Archive for the ‘Whining’ Category

Psychic pain.

Oh, how materialistic I am.  This need to possess something I will never ever have, probably won’t even see, much less hold.

Ow.  And no I wasn’t talking about Charlize Theron or Kate Beckinsale or anything like that.  I may be immature, arrogant, and disrespectful of authority but I’m not an animal, for Pete’s sake.  Think of me more like a big dog that talks.

It is a watch that is a thing of beauty.  IWC Portuguese Tourbillon Mystère Squelette

I beseeched Cruel Wife in tones of most urgent need.  “I would like you to say yes, without even thinking about it.  Say yes, that I may have one of these for my very own.”

She replied without even thinking about it.


Nothing quite like a swift emotional/spiritual kick to the nuts.  She has earned her stage name honestly.


I can’t help but say it again.

Obama is a complete and total flake.  He’s dishonest, he’s scheming, he’s not qualified for the job he is in, and he never should have gotten there because he isn’t there legally.  But that’s all sewage-infested water under the bridge.

What we should focus on is that somehow out of 350 MILLION people, we could not come up with five opponents that look like they have the ability to knock him out of office. This is so amazingly bad it is as if you took a spoiled piece of meat and made a confit with rancid grease and stuffed it in pasta made from ground-up FAIL.  It is so mind-numbingly piss-poor of a showing that I clench up all over in disappointment.  There really is not a word that encapsulates what I want to say.  Nothing comes close in order-of-magnitude.

We could have picked names randomly from the pool of individuals that met the age and naturalized American requirements (ahem) and done as good of a job.

We really stand a better than even chance of winding up with this turkey for four more years.  I would have calculated the odds of being struck by lightning at the exact moment that both you and the rabid bull that was goring you were struck by a meteor as being better than Obama showing up on the first day of a second term.

And what happened?  We walked away with a lineup of assclowns that I wouldn’t trust in a valet service to park my rusted out jeep.

Yes I’m disgusted.  More with each passing day.


In case you were wondering, deformable mirrors aren’t just for electrons any more.

You were wondering.  Admit it.

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taobmaetS ooGcM rightly guessed that not all has been well recently.

I’ve been working like a horse to make a project work for months and finally two scientists I work with flew out to make it work – plus a third scientist who we are collaborating with.  I felt some relief that surely with their help we would lick this problem, but at the same time it was with a different small amount of relief that after three days three absolutely brilliant scientists found nothing flawed with my work.  But, that also means that we still didn’t make it work.

I told one of them that I thought that what we have been thinking our diagnostics have been telling us about our laser is incorrect and that meant that no matter what we did we would not get the wee beastie working.  She agreed.  I said I needed to go home because I physically couldn’t do any more.

That (Friday) evening, just two hours later, I got a phone call from one of the other scientists telling me that I could opt to say no, but “Would you go down to Texas to build the instrument that you designed at a different facility?”

What the hell are you supposed to do, say no?

Without missing a beat I said “Yup, I will go.”  When I got surprise on the other end I said “Look, I’ve been killing myself over this and I damn well want to see it work.  I’m not giving up.  If it doesn’t work it won’t be because I didn’t give it everything I’ve got.”

So this week I fly down to Texas to try another group’s laser and equipment – let’s hope it works.

Yes, that has been A problem but not THE problem.  I’ve been over-exerting myself physically and for long enough that my neck has been telling me things were seriously wrong.  Friday last, it really told me.  I was in a vicious pain cycle to the point where I nearly had a co-worker take me to the hospital but managed to get it under control with painkillers before that became necessary.

Saturday was the real problem.  I woke up in the morning pretty bad off and took pretty much everything I could, but after an hour I was even worse.  I asked Cruel Wife to call the pain doc and have him call the ER ahead of us so they knew to not let me sit in agony in the waiting room for three hours like last time (that was a few years back).  Problems with going to the ER are (1) acute embarrassment even though you just want them to make it stop, and (2) there is nothing you can say that will convince them that you truly aren’t a drug-seeker, unless you have a decent doc like I have finally found who managed to pin down three discs that other docs missed.

