Now is the time when we breathe

After going 1-1 on the Left Coast over the weekend, the Thunder were anxious to go into the All-Star break with a win, and they got their first break well before tipoff: Sacramento überguard Tyreke Evans turned up with plantar fasciitis, poor fellow, and the Kings, who didn’t play that badly otherwise, were blown out of Oklahoma City’s Large Indoor Downtown Roundabout to the tune of 126-96.

Your Telltale Statistics: DeMarcus Cousins, fined by the Kings yesterday for an altercation after Saturday night’s game with the Thunder, was the leading scorer for Sacramento with 21; Daequan Cook, epoxied to the OKC bench for much of the season, came up with 20 points to lead the Thunder.

Oh, and this: it was OKC 100, Sacramento 75, after the third quarter. With an abundance of garbage time, Serge Ibaka actually got more minutes than anyone else in home whites, playing 28:12, and all twelve active players put in at least some time. This won’t help Kevin Durant’s average — he finished with 17 — but I suspect he’s happier with the win. And in a mere 25 minutes, Russell Westbrook came up with a skimpy but legitimate double-double: 10 points, 11 assists. The on-again off-again Jeff Green was on again, with 16 points on 7-9 shooting. OKC shot an even 50 percent, and were 3-17 from beyond the arc, except for Cook, who hit five of seven.

The Kings, to their credit, never acted like it was over until the fourth quarter, when the benches were emptied. Cousins reeled in 13 boards to lead everyone. Beno Udrih and Pooh Jeter, splitting duty at the point, each scored in double figures. Apart from a flurry of missed treys — they hit only two of 11 — there really wasn’t much they did wrong; they just weren’t able to do enough against a Thunder defense which actually showed up in the first quarter for once.

And so OKC goes into the break at 35-19. The schedule gets hairy rather quickly afterwards: next Tuesday at home against the Clippers, Wednesday at San Antonio, Friday at Orlando, then back home Sunday against the other L.A. team.

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Aw, you can walk it

Someone on the Oklahoman’s editorial board has evidently been beaned with an industrial-strength snowball:

Any number of schools could have held classes last week, except that the roads where the buses would have had to travel to pick up students were still snowpacked and treacherous. So schools stayed closed and now superintendents and principals are trying to figure out how to make up so much lost time.

Wait, what? It’s the fault of the buses? Students could have just walked through the record cold, or their parents could have run into one another on the way out of the neighborhood?

We’ve made the argument before — the Oklahoma Constitution requires the state to provide children an education, but says nothing about providing them transportation to and from school. Even so, this practice has continued for generations.

Also continuing for generations: the calls by the Oklahoman for school consolidation, which would almost certainly require transportation for students nearest the schools to be closed.

Two possibilities present themselves:

  • Somebody’s vacation plans got messed up by snow days;
  • Someone at the Black Tower has a friend with an independent bus business.

Take your pick.

(Via Brittany Novotny.)

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The inherent vice of hotel pools

Donna reports that the pool at Atlantic City’s Borgata is “very clean,” and explains why this qualifies as news:

Having spent a large part of my working life traveling across the US and staying at Holiday Inns, I can tell you that about 95% of the pools out there have a floating top layer consisting of oil, sweat, hairspray and piss.

It ain’t exactly Churchill’s “blood, toil, tears and sweat,” but then it’s hard to imagine Churchill staying either (1) in Atlantic City or (2) at a Holiday Inn.

And come to think of it, isn’t sweat heavier than water?

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Gee, Wally

It’s all fun and games, running the onscreen caption machine, until, well, something like this happens:

Wally Szczerbiak

The Random Dude portrayed is former NBA forward — and current CBS analyst — Wally Szczerbiak. Clearly the network needs to do a better job of recognizing its own staff.

(Via Henry Abbott.)

