It will live and live, and so forth

What a surprise: the B. C. Clark Jingle has a Facebook page.

What I haven’t figured out yet is why I should follow it on Twitter.

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Pointed disclosure

Now it can be told: the secret of Google Maps. (Not a word to anyone, y’hear?)

Google Maps under construction

(An epic win from failblog.org.)

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What do you want to C4?

While you’re avoiding going to the airport, here’s a fresh idea on the Grope and Change front, this one from an old bud of Dick Stanley’s:

All we need to do is develop a booth that you can step into that will not X-ray you, but will detonate any explosive device you may have hidden on or in your body. The explosion will be contained within the sealed booth.

This would be a win-win for everyone. There would be none of this crap about racial profiling and the device would eliminate long and expensive trials.

I suspect this is probably easier said than done, but now at least it’s been said.

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Past dilute

At the heart of homeopathy, apparently, is the notion that as the amount of actual dissolved compound, whatever it is, approaches zero, the greater the potency.

Which leads to a question that Martin Robbins was willing to ask: “So can you overdose on the stuff?”

Landing in Robbins’ inbox shortly thereafter, the following advice:

  • Arsenicum Album 30C or up higher, try a 200C
  • Repeat dose 3 times daily until symptoms appear.
  • Stop them if you don’t want the damage to be permanant
  • but continue if you really want to be a believer in the power of homeopathy.
  • You should begin to feel a burning from your mouth to your anus, incredibly painful.

Well, let’s see. Production of arsenicum album is simple enough: separate the arsenic from a suitable mineral, such as arsenopyrite, by baking; grind to a powder and mix with lactose. A 30C preparation is a dilution to the 10-60 level, which means that there is one molecule of the compound for every 1060 molecules of water. To test this yourself, dump a teaspoon of the stuff into Lake Itasca, at the headwaters of the Mississippi River, and then wait for it to show up in New Orleans. This is actually far less than 30C, but you get the idea; 200C is 10-400, which requires you commandeer the entire known universe for your experiment.

Of course, if you actually drank that much water, you’d have problems far beyond Taco Bell-at-2-am levels of gastric discomfort.

(Via Fark.)

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Not so spendy

Will there be a lockout if there’s no new Collective Bargaining Agreement after the NBA season? Maybe, maybe not. But apparently some of the players are downsizing their blingage:

Brandon Jennings of the Milwaukee Bucks, who earned about $2.2 million last year in his first NBA season, is the proud owner of a Ford Edge, which cost $26,000.

New York Knicks guard Roger Mason Jr. said he recently traded in his Bentley convertible for a used Cadillac Escalade.

Last time this happened, twelve years ago:

Union executive director Billy Hunter had been at his post for less than two years and veteran players and agents said many of their clients and teammates didn’t seem to realize their multiple mortgages and car payments wouldn’t stop coming after their paychecks did. Because many NBA players come from families where living month-to-month is the norm, they said, few made contingency plans.

For now, Billy Hunter is sending out save-your-money messages, just in case.

(Via HoopsHype.)

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This is not a tailgate party

Sage reports that this guy has managed to total three cars so far, and it’s no surprise why:

“Move up right behind the car in front of you so nobody can pull in ahead of you.” He’s never heard of the 3-second rule.

Or of common courtesy, I surmise.

Unfortunately, kindred spirits to this doofus infest almost every mile of Interstate, or so it seems.

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Rough as a cob

Seemingly unlike any current officeholders, Al Gore’s apparently willing to admit having messed up once in a while:

“It is not a good policy to have these massive subsidies for first generation ethanol,” said Gore, speaking at a green energy business conference in Athens, Greece. “First generation ethanol I think was a mistake. The energy conversion ratios are at best very small,” he said, referring to how much energy is produced in the process.

He still has some enthusiasm for second-generation ethanol, produced not directly from food crops but from grasses or farm waste, where the yield is presumably better. Still, it’s not hard to see why he went full-tilt Children of the Corn on us:

Gore explained his own support for the original program on his presidential ambitions.

“One of the reasons I made that mistake is that I paid particular attention to the farmers in my home state of Tennessee, and I had a certain fondness for the farmers in the state of Iowa because I was about to run for president” in 2000.

Well, duh.

The cynical among us might think that Gore is positioning himself for the inevitable anti-ethanol backlash. At least, I hope it’s inevitable.

Michael Kinsley did not have to be available for comment.

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One of those California gurls

So I gave myself an assignment for Rule 5 this week: a picture of Katy Perry that does not remind me of Zooey Deschanel, since, you know, they look so much alike and all.

This seems to fill the bill quite nicely:

Katy Perry

Although if Zooey wants to wear something this short, I’ll be happy to post a correction.

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Activity behind the curtain

Sunday night I renewed the existing hosting deal for another year, so any of you who were hoping I’d do something unprecedented — like, say, getting a life — are going to be disappointed once more.

I also initiated the Sisyphean task of moving the domain registration, mostly out of irritation. When I registered this domain back around the turn of the century, I went to Network Solutions, because, well, who else was there? At the time, I was delighted to see that they’d cut the annual fee from $100 or so to a mere $35.

Eleven years later, I’m up for renewal, they have scores of competitors, and the fee has been slashed from $35 to … um … $34.99. Yes, they’d give me a third off for a five-year term, but that’s still twice what I’d be paying elsewhere.

So I get to shove this rock up the slope for the next week or two. It’s not exactly my first choice for where I’d like to see it shoved, and I’m giving up four months of my last term besides, but it’s hard to say “This will not stand” so long as anyone stands for it.

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Plus the advantages of a good rack

“Can Scrabble make or break a relationship?” After a curious game, Chele is wondering about some of us guys:

My girlfriend pulled me on the side and asked me to “please, please” not beat him in Scrabble. His mood and ability to deliver her cocoa correctly that evening depended on him winning this game. [Yes, I'm serious] When I continued to blink at her blankly she said, “I want him in a good mood and I need for everybody to get along. Haven’t you ever just let a man win? It’s a stroke for his ego which equals a stroke for me later. And really Chele, who cares who wins?” I had to think about this (and tweet it) … had I ever thrown a game for a man’s ego? Uh … no. As a matter of fact, hell to the no.

This led to a heavy discussion in the Twitterverse:

[D]o women do this? Lose games so their men feel big and strong? Do men want us to do this? Am I seriously emasculating a dude if I beat him at Wii Golf? Can a Scrabble game make or break a relationship? I gotta downgrade my vocabulary to “Cat in the Hat” levels to get a husband? For real tho? Is it really No Country For Smart Girls? Do we truly have to dumb down to catch and keep a man?

Gawd, I hope not. I cherish the really smart women, even though they usually turn out to be way out of my league.

I don’t think anyone’s ever thrown a game for the sake of my ego. Then again, as Sally might have pointed out to Harry, we can’t always tell when our chain is being pulled.

(Via a Dawn Summers retweet of Chele’s tweet. I am reasonably confident that Dawn could kick my ass at Scrabble, and probably so could Chele.)

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The growls were audible

First, a quote from Scott Brooks:

“Every minute he’s on the floor he’s going to give his best. But like all of our guys, it’s not going to always look great.”

Brooks was talking about Serge Ibaka, but he could have extended the description to the entire Thunder squad tonight: the allegedly-lowly Minnesota Timberwolves managed to have their way much of the evening before being dispatched from Insert Name Here Arena, 117-107, by the combination of a Jeff Green trey, two Ibaka free throws, four Kevin Durant free throws, two Russell Westbrook free throws, and two Green free throws in the last minute, during which time the Wolves got exactly one bucket.

Underestimating the opposition? Darko Miličić (21 points) and Kevin Love (24 points, 17 rebounds) did a tremendous amount of damage, and of four Minnesota reserves who saw playing time, three scored in double figures. The Wolves edged the Thunder on the boards, 39-38, and shot a respectable 50 percent; even scarier, they were able to get off 15 more shots than the home team.

But after two games without Green and Durant, a game with Green and Durant had to be won somehow. Durant had 28 points, Green 24, and Westbrook 20 (with 14 assists); Thabo Sefolosha had 13 points and 11 boards, and Ibaka, back on the bench, still scored 10.

So once again OKC gets the job done when they have to, and they’re now 10-4. Through 14 games last year they were 7-7. Extrapolation beyond that requires a braver soul than I, especially since the Mavericks are due in here Wednesday.

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Malevolent hardware

One of the more bizarre traits of the hoplophobe is his apparent belief that nothing horrible would ever happen if it weren’t for those pesky guns. Roberta X takes apart one such Scared Individual:

[H]e fears the machines. He thinks if all those malefactors had was a pack of sparklers and a few five-gallon cans of gasoline, or a double-bitted axe or a pitcher of koolaid and a can of drain cleaner, or even an SUV, nothing bad could possibly have happened. He believes objects have volition. Presumably, were he ever to go mad, possibly from crushing ennui or overwhelming existential angst, and murder 37 grade-school children with a 12″ #2 Philips screwdriver, it would be the “Craftsman assault driver” that did the killing while the man himself looked on in horror, a helpless tool of the tool. Mmm-hmm.

