I'm Cool Now

30 degrees below zero Kelvin, with a windchill of are you fucking kidding me. Warrmmm.

Okay, a little bit of meta-news. I've added an email account to the blog -

simplelittleelectrician@yahoo.com

- for personal questions, electrical questions, pharmaceutical questions, metaphysical questions, go ahead.

If you feel a need to blast me, make it funny and it gets it's own post.

If you're trying to sell me siding, expect a string of expletives, a shortage of commas, and a biological impossibility or two.

An Open Letter To AM 950 - Minnesota's Progressive Radio

Listening to the radio on the way to work this morning, The Morning Grind Radio program, local liberal morning drive-time show. The host, Matt McNeil, who I generally like very much, was moved by the coincidence of both himself and his producer, William Wonderful, watching (separately) Finding Bigfoot Tuesday evening. He went off on a short rant about about 'the nuts in the woods', as part of a larger theme of the dumbing down of Americans from, in part, reality TV.

A caller then raised the thought that the IQ of American citizens have dropped 17 points, to the point where we are giving out Tech visas to immigrants to fill our technical positions.

I sent this to the comment line, and have added a touch for clarity.

Mr. McNeil, Mr Wonderful, 

I am a huge fan - normally. Today's second hour, however, was ridiculous, in re: to the 'Sasquatch' conversation. 

What harm are they (Finding Bigfoot) doing? They like to hoot and holler in the woods, you can believe or not, it's entertainment. They, and I, think that sasquatch (and ghosties, and UFOs) are out there to be found. Other people believe in god - I do not know the religious leanings of the characters on the shows, but I don't.

I am not religious, and while I can believe in, and question, the unknown, even the 'spirit of nature', I do not believe in the traditional Bearded Sky Fairy, smiting the shit out of everything, who will throw me into a sulfurous pit for not hating teh qweers enough. A second, shorter, Open Letter:

Dear Organized Religion,

Fuck off.

Love, paleo

What I see is other people believing in god going on TV every Sunday morning and scaring widows out of their social security. Finding Bigfoot has never gone on TV saying "If you believe in Sasquatch hard enough, and give us every cent you can spare and then some, Sasquatch will make you rich." That's Mac Hammond and his most famous congregant One L Two N's. The Ghost Hunters have never been busted in the LA Times for having a cover-up of kiddie-diddling ghost researchers.

Prosperity Gospel. Ha. Ha. Roger Cardinal Mahoney needs to be jailed all the way through Purgatory.

Regarding **** from *******'s comment about visas, and how we are allowing people into the country to fill tech jobs, those people brought in on visas to fill those positions do so at almost non-living wages. Its not a lack of tech savvy people, it's a lack of tech savvy people willing to work for, when one's salary is divided by hours worked, well under minimum wage. It's not substantially different than undocumented workers coming in to do manual farm labor.

Not to mention, someone overseas can get a great technical education for a fraction of the cost of a university education here in the US. Not to mention, any tech worker unemployed after the age of 45 will be unhireable. Not to mention, any hi-tech worker employed after the age of 50 will soon be unemployed. Not to mention that going into hi-tech as a woman is asking for a lifetime of abuse from the unfortunately very real stereotype of most code monkeys being male  Randroids.

My two cents.
paleo

Do my arguments make sense? Am I totally off base here? I don't knock on people's doors at dinnertime to pass out copies of the Patterson-Gimlin film. I am aware I'm a nerd, I'm okay with it, but does that make me stupid? I'm quite pissed off.

The Intellectualism Of The Right Wing

The snarkier side of the intratubez has had a couple of days gloriously slapping the remarkable, or occasionally remarked upon, anyhow, psychialogist Dr. Helen on her post replying to a question made by a strawman about "What is wrong with women?"

Hmmrp.

