In the day
Tuesday, August 04, 2015
Post #2698. Poor nukes. It should be so simple, and miraculous, but it will never be. I was checking out a site for a company which makes small nuclear power systems. Would I ever want one of those - lasting forever, problem-free. So, I clicked on the link which was to lead me to the how what when why page.
*sigh*Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Post #2697. Our day. Did you know this thing saves drafts? Yes. All of those posts you started and abandoned for various reasons. This one was pretty funny, I thought. Seems it was just after a Christmas, years ago.
A little departure for this blog - a trip inside the real world. Brother and I got up at the usual time and had breakfast, but from then on the day was completely different from our usual. I am only just now getting to the computer for the first time - 10:45 at night. We opened a portion of the loot, then sister-in-law came over. She has many stops to make on Eve and Day, but she ends up spending the remainder with us, or at least she has for the past thirty years or so. Brother pointed out that today was the 41st Christmas in this house, for him anyway.
Tons of cool stuff. I spent like a drunken sailor and was glad to do it. From here on out, any Xmas could be the last. Besides, I used a credit card. One little story I have to tell you about.
I opened a package that smelled a little. As more and more paper came off and the item came closer to my nose, the unmistakeable Puer la Chine began to make me dizzy. Yes indeed, an item of clothing from China. I held it up at a distance and was surprised, no flabbbergasted, to behold a Size 14 Petite pair of leather/suede ladies' jeans. There was much more to do, so the solving of this mystery would have to wait until later. Questions continued to bob in and out of my mind. Why did brother give me a pair of ladies suede jeans? Jeans that were too small. How do the Chinese make suede out of recycled tires? Would Brother really just wrap something like that without wondering where it came from? (That one answered itself. He would.)
The investigation. It was brief and, as it fairly typical in these cases, a complete waste of time. A rigorous interview with Brother and a long telephone conversation with the by then home and having wine Sister-in-law proved inconclusive. The receipts went out of course, but the trash hasn't been picked up yet. I have until Thursday to go out there and dig for them or simply let it go. My nature would generally compel me to make a half-assed attempt to get the stink-to-high-heaven jeans back to the person or store they they belong to, ASSUMING I didn't pay for them. They aren't on the AX bill which contained the other items bought that day. Those two can't even remember what stores they went to, however. See, Brother gets a little woozy when he gets taken out for shopping and lunch with Sister-in-law, and she, well, she is a bit off all of the time.
Any advice would be appreciated, of course, but I'm leaning toward re-gifting them to a certain relative (she's about a petite-14 as it happens) once some time has gone by. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Post #2696. Some fun. Want to do something fun? Have "Alexa" or use some other means to play Surfin' Bird by the Trashmewn (1963) and get an idea of what your grandparents were up to and the general level of sophistication of the times.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Sunday, July 19, 2015
Post #2695. What happens out west. See, because we're behind and you folks up east, in the center of the Universe, you never hear the news from out here. For instance, on a Saturday night through Sunday morning this happened:
The dump truck was carrying a 80,000-pound load of clay and gravel when it crossed the I-5 median Saturday, plowing into oncoming traffic that was stopped while police investigated an earlier fatal shooting, authorities said.As is the case pretty much everywhere, what really matters is the traffic. Here's JeanAnne with that ..Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Post #2694. Our modern cushy keen world. It's especially keen that we make so much money and everything is so cheap. The reason for that is that we search the world over for the poorest, most desperate people to build, make, put together and, increasingly, grow all of our stuff. We never give them a thought.
One of the better things about this arrangement which, by the way, history will not look kindly upon, is that very high quality is maintained with all of these products because the workers are honored to have the opportunity to make life keen for us, the people who select the items, p them in our carts, take them home and, in about a year, throw them out because they were even too crap for the yard sale.
I didn't think so. Because you are probably one of the sad slobs who has had a finger or two ripped off, had an eye gouged out, been electrocuted or endured the worse eleven days of explosive diarrhea of anybody who lived anyway. Yeah, they're honored all right.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Post #2693. I've been searching so long ... As for me, I'm glad to hear Google is cleaning up its algorithm in the neverending battle with the opposition, specifically "content farms." There's a term for the age we live in, huh? I would be looking for something, say horse food, and the first return would be BUY YOUR HORSE FOOD AT TARGET. Well, as we all know or soon discover, Target does not carry horse food. Instead, they lurk there in electroland for anyone to ask about any product, then they pounce. The new "algorithm" seems to have put a stop to that one anyway. This doesn't put any brownie points in Google's column, to be sure. They're still being evil and denying it daily. Why, some bot is probably in here with me right this moment. If you hit "end" and go to the very bottom of my blog, you'll see how I feel about that.
I wonder when we are going to get serious about these things, the computers. They've been ubiquitous for almost twenty years now. In fact, an entire generation has gotten to graduate school without having known a world without them. Seriously, kids, we did not spend our whole lives typing into a television set in the old days and believe it or not, things got done somehow. Still, we continue to put up with the nonsense: spam, hacking, viruses, outright theft and other crime. Every person who has an email account gets a spam-folder of crap every day. Why hasn't some national intelligence agency done a little house-cleaning (wet work) yet? You wouldn't have to hit all of them. A tiny sample would be enough to get the message out. And it isn't like there would be Congressional hearings about the unprecedented extralawlessness of it since there isn't any law to begin with. Congressmen get viruses too, especially with the huge amount of porn they download. How do you know they download porn? Stands to reason - any vice that members of the public have, you can bet the elected representative has as well, only much more.
I know, I know. I complain about this about once a year. Let me tell you, though, if I was about 40 years younger we would not be sitting here just whine-typing about it. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Post #2692. BlogSpot Trouble. I don't know if something broke or someone gotinto the Blog and messed with it. The latter would depend on that someone Finding the blog, some thing which hasn't happened in years. As you can see, this place is thoroughly messed up tonight.
So, if I never come back, I didn't die after all. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Post #2692. VP of what? An article in the paper today about a Google Vice President of "search products and user experience" got me thinking about the world of work in general. And why I am so glad not to be remotely involved with it anymore. The business channel was running stock footage of employees in cubicles while voicing a report on some business thing. Just think about it: millions upon millions of people sitting in those things, typing away, with maybe a stuffed animal and some family pictures nearby to give some illusion of life to the experience. Each day that passes means fewer people like me who think this is all unnatural and more people like them who are quite comfortable with it. Just this weekend I was telling someone, a young someone, about traveling to the airport in the day. You know, how you drove up, parked at the curb, walked out to the gate, greeted your arrivee, picked up bags and left. Elapsed time: maybe 40 minutes, of course that included a stop for a drink at the bar where you could watch the planes for a bit. Oh, and everyone was well-dressed and not the least bit hurried or stressed, even though their chances of ending the day in a flaming plunge from six miles high was about 1,000 times more likely than it is today.
But we do have cable. And cell phones. Oh, and don't forget porno, plenty of porn 24/7, so there's that. Rick Macherat
Tuesday, July 07, 2015
Post #2691. Hot. My day involved a few phone calls, some messing around and generally fighting the heat. Are you going to complain about the heat all summer long again this year? Why yes, I had planned to. Why? No reason. [My imaginary person actually sighed.] Of course I have to complain about the heat, for three reasons: 1) I live in a heat-containing house; 2) I have that special heat disease; 3) Seattle has a peculiar kind of heat, recognized for the evil that it is by only a few of us with 2).
So how hot was it today? [yawn] Glad you asked. It was 87° in Seattle, and despite the extreme measures that I take during the hot season and which won't be delved into here because of credibility and mental stability issues, it is still 82° in the living room where I'm sitting. Note for those considering air conditioning: when they tell you that floor ducts work just fine as long as you get a really BIG unit and a really BIG fan, well, they're right - so long as you don't stand up.
