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Archive for February, 2012

I’ll keep it short, Google.

SCREW YOU.

You think by bundling all your stuff up in one where I cannot cancel my account without losing youtube is going to coerce me into keeping you and your heavy-handed snooping?  No, really, screw you.  I’ll gladly do without you and anything to do with you.  Spent most of my life without you, and I’ll cheerily toss you in the trash for the rest of it.

You’re going the way of Netflix in my mind and in my dealings.  I’m voting with my feet.

I just hadn’t gotten around to the official act until now but I’ve already been using Bing for some time now.  And I’ll switch when they get abusive, too.

By the way, folks… Read this on How Target Figured Out a Teen Girl was Pregnant Before Her Father Did.

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A new graphic in the works.  It’ll be Doctor Lemur poster featuring a rendering of a product, which is a raytraced bottle made using the Dr. Lemur logo and stuff.  It is stuff wrapped in stuff wrapped in more stuff but I think it will look cool.

Here’s the newer one with more glassy glass.

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I’m going to let it speak for itself.

First lady Michelle Obama has joined her husband’s bandwagon to hit the rich and spread the wealth, questioning how well-off families can feel good if others are struggling.  – Michelle Obama’s Pitch – Share the Wealth

Poor baby must herself be up at night getting worry lines and filled with self-loathing.  I assume that there is always a lot of soul-searching going on insider her head, huh?

With all that worry, she needs to take a vacation.  What is it now?  16 in three years?  Oh definitely.

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A friend is going through a terrible recovery process from addiction.  Won’t you step over and wish her well in her fight to escape (however temporary it may be) from the ravaging clutches of chocolate?

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Holy Crayfish of Dune, Batman!

It’s clear then, that the space-folding Navigators from Dune are actually the descendants of Red Crayfish.

Found at the site for the University of Hull Fluid Dynamics Laboratory - crayfish after expelling water through it's olfactory apparatus.

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I managed to scarf two donuts and two Pączkis.  Someone mentioned that they wanted to see a picture of one.  So here you go…

What could be a Pączki, if I hadn't eaten them all.

I was on a Mission from God Tuesday morning to even find any at all.  The guy at Zingerman’s looked at me apologetically and said “You needed to reserve them ahead of time.  No reserved boxes, no Pączkis.”

“Can I reserve three boxes right now for pickup in ten minutes if I wait over there by the door?”

I tried in vain to look like a nice person but failed miserably.

“No.”

There was no hint of apology in his voice this time.

Damn.

So I frantically drove around looking for a place that could serve an honest Pączki. I skipped Kroger, didn’t have time to drive to Hamtramck, and when I stopped in Meijers with the cloying scent of defeat and shame  and asked the gal if they had any Pączkis, she looked at me and said…

What are Pączkis?

I struggled valiantly to suppress the twitches of various body parts and to not look disappointed.  I  must have failed in the attempt since the baker-ess took several steps back and was trying to reach for the phone. An elderly couple gasped and somebody whistled. A tumbleweed rolled by.

So I bought four large packages of chocolate donuts, donut holes, cinnamon rolls, and raspberry donuts to quell the whinging of my co-workers.  If you listen to them they will tell you that I was the one to start whining about pastries on Tuesday morning.  DO NOT LISTEN TO MY CO-WORKERS.  THEY LIE.  ALL OF THEM.

On the way back to work I asked Cruel Wife to please look at a nearby grocer to see if they had any. Thirty minutes later she called to report success. Yay!!!

I could only eat two. I was all proud of scarfing down two paczkis.

Curtail Friar put on a professional show of Fat Tuesday and I feel inadequate. It is fair to say that crammed inside each pastry is seventeen eggs, two quarts of whole milk, two sticks of butter, and nine cups of sugar but I still feel like an amateur.

Perhaps I was unfair to not post a real pic for you.  Here are the only two Pączkis known to be roaming in the wild in our house.  They alone survived the gauntlet.  I will turn them loose and perhaps there will be more roaming around next year.

The nimble Raspberry and Apple Pączki. The slower custard/creme ones did not have a chance.

On the kid front… there’s some improvement but still a great deal of concern on our parts.

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Utah.  Where a kid needs to get permission from a parent for each and every tanning session but only notification (if possible) given to the parent before a teen gets an abortion.

Wow.  It’s good to make sure your kids are safe from harmful UV radiation and it’s also good to have unimpeded ability for your children to kill their children.

Santorum may have said something politically stupid when he talked of “Satan Attacking America” but he probably did the right thing by saying it anyway.

Regardless of your stance on abortion (and I’m going on record as opposing it, vehemently) you have to admit that not requiring parental consent is taking too much of being a parent away from the parents.

Let’s put it this way – teens gets to exercise their options in being a parent but the teen’s parents do not?