Apparently, in this dude's experience in online dating sites, women's profiles frequently seem to request or prefer liberal men. Her commenters started up with their usual pseudo-analysis of us dirty libs, "Oooh, women just want men they can control its unhealthy women have a secret internal need to be domesticated that's why my marriage has been happy and silent for 30 years even without the times she ran..." I'm not going to pile on here, others better than I have been doing so gleefully, but I want to talk a bit about the party of 'cold logic', the party of 'rational thought', unlike those rudderless 'emotional progressives', like, um, me.

I'm watching The Daily Show, Stewart is fisking Glenn Beck and his conservative compounds, and it had the ever popular "Hitler was a vegetarian" so vegetarians = bad. This is cold logic, rational argument in action.

"Did Hitler cause liberals or did liberals cause Hitler? What does the sugar have to do with it?"

"Do we need more guns, or bigger guns?"

"Is President Blackity-blackbama the Anti-Christ or Shiva, Destroyer of Worlds?"

Hey, I can play too!

"Do jelly beans cause Alzheimers, arms deals, and astrology?" (I like the black ones. Like my never mind.)

"Does crying cause orange skin?"

What are the twin towers modern republicanism is built on? Can we all agree they are Ayn Rand and Ronald Reagan? Good, thought so. Howzabout this?

"How would Reagan Go Galt? Stop making movies with chimps?" (Warning, Freeper link, bad for your brain and opinion of humanity)

Responsible gun ownership:


(To make myself clear - I am not particularly a pop country fan, this is actually a fairly good song, not groundbreaking or anything, but listenable. But the lyrics are terminally fucked.)

"Is the redneck yokel goddam peanuthead who pushed using the name Ronaldus Magnus for that criminal bastard a sociopath or a sociopath?"

Ah, hell.

Some Random Stuff I Think - Day-Off Navel Gazing

Today was a day off from work, and after my plunge, last week, into the dark underbelly of the whole basement remodeling 'scene'; where a lot of time is spent on bent knees; a mysterious presence referred to as 'Mohawk'; a wide variety of music, emo, rap, 'gangnam' style; ummm, stuff; I took a full day off, vegging, a bit of a nap, coffee with whisky. In the course of doing nothing all day, a few thoughts wandered across my bean.

Don't know why I occasionally obsess on this song - it sounds like a vignette from classic Sesame Street, so I, for that reason, either love it, or think it should be killed with fire for violating the Law Of The 'Street'.

A commercial for AFLAC - the duck was painful enough at the beginning, with the voice of Gilbert Gottfried (who, make no mistake, is a funny bastard, see THE ARISTOCRATS) - but the latest spin, direct from the bubbling, bile-filled, olympic-sized pit of hell, is 'ooh, the AFLAC duck is in teh hospital with a sprained beak, send it a get well card'. Air bubble in the IV, baby. Flo is aging like fine Thunderbird as well, but still vaguely tolerable.

Ahhh, one Gilbert for the record - mute if at work, brain bleach on sale at ALDI.

The dumpster was stolen from my driveway this morning. I was briefly disturbed, but then I realized I am still parking in my front yard. Then I realized that putting coffee in my whisky made me forget that I knew it was leaving. Then I realized I needed another coffee. And whisky. And then I noticed that the dumpster was stolen from my driveway this morning.

Also, the paint touch-up is done, I should not see the general contractor ever again, which made me cry (no more mixing whisky, whisky, coffee, and whisky), until I remembered that he's an evil, slippery weasel and good riddance, hooker.

On my third episode of NCIS - I can always find it; if I were not married, and Abby Sciuto was a real person, why, I'd...fail horribly, my tongue tied into two half hitches, as she calls 911 to help the stroke victim with the Fargo accent, but still. 
(And the wife knows, so back the hell off - she has a fondness for the star of the show, some loser, name's not important, approximately 2,634 years old but doesn't look a day over desiccated.)

Watched the 10th Doctor ep Partners in Crime for breakfast (whisky, whisky, coffee, eggs, spam, spam, and whisky.) Donna is seriously my favorite Companion, besides most of the rest.