A funny thing about Seattle. People went AFN today, what with the sailing and the sunbathing, the skipping work and mainly just the sitting out and soaking up. Almost none of those people thought ahead to the fact that tomorrow morning will be one of the crabbiest on record. Why? Since this is the first day of it, few people remember, but approximately 45 seconds after they lay down to to try and sleep, they will. Friends in Seattle, take this from an old timer: it is pointless even to go to bed because it will just get hotter and hotter and sweatier and angrier every second you stay there tonight. Your bedmate will seem like a yule log, and you might get to where you contemplate tossing him/her/it right out the window. Best thing to do is run water in the tub and sleep in there. Yeah, you might die, but along about 4:30AM even that won't seem so bad.
The sister-in-law, who is Completely Immune to Heat by the way, went for her annual physical yesterday. What I'm going to tell you about next is the reason why she won't be getting my URL [I have to live with her, so to speak.] Sister is distressed over the fact that she is in perfect health and doesn't have anything while it seems like everyone else our age is having operations, getting chemo, dying .. like crazy. A couple of weeks ago, brother and I were discussing how we were going to get this awkwardly weighted and sized oven upstairs. So, she comes over, sizes up the task, semi-not-so-silently whispers something like Oh forgodssakes and lifts and carries the blasted thing up two flights of stairs to the kitchen. The rest of the visit was spent talking about how Doctor doesn't understand about her bad back.
So, they have her down for an Isotope [Nuclear] Stress Test. How could I resist, huh, when she asked me what I knew about it? First I went the silly route and told her they set off a tiny nuclear device and see how fast you can run to escape it. In truth, the test is so gawdawful that I would sooner take the nuke-and-run. NFW I would consider it, no matter how badly I wanted to have something. So, I explained that they inject you with stuff which alternatively constricts and dilates various arteries and veins while starving the heart and basically getting you as close to being dead as they possibly can without outright killing you, all the while watching what this radioactive "dye" does as it courses through your poor heart and circulatory system.
She took all of that like she usually does - like I hadn't uttered a word - and said she planned to look the procedure up on the Internet. Then I mentioned, just as an aside, that they use Thallium. Thallium? You mean .. Yes. But, there isn't anything to worry about, of course, because the medical profession always has the well-being of the patient first and foremost and they certainly wouldn't schedule you for something which wasn't Completely Safe, even considering the fact that she has been like The Creature That Won't Die to them for about twenty years. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Saturday, July 04, 2015
Post #2690. John Wick kills. I'm not violent, but I like violent movies. John Wick satisfies anyone so-inclined. I wondered, "Has anyone counted?" Of course they have. This is the Internet, and everything that has ever been imagined is already there.
Count 'emRick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Monday, April 06, 2015
Post #2690. Rick Macherat. There was a reason for this silliness at one time, and soon I'll remember what it was and edit this post into something sensible.
Rick Macherat is so cool.
Rick Macherat is number one.
Rick Macherat is away.
Rick Macherat Is Dead On Target.
Rick Macherat is our Director for Vampire plots.
Rick Macherat is refusing to let me open them.
Rick Macherat is the artist behind the incredible Precious Moments dolls.
Rick Macherat is having problems right now with a white screen.
Rick Macherat is a new graduate student who hails from Dayton, Ohio.
Rick Macherat is upset.
Rick Macherat is a must-see.
Rick Macherat is hard at it.
Rick Macherat is not in the cast photo for 2002!!! Rick Macherat is continuing his on-going studies of population structure and social dynamics of a shallow-water population of Bluntnose Sixgill Sharks.
Rick Macherat is Coming to Your School.
Rick Macherat is also co-author of the world-famous Nephroid Lab.
Rick Macherat is not worth Amber's time.
Rick Macherat is the author of three books.
Rick Macherat is a committee member of one of the largest ranch organizations in Northern Arizona.
Rick Macherat is a bullshitter.
Rick Macherat is now bulletproof?
Rick Macherat is too slick.
Rick Macherat is the libelous one.
Rick Macherat is going to Washington to fix that.
Rick Macherat is scheduling his 2003 calendar now! Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Post #2688. Memories. It was just a matter of time before I would come across the perfect container for storing this item. I made a mental note to keep an eye out. Sure enough, after some time, no way to know how much time, here was this little black vinyl packet, about the size of several CD's, nice big fold-over flap, no lettering or logo, even a little fuzzy inside. Just right for .... what? Now, what the heck was it that I needed to store? THAT memory was gone, gone like it never existed gone. You know how that feels - your mind is never going to be able to pull it up.
I've put the container in a location fully in view in my kitchen should the lost item ever turn up. When it does, I'll finally be able to match them and store the package in some place in this house where I'll never find it again.
This sort of thing goes on All The Time. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Post #2687. The Rock. Of course, I should use bifocals. If I did, the check would have been written for the amount of the premium due instead of the dividend. So many numbers, so little attention span. To shorten this up, I discovered it the next day while filing, called the mechanical information center to get the mailing address for that type of mistake and sent off a new check. About ten days later, I received a notice from Prudential and THAT'S when I got on the phone.
It was the same lady machine. Evidently, she handles all the calls, only this time I became hopelessly lost somewhere in her mind. Help sent me to General Help, same person there! Complete Silence While Not Even Breathing got me "Sorry, I didn't hear that." She had the bases covered better than an indignant 40-year wife just inside the door at 3:31am with a rolling pin. Eventually, I managed the golden reply (which is REPRESENTATIVE, by the way, make a note) and was call-forwarded to Tim. I suppose it started to go downhill when I mused aloud that it seemed unlikely that "for my protection," the giving my full address, ZIP code and telephone number to a complete stranger was truly in my best interest. Although Tim retained his basic English-speaking ability, he suddenly lost the comprehension part. I could tell when he asked me if I had been drinking when the dog bite occurred.
The usual ponderously long story made short, I eventually got to a genuine 'maircun named Roger in Wisconsin. He told me, after some prodding, that Tim was in Panama. AHA! A new location in my call center trip around the globe. One of these days I'm going to land in a country where I speak the language, like Amharia or Urdustan and then I'll have them, won't I? Incidentally, Roger was so oily that I needed a Arm 'n Hammer rubdown when I finally got done with him.
Seriously, folks, this doesn't happen very often, and I want to assure you that I DO NOT START IT. Many, many times I have had delightful exchanges with customer service and learned all about Jean Ann's acceptance into beauty school and Uncle Horace's battle with psoriasis. Because I ask. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Post #2686. An alternate ending. Several years have passed, important and life-changing years. Anastasia "Ana" leaves the bedroom, carrying little Precious, not her name but what they call her, and goes into the living room where, almost buried in the décor and overwhelming view of the city, sits the husband, reading, of course.
"Darling," she interrupted, "Often when I'm changing Precious I remember so well the night we made her."
Interested, he had to ask, "How could you know?"
"A woman knows," she said with considerable certitude, "And I certainly knew at once that new life was there."
"How wonderful," he said, putting down his book, "But why only when you're changing her?"
"Oh that's easy, silly," she laughed, "That was the first night you peed on me."Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Post #2685. The other neighbors. Mrs. Cleese lives a few houses down with her two children. The son is about twelve, and his name is Corcoran, so-named because that's where his father was when he was born. Despite the spotty parenting, he seems like a nice boy. The baby girl's name is Velveeta. Mrs. Cleese named her that because she was extremely pissed at being knocked-up again just before Mister Cleese was headed back to prison. That's how she explained it to me anyway. Grandma Cleese warned her not to name the child Velveeta, but Mrs. Cleese is very headstrong. I know. She's my neighbor. I predict little Velveeta will also turn out to be pretty assertive. Corcoran asked if he could mow my lawn for some extra money. I'm "thinking it over." If I pay him too little, he may have me killed. Too much and he'll think there's money here and rob and kill me in the night. Then again, he may just mow the lawn like any regular kid, and not even steal anything. I like to be fair. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Post #2684. One more time.
Post #2512. Rerun, Boast, Milestone. One of my posts, #2435, had words in it, when searched, make it to the top of a Google. It was just a little post.