I was lying there, pretty much writhing on the bed, when Cruel Wife came in and said “here, take these… the doc called in another Rx”.  Time ceases to have any meaning when you feel like that so it had felt like both years and moments since I’d asked her to call the doc.   I took them and within 15-20 minutes I was wrung-out but the pain was receding rapidly, and I was drowsy enough to fall asleep.  I stayed drugged up all weekend, knowing that I had to pack up and fly to Texas for three days and hoping that the rest and meds would allow my body to heal a bit.

I still feel kind of cruddy but better than I have been.

My apologies for not posting – it will be spotty this week, too, but I will be taking all of next week off.


Well, damn.  Can’t say as how I blame him.  Makes you wish you could take the load off his shoulders though.  Through no fault of his own…


People assume weather science can predict anything?  Well, isn’t that true if climate scientists can project global warming and climate change out to 100 years from now?

“People see that and assume we can predict everything,” National Hurricane Center senior forecaster Richard Pasch said.

But when Irene struck, the storm did not stick with the forecast’s predicted major hurricane strength winds.

“It’s frustrating when people take our forecasts verbatim and say, ‘This is where it’s going to be at this time and this is how strong it’s going to be,'” Pasch said. “Because even though the track is good it’s not certain.”

In other news, global warming is causing a rise in mental illness.  Hmmm.   I thought the latter led to the former.

RATES of mental illnesses including depression and post-traumatic stress will increase as a result of climate change, a report to be released today says.

The paper, prepared for the Climate Institute, says loss of social cohesion in the wake of severe weather events related to climate change could be linked to increased rates of anxiety, depression, post-traumatic stress and substance abuse.

As many as one in five people reported ”emotional injury, stress and despair” in the wake of these events.

Damn, that is choice.


In my school days, getting good or perfect attendance was expected and if you were skipping a lot of days it mean an ass-kicking at home.  Now, apparently, you get an iPod for doing what you should have been doing anyway.


And here I thought Spice was a geriatric drug that gave you blue eyes and allowed you to fold space.  Well, it must do something if so many folks in the military (and elsewhere) are testing positive for it.  People don’t generally test positive for massive ingestion of talcum powder or carnuba wax because they don’t get you high.


Okay.  That’s all I’ve got for now.

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A Mild Curse?

I have begun to wonder if I am cursed.

Been working on a project that involves fiber optics and some interesting ways of exploiting them.  But optics can sometimes have their own agenda… You’d think “Hey, what can really go wrong?  This is physics, right?”

You can break fibers, crack them, crush optics, have laser failures, torch failures, low transmission issues, bad mechanical splices, bad polishes on connectors, adhesive failures, bad fiber optics batches… and this can go on and on… to the point that you wonder why the part that is relatively simple is being so gosh-darned hard.  All of this, in one day.  We haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet – the part that is technically and scientifically challenging (and fun).

I strongly suspect that in my lab the laws of physics have been beaten with rubber hoses and had fingers broken with pliers.  Then life came along and stole it’s candy and stomped on it’s glasses.  And life chuckled with bone-chilling soulless mirth.

Thank goodness that ThinkGeek is there to help me feel motivated to get out of bed on months like these last few.

The flying alarm clock:

The Flying Alarm Clock wakes you up with a loud shrieking alarm coupled with a little propeller-driven key that leaps off your nightstand. To turn off the horrible racket, you have to get out of bed and retrieve the key. The propeller flies the key high into the air and off into some dusty corner. You have to force your sleep addled brain into wakefulness, move your stiff legs and retrieve the key before the alarm goes off. By the time you’ve done so, you’re awake enough at least to go make a pot of coffee.


Good gravy, I need a Corndog Factory so bad that I feel like my innards have been sucked out through my kneecaps.  Oh, the humanity.


I probably also need some Bear Paw Forks, too.


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Don’t give up yet…

Blogging took a backseat I’m afraid.  Had a rough few weeks with last night being the crowning touch.  I’m only blogging now because I’ve actually felt guilty about not posting anything in days.  I will go back to bed shortly.

Making sammiches for the kids, I turned my head ever so slightly (thinking of the next inane thing to say to Cruel Wife), and hit the floor.