ALDI - your store for finely aged meat, veggies, fabric, tomato juice, meat by-products, generic alcohol, and hand lotion.

It's Been A Good Week To Be A Democrat

I'll say it. I love Hillary Clinton.

Not her politics, especially, I'd vote for her in the general against any of the Grand Old Brownshirts but she's a bit moderate whereas I am a full-blown socialefticommigressive. However, I will not deny, it can not be denied, that:
SHE. IS. REALLY. GOOD. AT. HER. JOB.



Motherfucker's gonna have to buy the large neosporin to salve his tuchus after that spanking. Go to hell, ya bunch of shrieking red-assed buffoons.

Viralize this, please!
via TP

By Request Of A Certain Humanitarian - Teh Bar Area

I have been the target of an inquiry regarding the basement remodel, from a fine young man apparently of the belief that I keep stocks of Sailor Jerry's around, unlikely unless they have a single malt, but at any rate, to re:

Where in da fudge/basement is the bar and the beer sign?

The bar has yet to be designed fully, just a couple conceptual thingies - it will incorporate a dorm fridge, it will move easily for cleaning due to teh kitties and their habit of apparently going bald two or three time a day, and it will not be a wet bar, do not want to eff around with additional plumbing.

The beer sign? Perhaps (neon) Leinies Summer Shandy? One of the old-style backlit Guinness Signs? Don't know yet, there is an ear to be played by, I'll take ideas...

Remodel Blogging - Forensic Analysis Of A Week In My Damned Basement

To paraphrase (badly) Astronaut James Lovell on the wildly successful, yet not completed*, Apollo 13 mission to the moon:

"We have 17,000 things to do. We are on number 9. Do your job."

That is, on a far lesser yet much more personal scale, the story of my week, excepting that I believe of the 17,000 things I had to do (and that's not counting each piece of flooring as a single task...

...well, maybe. Don't judge me!), I'm into the mid 15,000's, and quite pleased.

Incidentally, for any grammar pedants reading this, this entire opening has been an huge metaphor fail. Thanks, try the veal.

I am still on vacation tomorrow, but my mission is to restore the homestead to some version of functional. Home point two, or some such. Do dishes. (ACK). Laundry. (FUDGE.) Find my bed. Find my wife. Eat something not made at Buffalo Wild Wings.

So, on to the analysis.

Flooring 95 percent. The transitions from laminate to the tiled bathroom floor have befoozled me and may continue befoozling - we'll see. I do not yet have a fully grown plan for the stairwell, excepting that it will be expensive and a pain-in-the-ass.
Electrical 95 percent. Sconces in and put up, ceiling fans in and put up. She-Who-Walks-On-My-Favorite-Ground must pick device covers, otherwise ready for final inspection. After the final inspection, the real electrical gets done - disco balls, smog machines, electric strippers.
Paint touch-up can be ordered. Today, a friend of mine, poor bastard, answered my call for help, cheerfully, he's a good friend, and a damn genius (engineer and geek), and a hard worker, and we got the 4 major things downstairs with a minimum amount of damage, and he was taking me out of his phone contacts as he left...
Garage. I CAN SEE FLOOR. Wanted to get a handful of things done in it tomorrow, primarily making room for the stuff from the storage pod so's I can get the bloody thing out of my driveway, but the cold front hit the upper midwest this afternoon. Went from 30 degF to 8 degF and still dropping, wind swirling. Birds dropping out of flight, to shatter harmlessly on the ground. Well, nearly harmlessly - one neighbor kid's skills in broken field running leave something to be desired, like skill, but I s'pect this would be called motivation.

I'm happy, Sweetie's happy, and I don't want to go to work Monday. Poop.

*Read the book, see the movie - unbelievable.

Now That The NFL Is Done For The Year

For all intents and purpose.