Post #2435. 4411 Huguenot Walloon Drive. That was just for you folks who were trying to remember, What WAS that address? Sometimes I'll laugh out loud, thinking about those two kids. They're still alive, you know. He's 79 and she's 78. And still very much in love, we'd like to think. Hint: Mike Nichols and Elaine May
Of course, Mike's gone now. But there will always be a 4411 Huguenot Walloon Drive. Google reports, politely, as always, "We couldn't understand this location."Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Friday, December 12, 2014
Post #2683. A post from 1964. Got up real late this morning. Roommate gone for the weekend. Had he been here, being as he doesn't drink, he would have gotten up early and woke me up, and I would be hurting even more than I am. Made it to the dining hall just in time for lunch. Liz and I doubled with Jim and Jennifer last night, sort of. Not official dates, just met up and decided to go to the street dance together. We scored a considerable amount of malt liquors prior to - they are excellent since you can squeeze up to four in each jacket pocket. It was a cold as it ever gets here, but everyone was drunk and the dance was great. We just sort of rowdied around for a few hours and got the girls in just before closing hours. Had to run most of the way since we had ended up way out by the golf course. Way too cold to even think about making out (like that would have happened anyway), especially being on foot. When we got back to the dorm, the fire hose had been out, and those who had not passed out were mopping up. The key, as I remember from last time we had waterworld, was to get it up before it ran down the stairwell to the 9th floor. Jim and I helped out, sort of, then went back to my room for more beer. A few other die-hards drifted in and out, then I kicked everyone out about four, I think. Never did see or hear from the RA. I guess the water wouldn't have flowed had he been here. I felt better after lunch and went over to Neill for some touch football on the hill. Girls can wear pants on the weekend, but they cheat at football. Came back, had dinner, then studied from about 7:00 to 12:30. Dang, just remembered I missed Star Trek, was it Friday??. Roommate came back this evening, and his sniffing and honking (allergies) sent me to the study lounge which was a waste of time til most everyone cleared out. Went back after he went to sleep. Stupid freshman. Seeing his little fatface sticking out of that blanket ... naw, I wouldn't smother him - he isn't a bad kid, just dumb. Got an 8,9,10 and 2 tomorrow, not a bad schedule this semester. Tu-Th I have a 10-11:30 and a 2-3:30. Human Phys is a flunkout course, but I needed 3 science and wanted to take it anyway - a better lab would have been nice. Excellent prof. Everything else is manageable, lots of papers. I mean lots. Mid-terms this week and tonight was the start of cram. The washers were busy all day Saturday, so I'll have to do pants and shirts tomorrow night, I guess. Tomorrow, guess I'll pull the cords out - they go forever. No clean shirts, so I'll go with a sweater only. That's about it.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Post #2682. Military Brats. You've probably heard of us. We're "military" because our fathers were career members of the armed services. "Brats" because we believe we're special (and other people do not.) Typically, we moved a lot and attended many schools. In my case, I went to seven schools by the fifth grade and three different high schools. One was scary and full of hoodlums, one had fewer than 100 students and one had over 1,500. I don't remember anybody from the elementary schools, but I do have a lot of memories from high school. Sometimes, rarely, we get together with someone we knew far, far away and long ago. It might have been in Turkey, Iceland .. Japan maybe. Here is a typical conversation from that meeting.
Remember that time when Harriet Schultz actually came to school drunk?All three of my high schools had 50th Reunions. I didn't go to any of them, and I was a little sad about that.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Post #2681. At the speech. Mr. Jack Sprat and his wife Noleen listening to President Obama's speech.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Post #2680. I KNOW HOW TO DELETE CALLS. This is the new Amazon Fire Phone. I signed up as soon as Jeff announced it, and it arrived in the mail to much excitement (brief) around this household. You might remember the ad:
Before long, we had problems. First, how to use it. No manual, of course. No instructions. Not like the old days. We did figure out how to make calls, and before long the numbers-called/received list began to grow.
How do I delete calls on the Firephone?That should help with searches. Possibly not. So, believe it or not, there is a way to delete calls from your Amazon Fire Phone call list. Do this:
Put your finger along the RIGHT EDGE of the phone, just barely on the call you want to delete.Tell all your friends. You will become a nerd tech hero and get all the girls. Really.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Monday, June 23, 2014
Post #2679. Organizing MISC. Late on a Sunday night, I'm working really well completely reorganizing and re-filing several years of collected papers on my kitchen/dining room desk. This used to be our dining room table. Old people tend to retire these. Organized homemakers have a lace table cover and a couple of candlesticks. I have papers. Loose papers in boxes and many assorted "too cool/neat/sweet/funny to discard." Like once or twice before in my life, I've had to be ruthless. Once you toss the first one, the rest are easy.
This was a jot. Of course, it demanded that I drop everything and come over here to type, at last, in my neglected, orphan but never forgotten blog.
French comedyAny more come to mind?Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Post #2678. After. If you watch the Discovery Channel, you are likely well-informed about the, "The ten most scary things that will destroy our planet and kill everybody." I call it the, "What the **** just happened?" scenario, because there won't be breaking news, public information, civil defense or any organized action at all. Maybe a few dazed survivors wandering around.
Group One is wandering through the badlands of Eastern Washington. Somebody spots a dog, Here, boy. Come here! whereupon The group
Catches the dogGroup Two is wandering the empty streets of Seattle. A member of this group spots a dog as well. The group
Catches the dogRick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Wednesday, April 09, 2014
Post #2677. News from the future. I took some of today's news back to 1955 again. United plans 787 nonstop service 6,857 miles to Chengdu. Wow. What's a 787? How can a plane fly that far? Where is Chengdu anyway? Russian dictator invades, annexes Crimea. Wow. Hay, wait. Wasn't Crimea already theirs? Long story. CEO axed for opposing gay marriage. Huh? Also long story.
I may have to have another chat with Little-yap-yap-Dog. He's been getting out again and going all over the neighborhood just annoying everyone like crazy. He never stops barking, not for one second. I should say he goes everywhere except my yard, not since we had that little dog-whispering chat about two years ago. He stay away from me. Not so Big-old-woof-woof-Dog. Little-yap-yap-Dog goes around to all three sides of Big-old-woof-woof-Dog's yard and teases him. Big-old-woof-woof-Dog likes to take long naps, and Little-yap-yap-Dog wakes him up and then keeps barking so he can't get back to sleep. I'm so tempted to go over there and open the gate just a smidge and watch Big stop Little and his yap with one huge chomp.
The third player outside my kitchen window is Miss-highstrung-Ladydog. Another yap-yap type, only classier. She yaps too, but only a brief couple of barks, very emphatic when she's let out and struts to the middle of her yard. It clearly translate to: Alright, boys. Move along. Clear out. Miss Ladydog needs to take care of her lady business! Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Post #2676. Shamelessly copied from somewhere. Breaking or b-boying is generally misconstrued or incorrectly termed as 'breakdancing.' Breakdancing is a term spawned from the loins of the media's philistinism, sciolism, and naïveté at that time. With no true knowledge of the hip-hop diaspora but with an ineradicable need to define it for the nescient masses, the term breakdancing was born. Most breakers take great offense to the term.
So there. Please update your file. Incidentally, This machine underlined the word "sciolism," asserting that it is not a word, not in its universe anyway. In the Day blog would like to point out that sciolism indeed is very much a word, meaning, "a superficial show of learning." Appropriate, don't you think, to this particular moment and our lame times in general?Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Post #2675. Nine-eleven officially over. "Rudy Giuliani, whatever you think of him, is held in high regard by many Republicans." - Jake TapperRick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Post #2674. Schul. The Lakeside School (with the inevitable interjection that Bill Gates went there) has an enrollment of 484, of which 111 are Seniors. They produced 23 National Merit Semi's this year. Last year they had 30. In comparision, the twenty-one high schools in my neighborhood (south) with an average enrollment of 1,400 students had a combined total of 15 semi-finalists. This is not too good.
In a related story, there was a massive air traffic fiasco yesterday, affecting the southwestern United States. The radios at the Los Angeles Center went out, and for several hours the controllers were unable to communicate with any of the hundreds of aircraft on their screens. There were several very near misses before they were able to get the work-arounds going via other control centers. Most of the cities in the southwest enacted a ground stop, and a large number of inbound aircraft were diverted.