Seriously?  And yet we’re concerned here with excessive tanning sessions?

That is all.

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We are still in a holding pattern with another doctor appointment in two weeks.  In the meantime we will see if a certain medication helps the family member in distress.  We’ll leave it vague like that to protect privacy.  No, it’s not me.

But at least we know more than we did this morning, which was (Jack + Squat) * 0,  which was coming out as “nothing” every single time.  So if you’re wired for anonymous prayers I’d count it as a kindness.

Luckily, tomorrow is Pączki Day, or Fat Tuesday, and I will eat three of them.  I will do so even if the food police come and take me away and torture me with rancid kelp milkshakes for a month.  I will have plum filling for one, raspberry (I hope they have, I do), and lemon (to me, it is saving the best for last).  Yes those last two are non-standard you-are-probably-going-to-culinary-hell ingredients but gosh darn it I love ’em.

Perhaps The Dude could weigh in on this and tell me if this is so or not.

And then I’ll calmly gobble them anyway.

The big questions readers are asking is “Lemur, what are you giving up for Lent?”

I honestly don’t know.  If I were to give up Shin Cups or toasted seaweed I could end up damaging my body severely.  You can’t just drop those sorts of things without considering the physical dependence upon them.

Perhaps I should give up something like All Bran™ or maybe grilled radicchio.  Or cuttlefish.  Or Yoo Hoo™.

So keep asking that question:  “Lemur, what are you giving up for Lent?”

Hopefully by now at least one or two readers are asking that question where none were before.

I hope to have an answer soon.  One year, believe it or not, I decided to forego any use of the internet that did not directly result from the requirements of work.  That was a sobering experience.  I wept, I gnashed teeth, I heaped dirt and coals upon my head.  Then I steeled myself and prepared to meet Day 2 head-on.

I know someone who once gave up booze and chocolate at the same time and some say it drove her stark bug-shit crazy-insane.  Some say she suffers from the trauma to this day.

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Meanwhile, yes, I am still pondering the last portion of that short story Aggie Sith demanded a while back.  A whopping 11% of people reading this blog have expressed continued interest – both of them did so more than once, I should add.

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Time out.

We had what you could call a true family emergency this week that is still ongoing. Think of it like a really slow ponderous train wreck. For a wonder it has nothing to do with me but I would rather it had.

I could not begin to tell you how this next week is going to go, so my attendance may be spotty.

Perhaps you could complain in the comments section and induce McGoo to do a guest blog posting or two… (hint hint)

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Pissed off.

Our male cat, Jack O. Katt, has some issues.  One thing that issues from his furry carcass is urine.

This is fine.  This is normal and good.  It’s a sign of a healthy cat.

Yet in an insecure and territorial male cat who sees an outdoor cat wander by his window in an admittedly cocky and disrespecting fashion – daily – tends to want to mark his own domain.

His domain is our domain since he is a house cat and the items that suffer are legion.  Just a few things:  Clothes, rugs, bookcases, walls, wicker trunks, and recently a framed and matted picture of Cruel Wife and her sisters, Crazy Sister and Driven Sister.

Naturally the last item prompted Cruel Wife to put up curtains in the bay window to restrict the incarcerated kitty from viewing unwelcome visitors.

I just told him “So, you lost your room with a view.  So sorry, but if you hadn’t pissed all over the house this might not have happened.  Look, you get three squares a day, a large house to nap in anywhere you like, you get a generous medical and benefits package and the retirement plan is to die for.  Is it so much to ask that you sit around and look pretty, purr every now and then, and not piss on the furnishings?”

He just stared at me.

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Scanners.

Went in for the CaT scan on Saturday morning.  Nothing unusual to report other than the contrast dye.

I told my daughter they have a special cat with a magnifying glass fitted over one eye and that he looks you all over upsy-downsy and meowfs if he sees something.

The gal says “Ok, we need to inject this into you so we can see the bone and bits-o-stuff.”  Bits of stuff probably wasn’t the technical terminology.  But she continued on, “Well, a lot of people get a warm fuzzy feeling, or flushed, or sometimes hot, but a very common side effect is that you’re going to feel like you really have to pee badly.”

“Oh, so I should go now?  I’d just as soon go now.”

“Oh sure, but don’t worry, I haven’t once had anyone wet themselves in the scanner.”

(How about just afterwards?)

They put me in the scanner, did some things, did some other things, and then she says “I’m going to have the machine inject the dye now.”

“WHOA!  THAT IS FASCINATING!”

The warmth started at the roof of my mouth, went to the back of my mouth, and made a beeline for my bladder.

“THAT IS SO WICKED COOL!”

And a few seconds later, it was gone.

Maybe they’ll call me today with the results.

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