San Francisco Salamander Molesters at teh Atlanta Falcons

Jim Harbaugh, affectionately known by his college and pro teammates as Ol' Douchenozzle, directs his 49ers against Matt Ryan and the Falcons. Harbaugh, the fratboy cobag who invented buttchugging and lucked into Colin Smackayackanick, has an uphill climb in Atlanta against the quietly efficient Birds, but this should be a very entertaining game. Falcons with the home field advantage, 34-31.

Baltimore Ravens at the New England Patriots

Bill Belechick, affectionately know by his players and the rest of the NFL as Ol' Satan, holds the field against the Ravens, led by Ray Lewis, known by the Baltimore PD as Ol' The One That Got Away, playing his final season. Lot of intensity on the Baltimore sidelines because of that, but Ol' Lucifer wins going away, 31-14.

The Super Bowl Matchup: Patriots - Falcons

Thus it has been written, so say we all.

Submitted Without Comment - Random Gunsense

My wife found these - thanks, Sweetie!

So absolutely right on.

A "National Mental Health Registry" Is A Distraction, And A Load Of Garbage

Listening to Stephanie Miller this morning, the topic, guns.

Steph seemed to be open to a National Health Registry of some sort, accessible as part of a background check for a gun purchase. Steph, I love you, but fuck that noise.

Reports of the Newtown shooter indicate that he had aspergers or an Autism Spectrum disorder. Well, news flash: he did not go into the school, beaming autism rays at children, whereupon they fell gently on their backs, hands folded over their chests, with cherubs, a single tear at the corner of their eye, hovering over them.

He went into the school with a rifle, a large clip filled with .223 shells, tearing into his victims. I can't, don't, just can't imagine the scene - just can't. I have no connection to Newtown, except being human, and I was torn the fuck up.

Mental health is an issue between a patient and doctors, relevant family members, the courts if it goes to that extent. Mental health treatment funds need to blown up by a factor of 10,000%, or perhaps the pants-pissingly afraid gun-wankers of the NRA forget that it was Saint Reagan who closed mental health facilities and slashed funds for treatment so poor, mistreated rich fuckers could get a tax break they didn't fucking need.

Children are, or used to be taught, that if they see a gun, they should call an adult. The NRA used to be part of that educational process, but no more, the NRA line is, "If you see a gun, grab it, love it, care for it and it will care for you, hold it tight, now ease your zipper down...ummm, sorry,  or the black guy in the White House will take it away."

The NSSF, GOA, NRA (too many syllables - I'll call them The Coward Gun-Fappers With Metallic Penises) want the mentally ill registered, but not guns and their lovers.

Let me restate that.

The Coward Gun-Fappers With Metallic Penises want the mentally ill, even the worst of whom can be treated and cared for and members of society, publicly outed (along with scorn, fear, and knowing the republicans, locked away in a hole without treatment, at best), but Bubba gets his RPG and 5 gallon bucket of KY Jelly and no one has to know.

Do not let TCG-FWMP get away with this crap. The problem is the guns. Yes, people can be be killed by hammers. And frisbees, and turnips, and lawn sprinklers. By the sane and mentally ill.

GUNS MAKE IT SO MUCH FUCKING EASIER.

Remodel Blogging - Floorgasm, Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Advil

Obligatory soundtrack:


Good day, but seriously, fuck this shit.

I had very unlikely dreams of finishing laminate today, I had plans of finishing laminate tomorrow, but I've only plowed through a third of this stuff, much of it with the welcome help of my sister-in-law's SO, who wanted to learn how to put it in their place, and took to it like a duck to, something a duck likes. I'd done it before, no expert, yet capable, but apparently I'd forgotten why I don't do this for a living. 

Tomorrow's start - Blech

Bedroom and closet

It was a good day, really, what is done looks amazing, just ridiculously painful and slower than I expected, had the tunes and caffeine aplenty, SO is good company, good practice in case I want to do it for a living.