The investigation proceeded rapidly and revealed: " .. a required 30-day maintenance check was not performed. This system turns off if this check is not performed."Is it just me, or was this plain insane? Couldn't they put a bell on it instead? Listen, you guys, remember me when some day not too far off you can't get your refrigerator door to open because some yayhoo in Cairo or someplace tried to put chicken bones down his disposal. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Monday, March 17, 2014
Post #2673. An afternoon at Cousin Lucille's. Brother and I had travelled back to Virginia with my mother. It was August. Virginia. Was I insane, or what? This was about our third trip back there in as many years, so I had concluded that all the motels in town were now owned by East Indians. That was fine; they were clean and the Air Conditioning worked. Most days I could take Mom wherever she wanted (in the rental car which I had made sure had nice loud and powerful east coast air conditioning,) leave her there for as long as she needed and race back to the motel where I could change shirts and sit in front of the room air conditioner until time to fetch her.
Then came Sunday. Mother's double first-cousin Lucille (this was Virginia,) and I've always just assumed that this made her my double-second cousin, was having a get together at her home, a chance for relatives and old friends to see Mother all at one time. The family itself was so enormous that we would have had to stay back there several years to see everyone (again, Virginia.) Most of them were anxious to see me too, as it turned out, since I was after all, "the most beautiful baby anyone had ever beheld," or "laid azz own," so they all said. This should probably give you a clue as to the average age and gender of the invitees. So, I kissed an awful lot of chubby, rouged cheeks and smelled a great deal of old lady perfume until I got almost woozy from it and sat down next to the window air conditioner. The turned-off window air conditioner.
See, neither Lucille or any of the others present would dream of turning on the ay-cee when it was only 96° with humidity around 175%. Even though just about every one of them had truckloads of money now, they had all grown up in the very poor district just downhill from the poorer outskirts of Poortown, during the Great Depression, and no way were they going to waste money running thet thang. So, there I sat, beyond hot and almost back to cool in a way as my clothing was completely soaked through, down to the socks, listening to what seemed like hundreds of southern voices, old lady voices, all talking and laffin' at the same time about how darlin' I had once been, as my mind slowly left my body and I wondered if this was what it was like when you dad.
I remembered the episode so vividly today even though it isn't that hot at all around here.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Monday, March 10, 2014
Post #2672. An auspicious day. An auspicious day coming up. A survey from a company that I do business with came today, and the cozy letter which accompanied it was from their "Executive Vice President, Engagement." Isn't that precious? I say a little prayer each day that I am out of the workforce, hopefully forever. Why do I think that when this particular job title proliferates across industry, and it will, the position will always be filled by very high-energy women in their mid- to late thirties and never by crusty old men coasting out the last few years before retirement?
This is his second bout with testicular cancer. This isn't funny, of course. Cancer is Not Funny. But I don't think he'll have to worry about a third bout with testicular cancer, will he?
More about soccer. I watched a sports news segment tonight - our very, very longstanding sports director was doing the piece. Nothing much going on actually: we have no NBA team anymore, of course; our football team .. well, you know about that; as for the Mariners - they've been playing golf for weeks, and what is there to say about Philadelphia vs New York? So, that left soccer. He should get an award for his spirited coverage of our Very First professional soccer playoff match. Qwest Field was filled to capacity, all lime green. It was about a two-minute segment, with clips of people bumping into one another, balls sailing into the stands, lots of running, lots and lots of running. Kind of the way my little brother used to run madly about with his eyes closed. Finally he revealed the score: 0-0. Zero-Zero, or naught-naught as they say. Sixty-seven thousand people filed out, shouting, singing soccer songs, yelling soccer things, clearly thrilled by the experience. As for me, I've typed about six sentences describing my feelings about it and backspaced each one of them out. (Have you ever seen Night of the Living Dead?)
As if that wasn't enough ... Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Post #2670. Someone asked me. I was surprised since it has been a very long time since anyone asked me what I thought. You'll see, that tends to happen. The question was: What popular trend baffles you? And I replied: Aside from contemporary music, art, philosophy, government, economics & business, theology, literature, history, clothing, telecommunications, manners, relationships and language, I'm pretty much OK with the modern world.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Sunday, February 09, 2014
Post #2669. OMG it's 2014. I don't mean OMG it's 2014 like so much time has passed since my last post or where has the time gone. More like it's 2014 and I'm completely amazed. How did I get here? Imagine going back to, say, 1955, which I often do and handing someone a sheet of paper with this printed on it:
First, there's the question of bandwidth. While the dual signals should not interfere with each other from device to router and home users won't have to pay for bandwidth that visitors use, what will happen to your streaming episodes of Burn Notice if someone happens to be standing outside watching a Game of Thrones bootleg on their phone?Next, explain it to that person. (You might have to review a few things that Don't Matter in 2014: grammar, deficits, gender.) I mean a phone is The phone, that black thing on a table in the hall. You might even have an extension in the parents' bedroom if you're in the middle class. It doesn't go anywhere. Certainly not over to a complete stranger's house where you can hop onto his personal Xfinity Wi-Fi and watch a bootleg movie on it. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat Richard Dale Robinson has vanished.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Post #2668. Continuity. Quite often you will come across a blog that has been abandoned for months, even years. So sad, because you just know the person had so much more to say but they were unable to stay with it. Even sadder is the fact that The Machine will arbitrarily decide to obliterate it at some future date. It Never Existed.
I'm determined this will not happen to me. So stay tuned.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Post #2667. Happy Thanksgiving to you too! Did you ever wonder if people who bitch basically all of the time ever get tired and just run out of it? Well, we do. At times like this, we take a deep breath and try to take in the flowers and little critters scampering about and stuff like that there. And then write about them.
Eleven minutes go by.
The truth is, something awful happened in Seattle, and while I can't get it out of my mind because it makes me so mad, I don't want to write about it either. Oh, I will eventually, you know that.
In the meantime, the sister-in-law has a little ... issue. She and her S.O. travel a great deal and stay with new friends. They never say, "Oh, no. Thanks anyway, but that would be too much of an imposition." No, they would typically go with, "Which room is ours?" This weekend it has roosted, and a couple of their former new friends are in town. Seattle is lovely in November, so the new friends are comfortably set up in the sister-in-law and brother-in-other's spare bedroom. Is it truly evil to be enjoying a wee bit of secret pleasure while tsk-tsking and oh-mying over the phone at the complaints? Probably.
The guys who come to your house to fix and install things are all exactly alike. Is this part of some curriculum? We just finished day three of a one-day project, and Guy #4 has driven off in his truck. He had the least amount of personality of the group if you can envision gradations of zero emotion. I can't imagine what it would be like to go through a career, say, standing next to a blazing inferno of some sort and never having any interest in it at all. I asked Guy #4 as he was leaving what was next for him today. Blank stare. I pressed, "I mean, what job are you going to next?" I don't know," he says, "Wherever they send me." Anyway, I hope the danged thing works this time, because the little lady on the phone, the one who sends The Men to their various appointments and who was born and raised on this planet, left on vacation today.
BREAKING NEWS. The television is flashing red urgently with some report of an incident at the Hanford Nuclear Reservation. Frankly, the winds today are northerly, so I don't care. The spokeswoman is on the phone. She doesn't have that information, unfortunately. That's why she is the spokeswoman. Can you even imagine how many Guy #4 zombies there are in a place like that?
Something uplifting for a Monday, huh? Let's see ... Back when I used to work, for pay, that is, my Mondays were worst than most. Working Sundays will do that to you. Mondays are when all the fattened-up sunburned perkies stroll back in, oblivious to the chaos of the previous two days of drunks, fights, fire alarms, hookers and other assorted weirdoes. And ours was a nice hotel. I wonder who decided that weirdo is pluralized that way.
Hotels have "front of the house" and "back of the house" people, and the former have utter contempt for the latter. The latter think the former are generally psychological misfits. With that in place, Mondays begin. Paper is very important to the Backs, and they are impatient with coffee spills, rabid dog marks and mistakes. As for the Fronts, all they want is to get the hell out.