You have heard me say that there’s pain and then there’s pain. I am used to vanilla pain. I’m not used to tear-your-spine-out-with-pliers-bit-by-bit-and-replace-it-with-molten-silver pain or badgers-just-chewed-outmy-hernia-and-appendix-and-are-working-on-my-liver pain. The amount you can actually do when hit by it sounds very disturbingly like what I’m told being tasered is like. You can’t *do* anything other than drop like a rock. That’s it. Your choices are to (a) drop like a rock, or (b) drop like a rock.

Some time passed before I stopped scrabbling my feet along the floor and punishing the front of the stove. Not sure how long. Cruel Wife just stood there in horror because if she did the wrong thing it could make things worse and she wasn’t really sure what the right thing was, either. Well, that makes two of us, because I didn’t know either.

After some time I grabbed the handle of the fridge and scrabbled along the stove and counter and hauled myself up. Moved glacially slow to my chair and sat down.

It’s 22 hours later (roughly) and not much has changed. I called CW a bit ago to see if that was her that called earlier when I couldn’t make it to the phone. She said “How you doing?” She KNEW what I was going to say:

Don’t worry about me. I’ve never felt better.

Easier to say that than for the millionth time “I kinda feel like donkey shiat”.

Back to bed.

Addendum:  NO, I’m not looking for “Sorry” or “Get Well” comments.  I was simply feeling guilty for not posting and then saying “WTF am I feeling guilty about?  There’s a reason dammit!” and then thinking “Geez, grow some, you puke” as I was writing all this out but figured I’d at least say something anyway so you didn’t feel like I was (God forbid) stopping blogging or something dire like that.  “Man up!” I said to myself as I kicked my own ass silly.  And then hit “Post” anyway.  It’s complicated.


Curtal, you are a better man than I…

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Pressing discs?  Duke Nukem has gone Gold?  Until Duke Nukem Forever is actually on my hard drive and I’m shooting bad guys I’m not going to truly believe it 100%.

Mundus vult decipi.  (the world wants to be deceived)

Oh, how I want to be deceived.



Everybody loves them right?  Right guys?

Yes, you chicks out there have it worse, I know this.  But another’s suffering does not negate yours nor does it invalidate it even partially.

I went in to see my GP today – we’ll call him Dr. FishBait for reasons I will not fully explain – I respect his privacy even if it is (as you will see shortly) not a reciprocated sentiment.

He listens to the heart, lungs, checks the throat, nose, ears, etc.

Dr. Fishbait:  Ears are good except a bit of earwax.

Me: (grumpily) Good, make candles then.

Dr. Fishbait:  Nah, they don’t burn well.

Me:  Huh?

Dr. Fishbait:  We tried in medical school.  Just doesn’t burn well.

Me:  No, don’t tell me details… I don’t want to know.

Dr. Fishbait:  Ok, drop drawers.

Me:  Hey!  Your favorite part and mine!  No, seriously doc, is this absolutely necessary?

Dr. Fishbait:  (looking at me blandly) They tell me I have to do it.

Me:  They?  What do They know?  I mean, I’m only [age redacted].

Dr. Fishbait:  Well, there’s really no incontrovertible proof for prostate checks at your age just as there’s really no proof that listening to your lungs will find something we aren’t already looking for.

Me:  Good deal, we can skip the poop chute thing, then…

Dr. Fishbait:  Nope.

(I stared at him unblinking for a few seconds)

Dr. Fishbait:  If I find one person in 30 years that it catches something early it is worth it.

Me:  You can’t seriously expect me to believe that you’re going to invoke the “if it saves one child/kitten” argument…?

Dr. Fishbait:  Yep.  Over there, please.

Me: (grumbling) I still think this is total bullshi … holy shi… whoa, whoa, WHOA, DOC!  You just bruised one of my goddamned tonsils!  What, is your index finger three feet long?

Dr. Fishbait:  Prostate is good.

Me:  Sh*t, I could have told you that.

You know I can embellish stories at times.  Not here though.  That was absolutely verbatim.  We have a strange relationship, my doctor and I.


Dr. Fishbait:  You know, your heart rate was a bit elevated…

Me:  I was excited to see you.