Now that a rhythm, indeed, even counterpoint, has been established, I no longer have effective control of my (yes, bandaged) hands - they are responding more or less, but being argumentative little bastards about it - I had to call it an evening, SO went home with dreams of putting in anything other than damnable laminate, and sweetie is finding something edible. 

Ta.

Ow.

Workstation - stereo, laptop, seat. (Not pictured - Scotch)

  

Not an entirely useful view

Oh No Not I, I Will Survive

I'm sick.

Much better now, but sick. Coupla days.

Like several hundred million Americans, I have some version of the Martian death flu (one of the cute little known thingies about diabetes is slightly compromised immunity, and slow healing - given that I seem to open a major blood vessel daily at work, I should have stock in Band-Aids. No one has ever seen my complete hands, it's possible no one knows I have hands.) 

What little lunch I have eaten has been kept down. Yesterday for breakfast I had oatmeal. Comfort food, right? Well, in the space of a few hours it not only stuck to my ribs but set up a thriving civilization, complete with a social safety net and a Ferris Wheel attached to my stomach, but it did stay down.

I know I'm in trouble when I'm cold - I'm never cold. 45 degF is t-shirt weather for me. But I was cold, so I pulled the plug at work, went home, went to bed, late afternoon. 

It's been a long, what, 30 hrs? The cold sweats, the hot colds, TheraFlu (the generic, anyhow, local stores have pulled TheraFlu due to quality control concerns, apparently, but the generic still works and still tastes like deep-fried ass), the hallucinations; so vivid, so seemingly memorable, but in the end ephemeral.

About 4 in the morning, things seem to have come to a head - my wife was sleeping on the couch, she loves me but had no intention of getting anywheres near me until I was healthy, or spring, whichever came first, and heard me come into the kitchen for water, medicine, and a conversation with the unicorn making me scrambled eggs and farting fairies, and said I was a blur, shivering, teeth chattering, freezing and sweating, like a penguin doing aerobics, except that I don't own a tuxedo - I've worn one twice, and honestly, I look like a Greek god, or Michaelangelo's David, only with a tux and much larger junk, at my brother's wedding, where I would have been swamped by the chickies if'n they weren't already married or about to become in-laws, and at my wedding, where I would have been swamped by the chickies if'n it weren't my own wedding, plus I got swamped by Teh One Chickie What Counts - W00t!!1!!!

I have returned, somewhat, to humanity - at least the unicorn has left, the fairies stink (sort of as expected), and the eggs were delicious. Watching a bit of Baltimore - Denver, waiting for the Packers - San Francisco, I love my guys but this is gonna be a tough one, we spent too much time punting last week, and while we managed to quiet Adrien Peterson, in part that was due to the back-up QB for the Vikings being seriously bad, we could put 8 guys on the line. Frank Gore for SF is perfectly capable, and Colin Whoozenwhatzitnick is a pretty good quarterback. Wish I could do a better analysis, what I can say is that we are a much different and I think much better team than at the beginning of the year.

I've got a pile of work slated for my vacation week starting Monday, so there will be some remodel blogging, and tomorrow something about the game. For now, since I feel up to it I have got to eat something, I'm effing ravenous, and the game starts in a few.

Remodel Blogging Weeks Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? Does Anybody Really Care?

After weeks of slow, somewhat invisible, incremental work,  some great strides are being taken.

First, the bathroom is nearly complete - some trim work, a few light fixtures and a mirror and it's soup - hell, its already poopable/bathable (all the stuff on the floor is in here due to sealing of the rest of the floor).

I finished most of the electrical trim - still outlet covers, 2 ceiling fans (or disco balls, I'm on the fence.) I'm quite proud, I think I've prepped for every contingency, save zombie apocalypse, where two egress windows and a stairwell do not allow for easy defense, and no escape at all.

I sealed the floor with deck sealer this morning - I have no water issues, and I've been told that resealing the concrete will help tremendously with humidity. Given that humidity was one of the initial demons attacking the  basement, along with a stupid footprint and pisspoor construction - fuck HGTV - I'm all about it. On Wednesday and Thursday I am pitting down the drycore subfloor, then after a three day work weekend I have a full week off.