Fronts don't clockwatch. Time is irrelevant in their universe (except for 08:00:00.) They know work is over when the door opens and a chattery bundle of fur (winter version) bowls in, carrying bags of who-knows-what and starts emptying ashtrays with a disapproving air. The Backs never arrive on time, a calculated technique to send off the unwholesome Fronts with just a pinch of anger to get them through what is left of the day.
Fronts aren't blameless. Yes, we're messy. Yes, we're vindictive. That ten minutes of lateness from last Monday is remembered and rewarded with a subtle pickup error on an impossibly long tape.
Yes, I was a Front, a Warrior in a field of fat grazing bovines. And years later when I became a Back and then later an Up, may the Good Lord forgive me for giving in to the filthy lucre, I did remember. (Us pensioners try to throw in an occasional Good Lord, just in case, y'know.) True, I never was a very good Back or Up, just an old trooper in the home, a bit wistful for the grit and gusto.
So, take a look around you, Mondayites. Every first day will be exactly like this one until the end of time. Rebel! Join us in our senseless mayhem. You'll feel better, really.
Do you think you have a bad memory or two from high school? Consider this. State football championship game. Your team is leading. You're the punter on 4th down. All you have to do is retain possession for a few more seconds to win. So, the play is for you to run about 55 yards backwards after the snap and take a safety. So, you do just that, and when you get to the end zone, you drop the ball, pop up the We're Number One finger and begin jumping for joy. Hold on. Did you say, "Drop the ball?" Yes, indeed, whereupon an alert opposing player leaps on it. Touchdown. Poor kid, he is only 17, with at least sixty more years to live with it. Unless he can move to Pluto.
There was a bank robbery today in the suburbs. They caught the guy. Well, they caught him after they shot him. Afterward, a television crew came and interviewed the usual observers. This always interests me, since I try and imagine the goings-on in the newsroom which result in some things getting to air and others not. Obviously, since it was in the later afternoon, the news director said something like, "How many people did you get? Three? OK, go with it." Without checking. The first one was the hip chick who observed it was pretty stupid to hold up a bank in a strip mall which also has a Police Substation in it. Good point. The old man was the de rigueur, "This kind of thing doesn't happen around here". Then, there was the last one. Her funny hat and those eyes gave her away to me at once but evidently not to the news crew. She started going on about how brave one must be to be a bank robber and how it was too bad this particular bank had to get robbed because she always thought it was such a pretty bank what with the flowers out front and the colors and the nice people and how they always ...... [fadeout] Oh, God love 'em all.
A mention about the Post Office. They are running this ad (one might ask why the post office advertises in the first place, but that's one for Andy Rooney) where grandma packs up her huge annual gift shipment and mails it off to the grandkids. Full of those white peanut abominations. Then, on the receiving end, they show the kids throwing the things in the air and playing like snowflakes, just having a ball. All with this sweet seasonal music. I've been trying to re-gift those blasted things for years and still can't get rid of them. I think Aint J sends the same ones back. I just wanted to get that one off my chest since there is nothing any of us can do about it.
Men from the "other side" of our family have this habit of naming their firstborn sons in honor of their oldest brother. Furthermore, they are all Jim's and Bob's. The girls are named something with a "K," Kristan, Kathleen, etc. Maybe they can keep it straight, but I sure as hell can't. So, one of the wives calls, Bob died, she tells me. Oh, I'm so sorry. Did he linger? I sympathize, wondering who she is and who she is talking about. I'll have to wait until it hits their paper and go online to read the obit to see which generation he was. Then send a card or something.
I wrote an e-mail to my little nephew about the birth which, according to the sister-in-law's 93rd phone call today, is going on right now. Now, see if you can follow this. My brother has had three wives and children with two of them (the exception was the frequently aforementioned sister-in-law.) My little nephew's mother was #2 for my brother, but she had had children with a previous husband and has subsequently had more with two more, total of 4 husbands and I don't know how many children. Incidentally, my little nephew isn't all that little really. He's 6'4" and skinny and looks almost exactly like I did at age twenty-nine. My brother is uncomfortable with this. With me so far?
The sister-in-law has had three husbands, and the little lady giving birth tonight is from the one after my brother. Here's the question: was I correct in telling my little nephew that he is about to have a new nephew of his own?
Finally, regarding Punishment by ladies in raincoats. Dear searching friend: I believe you may be the only person on earth who has this particular fetish (nothing wrong with that, of course.) You are not going to find anyone through Yahoo, Google or In the Day. My advice would be for you to start your own blog and put all those dodads on so it gets found. Then, type whatever you want, free as a bird. There's a good chance you'll hook up with a lady who is into raincoats and punishment, not together, yet, and the two of you can take it from there. Caution: some nasty boys will leave unkind and misspelled comments. Delete them and never reply. Good luck!!
You seem to know about this. Wouldn't happen to have a perv blog somewhere else, would you? Of course not. All of me is here at In the Day. Just about. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Post #2666. Regarding this post. This is a first. It was such crap that I deleted it completely. Sorry if you clicked in here expecting content today.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Wednesday, October 02, 2013
Post #2665. The morning car chase. They've come to be a pleasant little respite from the daily grind of terrorism, war and Congress. Occasionally, the cable channels will generously give us a break and switch to a California or Texas car chase. Such was the situation today. Of course, the Anchor Blonde had to talk over people on the scene and give her own play-by-play and explain the miracle of Spike Strips, but if you turned off her annoying voice you could still enjoy the action to an extent. Anyway, after running to and fro across north Texas, the little car finally caroomed through a gas station and smashed into a Budweiser truck, finishing pretty banged up and with its windshield wipers going. About 87 white Texas police officers emerged from their cruisers and began attacking the little car with nightsticks, trying to pull the perp out. As he began to emerge, you could just hear the police chiefs in about 13 local jurisdictions utter a silent prayer, Please don't let him be black on national television.
Well of course he was black. And just plain gigantic. More huge in fact than any two of the white policemen. As soon as the swarm of officers saw just how huge and how black he was, they all jumped on him, all 87 of them. I think they call it a Blue Scrum. Another little prayer, Please don't everybody beat on him half to death.
No one hit him. He calmed down pretty quickly after throwing off the first few cops like they were little kids and then getting tackled. The Blonde lost interest, and it was back to gas prices and Congress. Oh yeah, and the war. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Post #2664. Another quote. The Good Lord made old age so awful and young people so monumentally annoying that when it comes time to go, we pretty much move along peaceably, and He appreciates that.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Post #2663. Soap. Try this one,
► Making the very simple complicated is easyand thus Ivory introduces you to its new version of soap. If that isn't classy enough for you, they even translate it into French. I composed a third line,
► Taking fetid factory and barnyard products and making them soapy and smelling like a warm summer breeze wafting over roses is miraculous.Aren't you being a little hard on Ivory soap? I wrote to them, you know. Never answered. All I wanted to know was if they stashed any of the old Ivory, the Legacy Ivory, Classic Ivory, True Ivory (for the search) somewhere, so old true users might have just one little innocent lather before they pass on. Money no object, as if that would matter. It's clear to me now, the Top People at Ivory stashed plenty of Classic Ivory all right, in their private vaults two levels beneath their safe rooms at hideaway apocalypse estates far up in the hills. Tons of it, for them and their progeny until the end of time.
Meanwhile, I vigorously rubbed up the last few feeble bubbles of my last bar today. It was so .. soapy .. sweet, and unscented, just like a baby. Or like a baby used to be. From now on you will close your eyes and instead of precious babysmell you'll get a snoutful of China.
Since I wrote this, several years ago, the soap is almost back to normal. They have taken 99/44% of the China out, OR it has a new secret ingredient which causes us to think so. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Post #2662. This sounds familiar somehow .. Starting last Sunday, this has been running in our paper. Since it is the only paper left, just about everyone heard about,
Sunday - Crisis in state adult family homes
Monday, September 16, 2013
Post #2661. Deux hommes. What shall we do, Raoul? What shall we do!? Let me tell you what we shall do. We will say the Hell with the Army, the Hell with the Church, forget our friends and families and others who would wish us ill. We shall surrender to our passion and learn to enjoy head-to-foot, in-and-out all that our bodies have to offer. We shall swill our sweat and spittle and other fluids with abandon. And then ...