Still laterer…

Dr. Fishbait:  (looking around for my clothes which were folded neatly in a corner)  Where are your clothes?

Me: (in hospital gown)  I didn’t bring any.  I wore this here today just to see you.

Still latererer…

Dr. Fishbait:  How’s your neck?

Me: Tell the truth and shame the devil?  Getting worse.  I’m about to see another specialist for a second opinion.

Dr. Fishbait:  What percentage of the time are bad days?

Me:  Oh, as little as 80% of the time.  I’m pretty sure nerves have regenerated.  Just a few months ago I was saying “no more treatments”.  I’m starting to reconsider.

The usual exam results – quit drinking, smoking crack, sports sex, lead pipe cruelty, eat more leafy greens and less ruminant brains.

Except I don’t drink, smoke crack, engage in sports sex, or eat ruminant brains.



Alaska… Fish and Wildlife… no tasering of wildlife for catch-and-release.  Well that doesn’t make sense.  You never know with bears.  The right to keep and arm bears is a fundamental right, I’m told.  It’s all Constitutional-like.

Fishing with a taser on the other hand seems ridiculous when you could just use dynamite instead.


The question to ask yourself… after you read this quote from FoxNews:

As crestfallen followers of a California preacher who foresaw the world’s end strained to find meaning in their lives, Harold Camping revised his apocalyptic prophecy Monday, saying he was off by five months because the Earth actually will be obliterated on Oct. 21.

Here is the question… how much money does Camping still have in his bank accounts?  If he really believed his own crap, he’d have spent every last dime saving as many souls as he could at the 11th hour and 59th minute.
My guess?  He’s still got millions in his saving account and long-term investments.

Camping’s hands shook slightly as he pinned his microphone to his lapel, and as he clutched a worn Bible he spoke in a quivery monotone about some listeners’ earthly concerns after giving away possessions in expectation of the Rapture.

Family Radio would never tell anyone what they should do with their belongings, and those who had fewer would cope, Camping said.

“We’re not in the business of financial advice,” he said. “We’re in the business of telling people there’s someone who you can maybe talk to, maybe pray to, and that’s God.

But he also said that he wouldn’t give away all his possessions ahead of Oct 21.

“I still have to live in a house, I still have to drive a car,” he said. “What would be the value of that? If it is Judgment Day why would I give it away?”

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Camping, who made a special [snip], apologized for not having the dates “worked out as accurately as I could have.” Through chatting with a friend over what he acknowledged was a very difficult weekend, the light dawned on him that instead of the biblical Rapture in which the faithful would be swept up to the heavens, May 21 had instead been a “spiritual” Judgment Day, which places the entire world under Christ’s judgment, he said.

The globe will be completely destroyed in five months, he said, when the apocalypse comes. But because God’s judgment and salvation were completed on Saturday, there’s no point in continuing to warn people about it, so his network will now just play Christian music and programs until the final end on Oct. 21.

In other words, he’s taken in about all the money he’s going to be able to sucker people out of and needs people to give him about five months of space and hopefully they’ll have forgotten about all this by then.


Oh bravo, you schmuck.  Blowing your mom up isn’t kosher.

Gee, I’m really sorry your mom blew up, Ricky, guess she won’t be able to eat any spicy foods for awhile.Lane Myer in Better Off Dead, right after Lane’s failed suicide-by-fire attempt, when Ricky’s mom drank a mason jar full of gas he was holding and lit a cigarette


There’s only two places where I personally could sanction hitting a woman – self defense is one instance and the second is if she was beating children (yes, that second isn’t legally defensible but it’s how I feel – there is no excuse to beat children beyond corporal punishment in parental discipline if it is necessary).  And this lady should not have been beaten.  But she did kind of bring herself into the line of fire by ridiculing Mr. Micro’s tool size publicly.  I mean, what did she expect?

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Note:  I accidentally deleted this posting.  It had some great comments which I will reconstruct tomorrow.  So sorry.

In order to work out some stuff with insurance I had to drive way out – way way out on the other side of Detroit this morning.

Got lost.  Got really lost.  Well, actually I knew where I was every time except when I was where I needed to be.  I was very nearly late.