Theory: Laminate flooring two days, move downstairs three days, squeeze in putting in the stair rail, then fish for two days.

We'll see - the fishing is totally optional and can disappear far too easily...

BBC America Is The Reason Cable Exists

Last night, watched the Tivo'ed Eleventh Doctor 2012 Christmas special.

AWESOME. Such a good ep. Right there with the Tennant ep on the space Titanic with Kylie Minogue. Tingles. Coleman will be a good companion.

Watching the Battlestar Galactica telemovie from at the beginning of the reboot, still amazing. Edward James Olmos, Mary McDonnell, Katie Sackhoff, Tricia Helfer, James Callis, (also very good as Dr. Grant in Eureka). AWESOME.

With a few, rare exceptions, american TV can choke on a bag of dicks.

Our Foes, Vanquished - Blame Teh Backup QB

John Kuhn, (Airborne), For 6

Dateline, Minneapolis-St. Paul: The Green Bay Packers sent Khafeyian spies to kidnap and torture Minnesota Vikings' starting QB Christian Ponder's elbow, and in cover of night replaced him with well paid assassin/sous-chef Joe Webb, preventing the Vikings from retaining their position as 7-time Superbowl winning champions of the NFC. 

Vikings flack Joe Soucheray reported that the NFL was considering replaying the game when Ponder was healthy. Local intellectual Bob Sansavere reported that "I knew it were coming and stopped watching Vikings games in July, these guys will never amount to anything." 

paleo, of the famed blog Checking Out Your Shorts, said "Vikings fans are, by and large, the worst fair weather fans in the history of any sport, including that one in Mexico that was like basketball except with beheadings. And Twin Cities media is merciless on their sports teams - if the Vikings win one, it's 'oh, here we go, Superbowl!', if they lose one, it's 'Vikings? What are these Vikings you speak of?' I can't imagine anyone wanting to play here, and actually, I feel terrible for Adrien Peterson, who seems like a genuinely good guy and is clearly one of the finest athletes of any generation, and is being set up for a Barry Sanders situation, amazing player on a semi-pro team. He should come to the better side of the river."

Special Note For These Purveyors Of Fine Whine: Shut up. Injuries happen - as a Packer fan, believe me, injuries happen. And it's Christian Ponder - every backup QB in the league is better than Ponder, much less Joe Webb. You lost. Hush, suck it up, try again.

We get the 49ers next weekend, I gotta work, so will be cobbling together some manner to watch the game - frustration, pppbbffllltttt! I'll say more about that later, we definitely played at a high level, finally almost healthy (didn't really stay there, dammit), but for now, I'm watching the Seattle Seahawks at the Washington Racistnames, and its a helluva game. I do have a rooting interest - I want another scrum with the Seahawks, we owe them. 

My Princess

No, not sweetie...

This is my little diva-cat avoiding the in-law's dog and relaxing during New Years dinner, and yes, she has paleo wrapped around her little finger (her older brother is a punk - and also does the finger wrapping thing.)

No Illusions - Rose Bowl Edition

Look. I'm aware that we are likely to get slapped today. We have more than our share of issues, including a temp head coach (OK, it is Alvarez...), and Stanford is a legitimately good team, and very strong against the run. I'm not overjoyed, but I'll live.

But, for FSM's sake, please, could someone get BRENT GODDAM MUSBURGER THE HELL OFF THE TV AND PLANET?

Ignore the fact that he is a monstrous racist.
Ignore the fact that he permanently has the taste of Notre Dame's junk in his mouth.

Dear Mr. Musberger;

It is WIS - consin. WISCONSIN. There ain't no easconsin, you dumbass 15th degree inbred, so where do you get wes-consin?

You are a motherfucking hack.

Love,
paleo