And then, my dear Andre, when we are discovered, we shall kill ourselves. Dramatically.
It's Raoul. Sounds Like a plan. Wait a few while I call Mother and tell her I'll be late.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Post #2660. Johnny Cash, Jr. A boy named Shaquelle. Really. Shaquelle Evans, a wide receiver for the UCLA Bruins. Tough break. From Inglewood, too.
The baby boom generation, moving through the stages of life like a rodent through a Giant Anaconda.
Got nothing today, case anyone noticed. Just waiting for a football game in which I feel at least some remote connection. Fragments, the fragments of sentences of the days of our lives. Cue music. 99% chance this gets deleted. In the meantime, click on the Archives link above for a couple thousand previous posts which at least involved some mental effort.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Post #2659. More RIP. Some more folks got shot around here, yes, two more. The rain pretty much washed away the impromptu gutter memorial for the youngster shot Thursday as well as much memory of him having ever having been among us. These new shootings will probably be remembered for a little longer than usual, perhaps even beyond the next ones which will likely be this evening with it being Tuesday night and all, mainly because the people were somewhat whiter and less poor. That's the way it works. Also, they were standing in the street in a much better neighborhood.
I don't know this for an absolute and true fact but only supposing because of years of experience, but the circumstance of white people getting shot downtown only a few blocks from five television stations managed to draw every Medic One unit for miles in all directions. It didn't matter whether they were CPR'ing some old lady, scooping a bum out of the lake or whatever. So there's that. I'm guessing this yet another thing you're bitter and cynical about? You'd be guessing about right.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Tuesday, September 03, 2013
Post #2658. What I started. My teenaged great-grandson was watching me pay the bills. He is somewhat beyond the typical age where one would be interested in what a decrepit old man was doing, but he is a sweet boy. Little dim. I mused, "You know, Lancelot, back when your great-grandmother used to do this, she tasted like stamps the whole rest of the day." He was interested, "Why was that, great-grandfather?" (Should I? Why not?) "I've never told this to anybody, son, but great-grandmother had a drug problem." His eyes widened noticeably as the weight of it sunk in. I continued, "She was hooked on the glue and would actually lick the stamps before sticking them on her letters. Pitiful, really. Wrote letters day and night to just about anybody."
Skipping forward, naturally they're all doing it now. The neighborhood kids filch thirty-nine bucks from their folks' wallets or purses and slink off somewhere to lick a whole roll at a time. Pretty harmless, actually, and it benefits the post office. My own grandmother would approve since she was always putting on a little extra postage to help out the Post Office.
When I first wrote this, way back in the year 2005, postage actually was 39 cents. Imagine that. And Lancelot is coming up on seventeen now and trying very hard to make me a great-great grandfather. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Sunday, September 01, 2013
Post #2657. "some real strange and filthy searches with speling errors" Mine is still the only post in the history of the world which has this expression. That's actually kind of a powerful thought on a dull evening, and I'm fairly certain it will remain so as long as there are electrons. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Post #2656. To-do list (geriatric version) Now that I'm officially old in every way, physically, psychologically etc., I thought it was time to re-visit my unofficial list, especially since I almost rammed another car while traversing a roundabout today. Who thought those things would be practical and cute anyway? Earlier, while sitting at one of those interminable seven-lane by seven-lane intersections, watching the cars turn left, I was struck by how small, ugly and ridiculous they all are. When we imagined cars of the 21st century back in the 1950's, believe me, this is not what we had in mind. What a huge disappointment.
Go to a rave. This might be fun, except they don't even start until quite late, after The Tonight Show even.Earlier, when I was washing dishes and thinking about some interesting things, this topic came into my head and truly sounded like it might have some potential. Sorry, turns out it didn't. But now that I've typed all this crap, I'm not going to get rid of. So, that's post #2656.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Post #2654. What is there to say. I came across a new expression today while researching the idea of 20 or 25 people getting married. My question was whether to allow them each to claim all the others as dependents for Federal Income Tax purposes. I was leaning toward a no on that. Anyway, this ..
Fluid bonding is one of the most contentious issues in Polyamory.It went on. As if there was any need to.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Post #2653. The little girl. This is a very sad, true story. If you've just had a Monday, do not read it. You don't need any more crap today.
She was a little doll ... and so brave. Her father was a policeman, so naturally there was a huge support group for the family. Probably every officer on the force knew her and prayed for her. That would be "prayed" in the modern sense, of course, which means she crossed their mind sometimes. Hey, that's good enough for these days.
Eventually, the time came. The cancer had advanced to the point, well, she had only a few days left. A party was planned - with all her favorite people and all her favorite things. That was enough of a "wish" for this little angel. It was set up rather hurriedly for Wednesday since she might even be dead by the weekend. But FIRST, she had to go in for the last CHEMO. Yes, there was one session left in this schedule. Her dad took her in, and we heard she was brave and did fine, as always, then threw up all night. She was still a little weak and upsetty during the party, but darned if she didn't buck up just for all the friends and family. Sadly, there was a wait for the cake as she had to throw up again, and she also threw up the cake, but that was pretty much the only low point. Except for the goodbye's. Lots of held-back tears. Then, everyone was gone.
She died the next morning.
I don't go to doctors anymore.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Post #2652. An Inspector Clouseau moment. There was a heist this weekend at a not-as-posh-as-before hotel on the French Riviera. Fifty-three million dollars worth of jewels was stolen.
In apparently unrelated news, members of a notorious jewel robbery gang have escaped from prison.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Post #2651. Smoke. It's a fine restaurant, so they say. That's why it is always packed and hard to get into during peak times. Table 21, party of four, came in somewhat later. They were a little loud at first but became quite subdued when the food arrived. It generally had that effect, hence the reputation. After a long while and the last bite all around, the cigarettes came out. Mr. and Mrs. Blond and Mrs. Gray. Mr. was a pipe guy. He didn't pipe at dinner. Waiter saw the three clouds of blue rise, followed by the that *smell*. It would take all he had to keep it zippy and sweet and secure the big bucks he had worked his phony bony ass off for. I make him phony with a bony ass because he's the one. The one what? The non-smoker no-smoking zealot who always ends up getting the gasmask zone.
First cigarette stubbed out in the remains of a baked potato. Nice. This will be a long one. Desert? No, second smoke with second cup of coffee. Minimum wage for waithelp is $5.67. Eleven bucks of my life, he thought.
But our tiny story has a happy ending. Just as the third light-up was to begin, Mrs. Gray, former waitress, noticed the check, slipped in her American Express card and waved the fancy folder. Waiter was at the table in eight seconds, smile-smile-smile-wink/smile, to the cashier, back to table, watching like a hawk, yes! signed, back to table, more smiles, do come back soon, outta there, caught the midnight bus, home.
We'll miss nights like that, great dinner, great company, great waiter, great smokes. No we won't. Don't be so sure. Imagine a world where people finish their coffee, visit for a brief time, then just leave. Yawn. That's how it is now already. I rest my case. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Friday, June 07, 2013
Post #2650. Thumbtacks can fail. Reader advisory: If you are a bit of a neurotic nutcase like me and subject to unreasonable adventures of the mind and resulting behavior over small things, stop here.
I was thumbtacking one time, and the tack wouldn't go in. I pushed harder and then real hard. It gave, only it gave by blasting through the head and knifing deep into my thumb. Shock, horror, pain and blood. Lots of blood. The incident itself, gruesome as it was, got over with. No tetanus. The point of the post is that such an experience lasts FORever. You can never use, see or even think about another thumbtack without getting a full memory visual of the whole violent scene. It's been years for heaven's sake.