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The redoubles gave them away

A paragraph from Phillip Alder’s contract-bridge column yesterday:

When the World Bridge Federation joined the International Olympic Committee, players had to obey the drug rules, which restricted caffeine. However, the IOC has relented, accepting that caffeine is not a performance-enhancing drug for a bridge player, as it might be for an athlete; it just helps contestants to stay awake.

Actually, if I need the queen of trumps to be on my right for the finesse to work, I’m rather hoping the player holding same dozes off.

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The Party of Huh?

Wherein I attempt to rebrand the Grand Old Party as something a trifle less useless.

Update: Now crossposted at Eternity Road, with the title I probably should have used in the first place.

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Zooeypalooza 9!

We’ve gone too long without one of these, wouldn’t you say?

Zooeypalooza 9!

Embiggenment of individual photos can be had with a click.

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

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The next big thing, Part XCIV

Jeffrey Zeldman is kicking in a few bucks to an application called Readability. No big deal? Don’t be too sure:

Readability focuses the user’s attention on the content, creating an enhanced — and often much more accessible — reading experience. It also subverts the typical web browsing design paradigm, where each website offers a different visual experience. Instead, to the Readability user, all web content looks the same, once she has clicked a button to engage the Readability view.

Web designers are even now falling on their swords. But that’s barely the half of it:

What Readability 2.0 adds to the mix is automatic payment for content creators. How it works is simple: I pay a small fee each month to use Readability. Most of that money gets divided between the creators of the web pages I’ve viewed in Readability.

For “most,” you can read “70 percent.” And there goes another paradigm:

For the first time, content monetization is no longer the problem of content creators. Writers can stop being salespeople, and focus on what they do best: creating compelling content. The better the content, the more people who engage with it via Readability, the more money writers will make — with no bookkeeping, no ad sales, and no hassle.

I have to admit, I am intrigued by the possibilities of this scheme.

The bucks — okay, more likely the cents — aren’t going to roll in unless I include a snippet of Readability code in the template, as Zeldman explains:

[T]he program is opt-in.

If you want to participate, you go to Readability.com and *register* your site with the program, inserting a unique identifier in your template that the site creates for you.

Easy enough, though of course I have about 8000 static pages that would have to be updated.

I remember when CSS first appeared, back in the Jurassic period of Web development, and we were told that it was important to keep content and style wholly separate. Now we know why — maybe.

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Occupational hazards

Earlier this month, I said something to the effect that Her Majesty’s Government was putting entirely too much effort into “making life easier for the criminal element.”

Just in case you assumed I was engaging in the fine art of hyperbole, here’s a fresh example of what I mean:

A spate of thefts in several towns and villages in Kent and Surrey over the past few months led to many householders taking action to protect their property.

Some have been warned by police that using wire mesh to reinforce shed windows was “dangerous” and could lead to criminals claiming compensation if they “hurt themselves”.

Now in a civilized area, this situation doesn’t come up, as Peter explains:

Anyone trying to break into my shed is likely to encounter a rather more effective deterrent than window mesh. In fact, he might find it so effective that he’ll never burgle a shed again!

And that’s the bonus benefit: a very low recidivism rate.

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Thoroughly crushed

Those of us who have loved neither too wisely nor too well have perhaps an enhanced sensitivity to the Classic American Crush, the heart demanding an object of fixation to fill an otherwise-empty space, and the eyes alighting on just such an object at exactly the wrong time. Recounting the full list of those who have unwittingly filled this role for me would be painful for me and probably embarrassing for them, so for the moment I’ll confine myself to fictional characters.

When I was eleven, Freddy Cannon put out a bizarre little stomper called “Abigail Beecher,” a name positively redolent of Victorian gentility: you half-expected her to be teaching history in some classroom with dark-paneled walls and a blackboard so old it was actually green. Well, that much she did; but according to Freddy, she drove a Jaguar E-type, was conversant with contemporary teenage dance steps, and occasionally even surfed. Not a Van Halenesque object of lust, exactly, but someone you couldn’t possibly ignore, especially if you were an Impressionable Youth.

Officially in those days I didn’t know much about history, mostly because I was getting my romantic advice from Sam Cooke. So I spent some time in contemplation of what Art Fleming on Jeopardy! called “unreal estate,” which inevitably led me to Mrs Darrin Stephens, of whom I would write at the tender age of fifty-one:

For a squirrelly little kid like me who never imagined himself with so much as a temporary girlfriend, a “card-carrying, broom-riding, house-haunting, cauldron-stirring witch” was exactly the ticket to suburban happiness, and that doofus Durwood, or whatever his name was, simply wasn’t worthy of someone like that.

For the moment, I overlooked the likelihood of clashes with the in-laws, but who doesn’t?

Still, both Miss Beecher and Mrs Stephens were older and wiser than I, and eventually my teenage self turned to someone my own age and my own level of bewilderment: Cassandra Mortmain, narrator of Dodie Smith’s novel I Capture the Castle, who explains her situation in the opening pages of the Sixpenny Book:

[U]p to now my stories have been very stiff and self-conscious. The only time father obliged me by reading one of them, he said I combined stateliness with a desperate attempt to be funny. He told me to relax and let the words flow out of me.

Apparently Mr Mortmain had anticipated my own style by several years. And ultimately poor Cassandra is waylaid by a crush of her own, which unwinds in the most torturous of ways — except for the fact that, well, it doesn’t. Of these three women, she’s the one I’ve had the least success getting over.

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He only loves me for my can

Diet Pepsi has introduced a new beverage can. Same volume, but taller than the industry average; the rules of geometry being what they are, it’s also narrower than average, and you can predict what happens next:

The National Eating Disorders Association said it takes offense to the can.

Reinforcing stereotypes, doncha know, especially the one where women are “more attractive if they appear to be five or six inches high, a little thinner than the usual Pepsi can, and made of aluminum.”

Obviously what these poor, overwrought ladies need is to lap their empty calories out of a short, squat bowl, which won’t upset their worldview quite so much as something Disgustingly Skinny.

Me, I’ll go pour another Dr Pepper.

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Strange search-engine queries (263)

If you’re just joining us, this is a weekly routine wherein we acknowledge the fact that rather a lot of traffic comes from inadvertent search hits on the archives, and that some of said searches are downright hilarious, or at least somewhat loopy.

this is not a valentine:  If you have to ask, you’re not getting any. Valentines, I mean.

tim mcgraw penis:  I consider this purely a matter of Faith’s.

is there nude women at the pennsylvania renaissance faire:  That would take all the fun out of making medieval costumes, wouldn’t it?

beautiful woman expensive clothes duing housework sexy vids:  If she can afford expensive clothes, she might be able to afford paying someone else to do (not “du”) the housework.

does chikfilet have wifi at racetrack in Kansas city:  This is the first warning sign of I Won’t Go Anywhere Without My Precious Device Syndrome.

middle aged amature ugly slut women who fart and then shit on the toilet tubes:  That’s a good way to get yourself banned from Chick-Fil-A.

why are democrats called jackasses:  It’s a sexist thing. Many Democrats are actually female.

wood chuck chucking wood osha:  The woodchuck was fined $10,000 and was required to obtain EPA certification for any future such incidents.

hydrochlorothiazide marijauna:  Instead of giving you the munchies, it makes you go to the bathroom every two hours.

96 2500 can i bore the motor:  Sure. Just start reading this page out loud with the hood open.

Oh, and to the wisenheimer in Edmond who asked for site:dustbury.com zooey deschanel:  Well, duh.

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Big shots

Well, maybe not all that big, but the Warriors put up a lot of shots: tonight in Oakland they put up 99 of them, and David Lee’s dunk with 21 seconds left was the 99th, putting Golden State up by four. Monta Ellis added two more free throws in the waning moments, and that was it: OKC turned the ball over on its next possession, and will be sent home with a 100-94 loss.

The Warriors hit 43 of those 99 shots. Of the ones they didn’t, twenty got turned into offensive rebounds. (The Thunder had only two offensive rebounds all night.) Then again, this is what they do; Oklahoma City didn’t have any effective way to shut them off.

Ellis led all scorers with 33; as is his wont, he played almost the entire game (45:46). Lee recorded 23 points and 19 rebounds; Stephen Curry had 23 points and 13 assists. (The Thunder had only 15 assists all night). There wasn’t much more, but the Warriors didn’t need much more.

OKC put up only 59 shots; they hit 31, for 52.5 percent, but they got creamed on the backboards, and the three top scorers — as usual, Kevin Durant, Russell Westbrook and Jeff Green — produced 29, 21 and 12. That last turnover was the Thunder’s 20th, and that number is pretty scary in its own right.

So a split of the California trip, and now back home to await the Kings, followed by the All-Star break. At 34-19, the Thunder is still on pace for 52-53 wins, but the schedule isn’t going to get a whole lot easier.

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And worth every scent

Axe display at Walmart

And they say Walmart doesn’t know what they’re doing.

(Via FAIL Blog.)

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Balls for me, but not for thee

Polite little story from Great Falls’ Prairie Star:

According to Anne Key who ranches with her husband, Tom, near Great Falls, Mont., lambing is in full swing and it is going great.

“We had tagged the 200th lamb on Jan. 28,” she said. That was the start of a crazy weekend. By Monday, Jan. 31, they had tagged 40 more lambs and the tiny fluff balls are still coming.

Dynamo Dave wanted to throw in a kind word for those “tiny fluff balls,” but the Prairie Star wasn’t having any of that:

“Your comment cannot be accepted due to the presence of profanity. Please remove any objectionable content from your comment and try again.”

Speaking of comments, the late Harry W. Baals was not available for any.

Be that as it may, our best wishes to the Keys.

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Battle of the Belge

It was some years ago that a Mr St John of Huntingdon said he couldn’t think of anything more derogatory than “Belgians.” I don’t know about that, but right now, Belgium is in a dead heat with Somalia for “Longest period without a proper government,” the parliamentary elections having been held way back in June, and yet there’s still no coalition.

Senator Lysistrata Marleen Temmerman has proposed the following measure to push things along, as it were:

A Belgian senator and physician wants her fellow legislators to go on a “sex strike” until the country can break the stalemate that has left it without a government for nine months.

Marleen Temmerman’s “legs closed” campaign started as a joke, she told the Star on Wednesday. Now she can only hope it might work where everything else has failed.

“It sounds funny, but the situation is very serious. We have to get a government. There are people crying in the streets for services.”

Belgium is pretty much fragmented for the moment: there are distinct Walloon (Francophone) and Flemish (Dutch-speaking) regions, each with a measure of autonomy and neither with a great deal of fondness for the other. (Brussels, the capital, is officially bilingual.) Temmerman, judging by her Web site, is Flemish; a stance like this would suggest that she’s not among the separatists who would like to see the country split into Whatta Walloonia and Stupid Flanders.

And it’s not like there are no role models:

“We have two cultures, but everywhere in the world people are living with different cultures. Look at Canada. You have a government, why can’t we?”

The Parti Québécois was not available for comment.

This represents a change from earlier in the month, when Temmerman played the perhaps-inevitable “Can’t you guys take a joke?” card, prompting a retort from Jeroen Overmeer, who heads up the New Flemish Alliance, which won a parliamentary plurality but which has yet to form a government:

“Ordinary people may joke about the political situation, but members of parliament have a greater responsibility.”

But Temmerman responded: “I see two different groups of people here. You have people who see the humor who can laugh about it. And you have people who don’t see the humor of it at all.”

(Via Ferdinand Barduma, who made the Aristophanes connection before I did, and Erlend Johan Alvestad, who found the followup.)

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