Zaphod Beeblebrox:

When you try and operate one of these weird black controls which are labelled in black on a black background a small black light lights up black to let you know you’ve done it. What is this? Some kind of intergalactic hyperhearse?

And there are times when I adopt the standards of Nigel Tufnel:

It’s like, how much more black could this be? and the answer is none. None more black.

But ultimately, black is black, dammit:

Arguably the biggest hit ever to come from a Spanish band with a German vocalist and a British producer.

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Whose asphalt is it?

Mark Alger points out that the people who are supposed to be making money off motor fuels aren’t:

Whenever the subject is the price of gasoline, some smart guy always points out that the gas station owner makes a penny a gallon, and the oil company ten cents, while the government grabs a buck-and-a-half. That grab is suppose to be going to highways — to pay both for new construction and for upkeep.

What did they do with that money? Hmm?

I have a brother who runs a C-store in the Texas Hill Country. Sometimes, he says, he makes as much as two cents a gallon. (I asked him if the markup was any higher on premium; he said it wasn’t.)

The government, however, has yet to grab $1.50 a gallon — so far. The American Petroleum Institute, which has no reason to minimize the numbers, puts out a report every quarter that breaks down both federal and state taxes on gas, and only in four states — I’m sure you can guess which ones — was the combined take in excess of 60 cents. (The Federal excise tax of 18.4 cents is applied nationwide.)

And truth be told, I wouldn’t object too much to a modest increase in the gas tax were there some sort of guarantee that it would be used for what it’s supposed to be used for — but what are the chances of that?

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It’s Download Like a Pirate Day

Well, “day” probably isn’t the correct term:

How many hours will it take to download 36.6gb at 45-50kb/s? It’s a sitcom series.

At this point, we’re talking fortnights, not hours, assuming nothing goes wrong — and how often does nothing go wrong?


How to know if my windows xp is retail or OEM ?

Weren’t you there when you bought it?

Oh. Silly me.

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Domo arigato, mystery motto

Many of the popular blog-software packages make room for a line of descriptive text, often directly under the blog title. The WordPress default is something like “Just another WordPress blog”; I’m not absolutely certain because I change it within seconds of an install. And anyway, the slogan I adopted back in 2002 — “I couldn’t possibly fail to disagree with you less” — is hard-coded into the sidebar for now.

I usually don’t notice these unless they change and they take up either more or less space than the text they replaced. Which is how I noticed Jeffro’s: “We do not rent pigs.” Of course, a man who does rent pigs — well, he’s hard to stop.

Now Tam changes hers out on a semi-regular basis, and this time she’s channeling Trænt Reznør: “What have I become, my Swedish friend? Everyone I know goes away, even Sven…”

If you have a favorite somewhere, by all means mention it here. It might be gone next week.

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Peering into the Zooeyscope

Scott Collins of the Los Angeles Times ShowTracker blog has the numbers:

New Girl, which has bespectacled alt-goddess Deschanel playing a geeky young woman who moves in with three men after she catches her live-in boyfriend cheating, opened to a relatively modest 10.1 million total viewers, according to early data from Nielsen.

But it was among young adults that New Girl really shone. The comedy was, impressively, the top-rated program of the night among adults ages 18 to 49, the demographic most sought by advertisers. New Girl notched a 4.7 rating/12 share, waltzing past its rivals in the 9 p.m. half-hour.

As a resident of the Flyover Zone, I am required to add: “8 p.m. Central.”

Fishersville Mike has a theory on why this show is successful:

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.

Incidentally, Hello Giggles, partly owned by ZD, is running recaps of the show every Wednesday with Fox’s blessing. And Zooey herself sent up this picture (no, not to me specifically), which is apparently a still from episode three:

Zooey Deschanel as Jess Day

“Still,” incidentally, also works as an instruction to one’s heart.

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We put the “due” in “due process”

The Supreme Court of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts has ruled that drivers fighting traffic tickets are still liable for fees, even if the tickets are thrown out:

The high court saw no injustice in collecting $70 from Ralph C. Sullivan after he successfully fought a $100 ticket for failure to stay within a marked lane.

Bay State drivers given speeding tickets and other moving violations have twenty days either to pay up or make a non-refundable $20 payment to appeal to a clerk-magistrate. After that, further challenge to a district court judge can be had for a non-refundable payment of $50. Sullivan argued that motorists were being forced to pay “fees” not assessed on other types of violations, including drug possession. He argued this was a violation of the Constitution’s Equal Protection clause, but the high court justices found this to be reasonable.

Which of course has nothing to do with this:

Last year, the fees for the clerk-magistrate hearings generated $3,678,620 in revenue for the courts.

Sullivan says he does not plan to appeal to SCOTUS.

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It’s Friday, mate

I quote from Rebecca Black’s Facebook wall:

I’m coming to Australia to perform live thanks to Telstra!! :D This is the best thing since microwavable popcorn.

(Note to self: Amend title to read “It’s Saturday, mate.” Darned old International Date Line.)

And yes, she’s actually going to Sydney: it’s not just a satellite hookup.

One of the common complaints about “Friday” is the high, nasal vocal. Now I can’t do a thing about “nasal” — I suppose there may be filters for such things, but the software is likely above my pay grade — but reasoning that if she’s still singing in twenty years, she’ll still be singing this song, albeit in a lower voice, I decided to experiment with dropping her (and her anonymous and/or anomalous background singers) down a couple of semitones. You can listen to not quite thirty seconds’ worth here [mp3, 700k].

Disclosure: I can’t stand microwave popcorn.

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Finer hairs to split

Were there a canonical list of Phrases Both Overworked And Unnecessary, “There oughta be a law” would almost certainly rank near the top, since a substantial percentage of the population believes that any undesirable outcome is the result of, you guessed it, not having the law they think they oughta have.

I demur, and I refer you to Roberta X for a counterexample:

For example, this news story, about a young man with a meth problem, who hopped on his “60 mph … bored-out” 50 cc scooter, helmetless, crashed it and was killed. Blood tests showed he had very high levels of unprescribed medication. While his widow admits “he relapsed,” she wants the State to step in, expressing the wish there’d been a helmet law, at least.

… Now, the last time I checked, the State had already outlawed the taking of, say, controlled substances; the State already had statutes that required any scooter with an engine displacement of 50 cc or greater — even if you bored it out and installed an oversized piston after buying it as a sub-50 cc — to be titled, insured, plated and operated by a licensed rider. And, though a moderately-clever lawyer could slip through the bars, the only exception to riding without a helmet in the law is for persons with a full Motorcycle Endorsement on their driver’s license (the State figuring you’ve learned enough to make an informed decision). So, having flouted at least two laws and possibly three, one of them a felony, would adding more laws for the guy to break have prevented his death?

Remind me to hang out a DARWIN RULZ! banner.

If it’s indeed true that the average American commits at least three federal crimes at the felony level each and every day, and yet the streets somehow aren’t running with blood, isn’t it just possible that we have more than enough laws already?

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Delayed gratitude

Ann Althouse, explaining the functional differences between short shorts and miniskirts:

A miniskirt is more flattering because of the way it draws attention to the legs… without all the bunchy crotch business. But with a skirt, there’s always the problem of your underpants (or whatever) showing. At a certain point in the hem-elevation, you’ve got to stop or switch to shorts (or never bend over or sit down).

I know what I’m talking about. I was the first girl in my junior high school class to wear miniskirts. I was sent to the vice principal’s office many times for wearing short skirts (and I defended myself and kept doing it). And I rehemmed skirts over and over many times throughout the 1960s.

Persuaded as I am that the legs are the last things to go, I’m leaving it at that, and in the unlikely event that anyone needs me, I’ll be in my bunk.

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Not that anyone is asking anymore

“Don’t ask, don’t tell?” Smitty don’t care:

While I’m essentially done with my military involvement, I’m confident that my opinion is mirrored by a huge chunk, if not the overwhelming bulk, of people in uniform: we don’t care. Specifically, no one really cares about anybody else’s junk. Sure, we live and conduct personal hygiene in some relatively immodest ways. Yes, the transcript veers a bit into the graphic from time to time. Indeed, there was some historically reactionary attitude offered toward the alternative lifestyles crowd.

Yet the military is first and foremost about rounds on target in support and defense of the U.S. Constitution. It has never been about being a dating service.

My own military involvement ground to a halt several decades ago, during a period where you could be drummed out of the service just for looking crossways at the wrong time, but I suspect — admittedly, it didn’t occur to me to ask — that most of us 1970s-vintage grunts really didn’t give a flip one way or the other, occasional bouts of OGA* notwithstanding, and if the NCOs and the officers were doing their job morale-wise, none of us were likely to rat on a suspect unless he’d slipped from latent to blatant, and possibly not even then. There was a war on at the time, after all, and we might have been thinking that if our unit drew too much of the wrong kind of attention, it might mean an unexpected billet for one or several of us in, um, a less-desirable duty station somewhere down the line. Of course, we wouldn’t say that out loud, either.

* Organized grab-ass [a term poached from the Marines, who, well, organized it].

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