Tonight, while looking for a thumbtack, it all came back, as usual, but so also did another thing. I found an empty thumbtack package. Now, who left that, huh? What kind of thoughtless sicko uses the last tack and replaces the empty package? Probably you? Oh, no no no no, not me. Another nutcase issue. I buy two of everything, all the way up to microwaves, to make sure I don't run out. Two of everything? At least. Some items call for four or six. Or 36, especially with free shipping. You're quite old, aren't you? Not Quite Old but, yes, oldish. Why? No reason. Just thinking aloud. It isn't like I'm really here, you know.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Thursday, May 09, 2013
Post #2650. Just for the Search. I've been meaning to type this:
Note: This formula is very useful when writing about Eternity. It is not my own; it belongs to a very smart Canadian. Contact me for his information. Isn't that just a cheap way to get comments? Maybe.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Post #2649. Annual Report Tips. This paragraph is from my favorite annual report, favorite because I do have quite a few electrons there. The section:
At December 31, our available-for-sale investments included an investment in mandatorily redeemable preferred stock of ATA. During the second quarter of 2004, our assessment of ATA's continued financial difficulties led us to conclude that the unsecured preferred stock investment maturing in 2015 was other-than-temporarily impaired. Accordingly, we recorded total pre-tax non-cash charge to asset impairment expense of $47, resulting in a reduction of the carrying value to zero.would have been clearer if they had preceded it with:
We were planning on filling up several good-sized wheelbarrows with $47,000,000.00 in 100-dollar bills and rolling them out to the east parking lot and then setting them afire for the Friday BBQ, but instead we did this. Sorry.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Post #2648. For the ages. If you're around in the early part of the 21st Century, you know what this expression means. If you are a time traveler, look it up. The .. event ... conjures up so many words: ugh. gross. justice. wow. ironic. dayum. ouch. I've provided all 112 spellings:
•Qaddafi, Muammar enemaRick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Monday, April 15, 2013
Post #2647. Sir Jim. Our perpetual Congressman, Hon. Jim McDermott (D-Seattle) has been knighted by the King of Lesotho. Henceforth, he may add to his list of honors: Knight Commmander of the Most Dignified Order of Moshoeshoe. Since he is congressman-for-life here locally, he is able to spend most of his time in Africa. He is a psychiatrist.
You might remember: Friday, April 20, 2007. In Washington State, we care about the fish and animals, and hang the cost, doggone it. One million dollars per salmon? Yur darned tootin,' whatever it takes. For example, the multimillion dollar project to reintroduce pygmy rabbits to the scrub flats of Eastern Washington is not going to be deterred by the fact that 14 of the first 20 rabbits were quickly devoured by predators. So long as the money and new GPS devices to replace those also apparently eaten holds out.
There's news. Federal officials have approved a plan for the rescue. I read it. There may be news, but I'm afraid I cannot tell you that there's hope. The press release uses the word "managing" three times in quick succession as well as "program," "collaborating" and "developing." Nowhere in the vast scale of the exercise is there any hint of "going outside." So, they're not getting into boots and rugged clothing and crawling around in the sand and sagebrush, looking for tiny rare rabbits? Rabbit. There's one rabbit left. No, I'm so sorry; it's all memos and meetings. In fact, can you imagine what it would take to get a Washington bureaucrat from there to the wild badasslands of Eastern Washington? The best part of the whole plan is this:
As part of the draft recovery plan, federal officials will continue to pursue cooperation with land owners in the rabbit's historic range under a "safe harbor" agreement which allows landowners, after a survey of their land for any wild rabbits, to pay $50 for a permit to be absolved of any harm for violating the Endangered Species Act if they incidentally kill or hurt a rabbit while operating their farm. The remaining rabbit would probably appreciate that.
The new hotel in Dubai, the one with the giant sail ... I checked on a standard room, wife and kids: $4,084.74 a night. "Published Rate is subject to 10% Municipality Fee and 10% Service Charge and is inclusive of complimentary parking and access to the beach." I wonder if we'll get pillow mints?
There was a house advertised in the real estate section which I couldn't believe: 3br/2ba, meticulously remodeled, only $215,000. Then I noticed the address: 17711 - 648th Lane Northeast. A bit out of the way.
Finally, residents were evacuated for about five hours when David Hahn,
the "Radioactive Boy Scout," was caught trying to steal a smoke detector. Once again, ignorant hysteria. Nuclear energy is perfectyl safe when employed properly.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Post #2646. From the what I should have said file. We were out of town at the spring basketball tournament, having lunch in a cafeteria. I was last to reach the table, and as I started to sit, my coach said, out of the blue, "You know, you have all the sexual appeal of a man or a woman." My teammates' faces were in their food and remained there during this Dickensian moment and for the rest of the meal pretty much. The remark was all the more amazing since Coach rarely spoke to me at all, I was that poor a player.
Tonight, 52 years later, I finally have what I should have said. Remember now that certain word-bombs were rarely used in those days, certainly never by milquetoast me. Coach, thank you. That means a lot, especially coming from you. Now tell me, what the fuck are you talking about?Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Post #2645. Oh, sure. Things are just fine. Statement came today from a small credit union account I have. About $2500. The interest earned was 17¢. Seventeen cents! It cost them ... heck, I don't know anymore, about fifty cents to mail the statement. I don't know and I frankly don't even care. I order Forever stamps online about once every three years, pay for them online, never see a denomination. I've written exactly four checks in the last three years. My money is all electrons. I shop almost exclusively online. The UPS man comes often, I know, because I hear the bump and find the packages.
Am I even still here? How would one know?Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Friday, March 22, 2013
Post #2644. Just one more brief bitch before bedtime?. The little boy, seven years old, who swam from Alcatraz Island to San Francisco? You saw that story? Heartwarming. All throughout the swim, the news kept reminding us that this was ONE of the youngest blah-ditty-blah-blah. Why do they do that? Is it too much trouble to look it up? Chances are the kid is indeed THE youngest person to make the swim, I mean, c'mon. Or why not even throw everything out there, take a huge chance and without even looking it up, announce that this was indeed THE BIGGEST PLANE EVER TO CRASH IN DIPSHIT COUNTY or THE MOST CATTLE EVER TO BURN UP IN A COLLISION ON THE 274 BYPASS or we get it.
We know how he goes on and all, but it should be mentioned that little Angela Carson used to swim from Alcatraz every day to attend kindergarten in San Francisco while her father worked a a guard on the Island. Wow, really? Howcum this never made any news? Well, it would have except she didn't come home that one day.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. Jesse Berg would like this story. RMacherat
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Post #2643. The Lesson. Today, Friday, was the day I made a Major Financial Milestone, thanks to the active stock market. It was also the day I Peed In My Pants. Twice. Thanks to thinking I was still twenty-five. What's the lessson here? I'm not sure exactly. It's just that going from Royally pissed-off, literally, to elation of the highest order and then back to pissed-off said something about life that needed to be recorded. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Post #2642. Just in time. My favorite-of-all-time Seattle picture by Seasun was about to fall off the bottom of the page. From there, I believe it would have been whisked off to the archives, wherever they heck they are, to be lost forever. My offer of $1.00 for anyone who knows how to put a simple "To the Archives" link on this thing is still open. No fancy, sectioned-off page with crazy fonts. Just a link.
Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Post #2641. Rick and Kathy and Ted. So, Ted was our Director of Personnel (who should have known better,) and Kathy was the Assistant Front Office Manager (and incredibly hot.) At our inevitably out-of-control office Christmas party, one thing led to another, and Kathy saw Ted’s dick. I know this because Kathy (my closest friend at work) told me in the course of an unrelated conversation that he had a small one. A small what? I asked. Small dick, she replied, quite offhandedly. How do you know? I demanded. So she gave me all the details about the abortive make-out session in the pantry, etc. Quite a bonerific story, actually.
Ted, with whom I was also close, was otherwise pretty doggone hot himself, and now I knew he had a small dick. Strange feeling, you know, sitting there in my office, having a meeting, just the two of us. Me and Ted, Ted with a small dick, me with a normally-sized one. So, you and Kathy.. haw-haw, I leered. Followed was some back and forth where he tried to get at what I knew and I tried to make like I knew more than I wanted to reveal, and so on. Later, he went to see her and wanted to know what she told me. She assured him that she had said nothing and that I must have seen the two of them sneaking out through the kitchen. I had mentioned that as well, so he bought it.