I’m looking at my map and trying to spot something that looked even close to my destination and when I look up there’s flashing lights in my rearview mirror.  It was Death, sitting astride his pale horse.

I pointed to the next side street and pulled in.

Death left his steed idling at the curb and floated up to my window.

I said “Geez, I sure hope you can help me find this place because I’m totally lost,” stabbing my finger at my map animatedly.  Now, as you already know that wasn’t quite true because I knew where I wasn’t supposed to be which was where I was – I just couldn’t get to where I wasn’t.  So technically I wasn’t lost.  Moving right along…

In his most professional Grim Reaper expression the officer, who we’ll call Officer Thanatos, said “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

I thought furiously for a moment and then said to myself “Nope, I got nuthin’.

“No sir, I don’t.”

Officer Thanatos then said “You blew through a red light.  That’s bad.”

Ruh-roh!  That IS bad!!!

“Geez, I’m really sorry, Sir – I am just totally lost.”

“Give me your license, proof of insurance, and registration, Sir.” said Thanatos in a chill yet sort of lifelike voice.

I fumbled for my glovebox and snatched up the documents, then threw my license into the pile, and handed it all to him.  “I call.”

No, I didn’t say that, but my brain did, inside where brain things happen inside my head.  Why would I think about poker at a time like this… hell, I don’t know.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Be right here, Sir!” I chirped.

Note:  This is exactly the sort of situation that always ended badly for me in high school – my brain would signal to my mouth to say something and because my mouth doesn’t actually have a brain it just went along with the suggestion, leading to visits with my pal, the principal, and later to some horrific form of dire punishment.

He came back a few minutes later, but meanwhile I called Cruel Wife who laughed evilly at my predicament.  I hung up, as there was no sympathy to be had there.  It was her first day on her new job and she wasn’t going to let anything take away that warm fuzzy feeling.

“Sir, I’m going to give you a warning on the moving violation but I’m going to have to…”

Ok, stop right there.  No utterance by a police officer ever went well when it contained “sorry” and “but” in the same sentence.  Never.  Not once.

“… write you up for no proof of insurance and no vehicle registration.”

“Uh, OK… What???

Thanatos grimaced, which is hard to imagine but a death’s head can actually grimace, and said “Your insurance card is expired and your registration doesn’t match your plate.”


Well, there just isn’t much you can say to that.  Arguing with Death never amounted to much.

Soooooo… I thanked Death profusely for not giving me a moving violation and sat there numbly as he gave me directions to the place where I wasn’t but which I also desperately needed to be since where I was wasn’t doing me any good whatsoever.

As usual, many passers-by slowed down to watch Death administer the last rites, sealing me to my fate.  Which was OK because really my mind was already where I wasn’t but knew that I had to be.  I made it to my destination with one minute to spare.

And the morning went downhill from there.  But that’s another story which I probably won’t tell anyway.

It just occurred to me that perhaps I ought to make some phone calls tomorrow to rectify the documentation problem.

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In lieu of a dog, I now have a cable internet connection and a wireless link that doesn’t stink like cat poo.

My Twisted Midget Porn website is going to be up and running before you can say “OhmygawdcanyoureallyDOthat??”

I must feed first.  I made some ridiculously hot Pad Krapow a few nights ago and it is in the fridge calling out to me.  Lots of beef, onions, peppers, chilies, basil, and yes… lots and lots of the meat that is not a meatNo, not that kind.

I tell Girlhead that the Serengeti is populated by huge ginormous herds of boneless pale block-shaped and rather tasteless hoofed beasts called (what else?) Tofudebeests.

They must be prepared by frying till golden and then marinating in soy, rice wine vinegar, palm sugar, and sesame oil – and only then will they be fit to consume.

It’s not all quite as good as a dog, but it’s a start.


I’m so conflicted here… is this supposed to make me want to eat meat or not?  I mean, are we talking spoiled meat, metaphorical meat, “meat” meat, or some subtle layering of meaning that I’m not grasping?  I’m not a fan of Pam Anderson, but what if it were Salma?  What would I want then?

Screw it.  PETA is a bunch of broken people.  (credit for first sighting of the next two images with mine own eyes goes to Amusing Bunni – Thank you, Bunni, wherever you got them from…)

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