I’ve seen some pretty sophisticated machinery in my day, but I’m fairly certain I’ve never once seen a handgun that could pull its own trigger. And if I had, the first thing I’d have wanted to know is “Can it be taught to aim itself?”

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Okay, we did the math

I assure you, it disturbs me for far more substantive reasons:

ecard: I'm sorry your November birthday is a disturbing indication that your parents had sex on or around Valentine's Day

Hey, they got married on February 13th. Gimme a break.

(Via this Dodd Harris tweet.)

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It does so go

For some reason, some of this InstaRevelation surprised me:

For much of the time I was practicing law in Washington, I drove a 1976 Nova sedan with the straight-six engine. It was reliable, drove fairly well, hauled a lot, and was good for chasing away women more interested in “checks appeal” than in me…

In my capacity as the obscure Southern version of Glenn Reynolds, allow me to point out that, I, too, drove a 1976 Nova sedan, albeit with the 305 V-8. Occasionally.

It’s like this: after I got married, I was more or less ordered to mothball my old ’66 Nova — “No way am I riding in that boîte de merde” was the gist of the command — and so we found ourselves looking for a replacement, which turned out to be the ’76. (Second choice was a diesel Mercedes, of all things.) At the time, I had no issues with chasing away women of any description or motivation, being utterly flabbergasted that one would have looked my way at all, so it didn’t bother me greatly when she appropriated it for Family Hauler tasks, leaving me her little ’75 Toyota. (It outlasted the marriage, which the Chevy didn’t.)

That said, the last of the real Novas — as distinguished from the rebadged Toyota Sprinters that appeared in the middle 1980s — was a respectable mid-sized automobile that did most things adequately, although the 16 mpg we got out of it was not inspiring, especially when the Arabs shut off the oil spigot. (Then again, the Toyota seldom broke 20.)

Several years later, that very same Chevy failed a state inspection in Missouri for, I heard, unsafe seat covers: something about the cutouts for the lap belts being insufficiently wide. As for the ex, she drives Fords nowadays.

(Title adapted from a common misapprehension, detailed here by Snopes.)

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From the “I am not worthy” files

Daphne links back to last week’s QOTW — you may have seen it here — with a most-unexpected accolade:

Charles is the obscure southern version of Glenn Reynolds. He’s a better finder by far, might be a few degrees smarter to boot.

If I’m truly a better finder, a proposition I find arguable at best, it’s at least partly because I have to do it mostly by myself, not having twenty thousand people sending me links every day; I honestly don’t know how the Instant Man manages to evaluate even a tiny fraction of that, unless the Overlords have installed in his cranium some highly-advanced version of the firmware that the rest of us may not see for decades, if ever.

Still, getting praise from Daphne is something like being deemed acceptable by Catherine Deneuve, so, in the spirit of quitting while I’m ahead, I’ll refrain from pointing out that Knoxville is only half a degree farther north than Oklahoma City.

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Strange search-engine queries (251)

How this works: we line up the last week’s worth of visitors, then one by one march them through our special high-tech viewing system to see if we can detect any potential humor. The downside, of course, is that it puts us in close proximity to an awful lot of junk.

there aint been no news:  Which, if you’re a news channel, means you have to go scraping the bottom of the barrel to fill up space. Fortunately, they’re used to it.

starting a sentence with “you” when disagree:  For example: “You are wrong, Waxman-breath.”

“sequel to eight crazy nights”:  Please, please, please don’t give Adam Sandler any ideas.

crasho net:  Supplier to wireless providers worldwide.

What are the ingrediants of “Britanium” metal compound:  About nine parts tin, two parts antimony, and one part upper-lip stiffener.

mitch miller tax evasion:  I thought they were taxing us on everything already. Now they’re gonna tax us on Mitch Miller? Sheesh.

how much is my 1948 spiegel catalog worth?  $11.98, plus $5.62 shipping and handling. Add $14.30 for express delivery (not available in all areas).

trailing fudgenuts:  I haven’t seen any of those since the 1948 Spiegel catalog.

milfdom:  A form of Utopia ruled entirely by women who are way out of your league, Buster.

glass ceiling “position eliminated”:  I refuse to believe that they fired poor Deirdre just because she complained about guys downstairs looking up her skirt.

obscure cities in oklahoma “bonneville”:  It’s so obscure, in fact, that it managed to move to Oregon without anyone noticing.

how conservative oklahoma is:  Conservative Oklahoma is fine. How are you?

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