He seemed much more at ease when we met again. But, I couldn’t resist saying as he left, Seriously, Ted, I don’t know anything about it. Gosh but he was fun, and I was so evil in those days. There are more stories about Kathy, Ted and me. And finally, when it was time for us each to move on, I had never actually had either of them. Dang, so sad, thinking back. Course, we're all older than dirt now.Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Monday, January 28, 2013
Post #2640. The Internet seems more brilliant every day, doesn't it?
It seems a doctor was shot today. It also seems that some people were sold, as part of their Internet advertising plan, space on pages where the word "Doctor" is used. So, the Southern California shooting references a [ENTER YOUR LOCALITY HERE] shooting which never happened, followed by about 65 ads. I'm not complaining. It's capitalism at its best, and it keeps all money from medical waste, fraud and abuse churning through the economy. Did you know that Internet ads get paid when someone clicks on the link, and the price for that is a lot higher than you would imagine, like $8-$10 per hit, something like that. So, of course, I help business & commerce as much as possible by clicking on lots of ads, especially the annoying ones. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat
Wednesday, January 02, 2013
Post #2639. New Years is a very long day. Friends, a few posts ago, I made reference to a Dr. Dwarkanath S. Parapurath Kovummal-Rajiv. This name was completely made-up, as least as completely made-up as I could have possibly made it at the time. It got searched. I am not kidding. Guess with a billion people, just about any combination of letters could be someones name. Sorry about that. I'm sure he's an excellent doctor.
I must also apologize for everything else, because for some reason this site got really visited all of a sudden. Like 14 hits in one day, my regular tally for six or eight months. And usually most of those are just young men who have mistakenly typed in one or more of my made-up words by mistake and put them with something horny in a neverending quest for p0rn. I would quite likely have been doing the same thing fifty or sixty years ago if we had these contraptions then instead of Kinsey. pitures of women in swetters or petal pushers.
Doctor came by, on my birthday. And that's the only thing which happened on my birthday. I was not looking forward to having to confess stopping one of his meds completely and cutting back on the other since they almost killed me. He thinks I'm a hypochrondriac, but he took it quite well, actually. I think he has some other patients now. Plus a new baby. I laughed at him when he tried to stifle a yawn. A yawn which I interpreted as due to his having been sleep-deprived for the past two weeks and not entirely because I am terminally boring.
We had a little traffic episode in town yesterday which prompted the eternal question, Yeah, well howcum when a car runs away and the driver insists they were standing on the brakes and never touched the accelerator and they slammed it into Park and turned off the key even, it still runs wildly down the street, across the divider and about 25 feet into the pizza parlor and the drivers are always old? Huh? What about that? And we back-atcha, Younger drivers have just as many runaways, only THEY claim that they weren't even in the car at that time and it just leapt from the curb and roared down the street and through the busy intersection and right into the pizza parlor, that's howcum. So it happened in town yesterday, like I said, and the driver was ... oldish, about my age ... only it was a HYBRID. The first runaway hybrid. Turns out the car was only one day old. This might prove to be a bit embarrassing for our side. I can imagine getting distracted say by a passerby, say in pedal pushers, and not hearing any sound whatever from the car, subconsciously assuming, since so much of driving is indeed subconscious, that it wasn't running or moving at all. Yes, I can imagine that happening. This will be solved quite easily by putting a good throaty muffler on all hybrids for seniors.
For some reason, people have the idea that this problem began with the inauguration of President Bush and his signing of an Executive Order mandating substandard facilities and care system-wide to take effect immediately and only now has the Washington Post discovered it. Sorry, but that isn't how it went. For instance, I had a bit of surgery as a child and it still hurts 59 years later. Adhesions. Of course, this was at Roswell, and granted things at that hospital were a little disordered at that particular time. For all I know they took something and grafted it into an alien, or vice-versa.
Point is, military hospitals are crappy, always have been and always will be. Take, for example, your typical small town civilian hospital, staffed by doctors who weren't good enough to get into anyplace big and shiny and who feel put upon having to care for all these dirty, poor people. For free. Worse still, imagine this: you're in medical school, and the military is giving you a full ride in exchange for a few years of treating generally healthy, fit young men and women; it'll be MASH with no war. Whoopee! So, you get there and who do you end up treating? Dependents. Women who seem always to be pregnant and kids, hordes of kids with perpetual runny noses. Think you'll get Mayo Clinic care there? Add to that living in government quarters [instead of the customary fine home by the lake,] wearing rank and generally having to behave officery and working somewhere near 40 hours a week with very little golf and certainly not golf at any of the best links. Then add the bureaucracy, gawd the bureaucracy. Some proportion of these doctors actually find a home in the military, like it or at least settle for it, and then they get promoted. A lot. They are the ones who direct all that paper. Take a marginally competent professional who has been promoted [thankfully] out of doing whatever it is he isn't very good at doing into Administration where he can misperform Administering to his heart's content and at least isn't hurting anyone so they let him be, and there you have the paperwork nightmare. This will never end either, no matter how many commissions are set up.
If you've gotten this far and maybe are getting a little mad because you know better, or differently, the blog should mention the exceptions. There are some EXTRAORDINARY individuals in military medicine. Saints, really. Doing it, and doing it so wonderfully well, just because they love it and they care and actually seem to Have Been Called To It if you believe in that stuff. And if in the course of your career you encounter one or more of these people, well, good for you. Thankfully, quite a number of them happen to be in Afghanistan right now.
Sister-in-law is an inveterate forwarder. If I didn't get some lame thing from her for a day or two I'd have to send the police to check/see if she had died. This afternoon I got that video you've probably seen - the one on technology and how everything is increasing exponentially, accompanied by some annoying Irish folk music. Normally pleasant if you've had a few. Not only does she forward relentlessly, she is a lazy forwarder, the worst kind. She leaves all the previous stuff and pages of email addresses on it. Who are all these people I'm sure I don't want to know and certainly don't want to have my address? Anyway, the email got titled "Check out this technology thing" somewhere along the way, and in the copy I eventually received a lot of people had included comments .. "Wow," "This is so kewl," etc. Momentarily I considered adding, "RE: The technology thingy; we are so screwed," decided against it.
One of the factoids in the video was the statistic claiming 20% of the people at any job site are new, and 50% have been there less than five years. Customers would probably reply, "That long?"
While the technology-is-scary-and-relentless video was playing, my eye drifted off to the side of the page to one of the advertisements, promoting
Free Stuff - Free Condoms!!! - Playboy Pics Cell Phone - Free SEXY Ringtones - Free Movie Tickets - *HOT* Rock Ring Tones - SEXY Girls Text Message - Hot NEW Sidekick III - Free Playstation 3 - Free Nintendo Wii - 1000s of Ringtones - Free *HOT* Ring Tones - Cool Blue Phone - Free Laptop - HOT Sexy Neighbors
I don't think that weary, inevitable and ironic juxtaposition of ideas really requires any comment, do you?
You may have noticed that the staff here at In the Day didn't have a Big Party with balloons and bawdiness when the 2,000th post was published. No, we wouldn't do that here. Maybe we'll have some coffee cake and tea when someone comes by and actually reads one. But what about the day you had 14 hits? Sadly, I'm akamai enough to realize that a hit with a presence and elapsed time of, say, zero seconds only means that you inadvertently put in a word or phrase which piqued the momentary electro- curiosity of a search engine which then added your blurb to the results list on someones query. 99.999% of the time they never get to your site. My, that is sad.
Did you know that ringtones are now a billion dollar industry? Think about that as you consider the 6.5 billion of us flailing headlong into the future of an uncertain technological world where most of us can't Fix Anything.
[Added a few moments later.] I got to wondering about the expression, "inveterate forwarder." Did that pop into my head clean or was it simply recalled and passively plagiarized by me from a hundred other places? Doesn't matter. Yes it does. Went to Google of course and guess what? I'm only the second person in the history of typed and searched wordage to use the expression. In honor of the occasion, I should introduce the person who used it the first and only other time, Bill Doskoch [sounds like a made-up name, it isn't. He's a Canadian, writes better than I do, but then he does it for a living.]Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat