perfidy

Researchers atop Mount Washington, New Hampshire's answer to a Dantean vision of frozen Hel (except with a mountain in the middle instead of a giant winged Satan devouring classical villains), discovered that boiling water instantly freezes up there. Dig it.

I expect they will soon also discover that tauntauns don't only smell bad on the outside.

Next up, a fellow bested only by the roadrunner in bearing no resemblance to his cartoon version:

Picoides villosus just by the plumage, but the hairies I understand are both larger and don't range quite as far north as I and my suet. Also concerning plumage, this photo understates how striking the black and white ladder pattern down the back is.

You guys wanna play dickedy-dick? Not a problem.

Let's start with your friend and mine, Baeolophus bicolor:

He's omnipresent throughout the day at the seed areas. Once in awhile one might take a stab at the suet, but they're definitely seed-eaters.

They come pretty much at dawn and stay around until late afternoon. Bigger birds might cause them to leave the feeders, but they don't go far and as soon as they're open they come right back. I have seen 4 or 5 at a time around our feeding area, but I have no idea if that's typical.

My bird book says that, in identifying the titmouse, that it looks sort of like a mouse. Huh, thanks. And I...guess that's true, although a flying mouse more readily describes a bat, and the two look nothing alike.

Friggin weak-ass dollar bird book.

Alright, that's about enough. If it's up to the Lethal to provide content for this joint, we're all gonna be deep in it.

If someone doesn't post something by 1300 only-timezone-that-matters time, I'm going to bird blogging.

See if I don't.

I can tell you all about my new feathered flying friends, who come to dine and tease my cat. Since we put out the seed and a coupla bricks of suet, we get tufted titmice, black-capped chickadees, some sort of yellow woodpecker, a male and female pair of downy woodpeckers, mourning doves (always in an odd-numbered group, interestingly enough), and most recently some chubby starlings (or perhaps grackles). And a few dozen little sparrows that hang around with their robin friends in the bushes. Maybe I'll tell you about the nice big bluejay who would stop by briefly on occasion. He never ate much, and now he surely won't because he died. Found him stiff as a board in the driveway with no visible wounds.

Try me, motherf*ckers.

1300, or it's the backyard aviary blog.

My morning commute is now a solid hour, not including time spent at the daycare where I leave the Li'lest Lethal. Sometimes I hang out there for up to 30 minutes if he's especially needy that morning or I want to work some more on the kickass pyramid of Legos I started there the other day. Well what the eff, I'm there for a half hour!

But we're talking about 60 minutes in the car. It must be said that the actual distance is only about 25 miles. Problem is that...well, I'm not sure really. I just know that the 15-odd mile stretch of interstate highway I utilize is comprised of 3 to 5 lanes, depending, and traffic on all them goes about, oh, 32mph when it moves at all. In such circumstances it is vital that my spawn remain at least nominally occupied, both for his own general wellbeing and to prevent me from opening the driver's side door and hurling myself out of it so I don't have to hear the relentless horrible crying anymore. Although, come to think of it, given that highway traffic is usually crawling, I probably wouldn't get too hurt. But I would look totally stupid. Maybe I could make sure I hit head first or something. THen I wouldn't hear the crying and I wouldn't have to care how stupid I (surely) looked.

The best form of sonic sedation is your basic kids' music, 100 of the songs you thought were played out and lame by the time you were about 4. These renditions are modernized and produced in a real studio by real engineers and real singers, which doesn't really help much, truth be told. And let me tell you, "Bingo was his name, oh" starts feeling like an icepick in my eardrums after awhile, and by the time the CD has restarted with "a tisket (?) a tasket (?) a green and yellow basket", my thoughts wander again to whether the situation might be improved by just jumping out the door.

But what happens is that while the music dominates the interior space and soothes the savage child's breast, I am looking at the exterior world with greater than usual attentiveness in an effort to find something to distract me from the unending preschool jams inside. Today, instead of having to really bear down and pay attention, something came to me: a dude on a motorcycle.

The only reason that is remarkable is that the ambient temperature was about 20. That's 20F, for you non-Amurricans or domestic bedwetters. And that's respectably chilly in these parts. You know, wear-a-hat weather. But this cat was not only on his bike, he was in the fast lane (which, quite abnormally, was actually going fast), where I sat on his back wheel at 75 for about 5-10 minutes, but when there were some openings in the other lanes he weaved and was gone, 90+. I don't have the science fu to calculate windchills and whatnot, but I would think that any micron of exposed skin would be black and necrotic in about 3 seconds. I like to think his car was just in the shop or wouldn't start, because a guy who's that into riding is kinda unsettling to me.

So that gave me enough to think about this morning to keep me from making the leap.

And btw, I learned (not the hard way, thank the Dark Ones) that the Connecticut State Police have at least one unmarked SUV. Couldn't get alot of detail; I was 9 lanes and a concrete divider away, going the opposite direction at about 70, and at a time in the early morning when colors tend to wash out. At a glance, looked like a white or gray Blazer, with heavy tint on the windows.

Consider the phrase, "Behind every great man is a woman". We're all familiar with the thought, if the precise wording varies: that there is causation between the presence of a woman and the success of her affiliated man.

Does it follow then that behind every loser is a bad woman? Does the causation flow downhill too?

Discuss.

In case you hadn't noticed, TV Land has compiled a list of the most memorable tv character catch phrases ever. I was mortified to find that I knew most of them, but somewhat relieved at the same time that it wasn't just another list of Boomer nostalgic greatest hits. Plenty of stuff in there uttered after 1972. List available here.

So anyway it was interesting for about 15 seconds, after which I realized that many of them are utterly filthy. Forthwith, selective editing of some tv catchphrases into dialogue from a single scene from a porn flick:

"Jane, you ignorant slut!"

"It takes a licking and keeps on ticking..."

"Holy crap! Have you no sense of decency?"

"Sock it to me!"

"Hey hey hey!" "Hey HEY hey!" "heh heh heh" "aaaayyyy"

"Elizabeth, I'm coming!"

"Oh, my nose!"

"Bam! You've got spunk ..."

"How sweet it is! I can't believe I ate the whole thing...tastes great, less filling!"

"That's hot...baby, you're the greatest."

"Good night, and good luck."

"Who loves you, baby?"

exeunt and towel off

Yeah, I know it's tomorrow, but 1), I don't write on weekends, and 2), it's a holiday for goodness' sake.

I've been working on a Veterans' Day post for hours. I had one about how I felt regarding Veteran's Affairs call for veterans to wear their medals on civilian clothing this year.

I worked up something about it being Polish Independence Day, and was trying to tie it into the Polish Air Force getting their first batch of F-16s.

I had another one about being alone at twilight at the Antietam battlefield, and letting myself get choked up reading the names and regiments from the monuments. And one about my trip to Arlington National Cemetery when, already staggered over the scale of the place, I kept doing the arithmetic on the gravemarkers- I couldn't stop myself glancing on all sides and calculating the ages of the fallen and every one like another punch in the head reminding me that, at 25, I had already outlived them by a damn sight and I let the tears come.

But none of those posts really got me where I wanted to be, and now I'm tired and frustrated with my inability to express what I want to express.

So I'll just say this:

Thank you to every veteran of every service branch. Each of you gave up something to do your duty and I cannot thank you enough for your commitment and sacrifice, and especially those who were asked to risk what I was not.

Massachusetts Governor-elect Deval Patrick crushed former Lt Governor Kerry Healey by at least a 2-1 margin statewide. Patrick is the first non-white to hold the post; Healey would've been the first woman. You'd a thunk that in absurdly PC Massachusetts, such a decision would've been tough to make, with voters just spinning in circles trying to decide which candidate was mroe deserving. But no- even the towns Healey ended up taking were closely contested. Not surprisingly Democratic candidates across the Commonwealth dominated their rivals, when in fact there were rivals- several races were unopposed.

The Boston Globe has a spiffy breakout of who did what where here.

Somehow, Deval's message of hope, reconciliation, rainbows and puppies resonated with a large majority of voters, voters who seem to think that paying higher taxes for the same services is a big step forward. His economic plan of taking more money away from people who produce through taxation in order to attract(!) business to the state frankly baffles me, but I'm sure an economist could explain to me.

Actually, better yet, I'd rather a business owner explain it to me.

But you know, I'm really not bitter about it- it's not like my guy lost. Mitt Romney washed his hands of the place awhile ago to pursue national attention, and he's been something of a ghost in Healey's campaign- lots of sightings or suggestive distant noises, but little conclusive evidence of his existence. Besides, I think everyone- yes, everyone, at that level of politics is a snake, so there's that.

What I am is surprised that so many people ate Deval up, especially from among such cynical people as Yankees tend to be. Well, now with a Dem governor, Dem legislature, and ridiculous judiciary, the Commonwealth may well finally be the utopian society that everyone's longed for for so long.

The thousands who fled the state over the last couple years were probably just mean-spirited hatemongers.

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?

"You will be smothered under a rug. You're a little anti-social, and may want to start gaining new social skills by making prank phone calls." Quiz here.

This edition of Forgotten Punchline Thursday was made possible by a grant from Cthulhu's Own line of astral travel accessories.

For uncounted ages, He who lies dead but dreaming indeed dreamt of a line of suitcases, hardcases, and garment bags as tough as His hide. Only Cthulhu's Own could perceive the unimaginable evil of inter-plane customs, the otherworldy abuse that baggage handlers can inflict on your dread unmentionables, and the risk of losing your essence in transit. Leave the safety and security of the physical manifestation of your luggage to Cthulhu's Own.

Forthwith, this week's forgotten punchline:

"Nothing".

The ubiquitous "dogtag" is getting a makeover.

Matter of fact, several thousand improved identity tags are already downrange. The new tags are more than just a visual display of name, ssn, blood type, and religious preference stamped on a flimsy splinter of aluminum. Oh no. These babies will be all electronical and whatnot, and record every med you're taking, all your allergies, all your ow-ies, every injury and sickness you were ever treated for, and could probably archive every time you beat off too, 'cept that where soldiers are concerned no device yet conceived has the memory capacity to store that much data.

But the real clever bit is that field medics will have electronic readers, somewhere between PDAs and medical tricorders, that can read the data on e-tags just by proximity. Medics will not have to dig around a wounded servicemember to plug the new tags into their reader, and gone will be the days where that medic or corpsman had to find the old tags before he could see bloodtype or that he's allergic to such-such med. Taking it a step further, those med readers will tie into your permanent health records, maintained at your post or base of origin, the hospital where you were (or are about to be) treated, or presumably your civilian health system or the VA after you get out.

I think there's alot that can be weird and kludgy with such a system, particularly with all the vagaries of wireless data transmission that have to occur without fail. I might also be unsure about power use/supply/resupply to those readers, particularly with forward units or SOF far away from reliable energy supply or logistics trains.

But I'm not skeptical of the overall program concept, and I think it's a tremendous advantage.

Somewhere in the rainbow of tacky products, sandwiched between commemorative coins for events of only passing interest, and "collector's editions" fast food beverage cups, lies the novelty chess set.

In modern tymes, the game of kings is so widely accessible that it has become just another victim of mass tackiness. Long reserved for the wealthy and noble who didn't have to work for a living and had time for trivial pursuits, chess can now be no less attractive than your plastic dinnerware that celebrates "Fifty Years of the Dragster".

I don't play chess. That is, I can, I'm just not very good at it, and have nothing personally invested in keeping at least marginally attractive chess pieces around. But just out of a sense of respect for a game of such rich and dignified history, I just can't accept things like The Animal Chess Set:

Baboon to Zebra 7...oh hell with it...

Or the Farmland Set:

Is it the pig that moves like an L, or is that the dairy cow...?

Or the Basketball Set:

Maneuvering your big balls onto the opposing cheerleader- a classic chess strategem.

But it doesn't stop there. You got about a dozen variants of cats vs. dogs. You got evil vs. good. You got skeletons vs, I believe, other skeletons. Taking it forward, the Ministry recommends these new chess sets for future development:

Bloods vs. Crips
Sunni vs. Shiite
Godzilla vs. Megalon
John Birch Society vs. COMINTERN
Boy Scouts vs. Girls Scouts
Aryan Brotherhood vs. MS13
Ford vs. Chevy
Bananas vs. Plantains
Typhoid vs. Penicillin
8 ½ x 11 vs. Legal
Coke vs. Pepsi
Paperclips vs. Staples
Tequila vs. Stomach Lining
Sutures vs. Scissors
Hawking vs. Newton
Guggenheim vs. Metropolitan
Turds vs. Daisies

Don't let your trailer's walls limit your imagination the way you let it limit your hygiene, nutrition, and job prospects. With a bit of imagination, the tacky possibilities for embarrassing chess sets are endless!

[wik] I forgot to add that I know what I'm getting Minister Buckethead for Chrsitmas this year: the Endangered Species set, complete with pandas as pawns. Extinction with every move!

Buck Turgidson would surely have been horrified to learn that the NORAD command center, the spiffy "war room" made famous in movies and popular culture, is going away.

Not literally going away- why, not even commie hydrogen munitions could've removed the mountain range. But the facility will no longer be fully staffed, in a cost-cutting measure. It's another Cold War apparatus that's outlived it's usefulness. Mmmmostly....seems they're going to leave stuff plugged in and dust free, just in case.

Henceforward, command will be consolidated and exercised from a nearby USAF facility.

Long understood as an enemy by uptight people everywhere, pot is now recognized as a bona-fide obstacle on the battlefield.

Canadian soldiers are having a tough time trying to fight in Afghanistan's forests (forests!) of 10' tall pot plants. In addition to all the marvelous, world-changing properties that hippies say weed has, unwashed peaceniks will be happy to know that it also dissipates heat and stores moisture in amazing quantities. The net tactical result is that it is not so very difficult to thwart the Canucks' thermal imagers. Pot can bring peace, after a fashion, by making it hard to find people to kill. Not surprisingly, the immediate remedy of removing the interfering ganja was to try and burn it.

These are professional soldiers people, and I absolutely trust their judgement on this issue: burning the weed was the best military solution.

Well, it turns out that they store so much water it's damned near impossible to burn the stuff. Except for a few stands that were already dead or d(r)ying, which went up quite nicely but did cause- ahem- "ill effects" on a unit downwind of the burn. I'm assuming they meant "ill" as in nausea, not as in "License To".

No lasting effects were reported, although the entire stockpile of pre-positioned NATO tactical cookies in theater seems to have vanished.

Like Ash from the Evil Dead trilogy, you are the hero. Congratulations. As the chainsaw toting king of witty one-liners, you certainly know how to handle any of those undead nasties heading your way, don't you?

Apparently, there is a company that specializes in creating or...preparing...animal bits for musuem and classroom use.

Skulls Unlimited has a spiffy online catalog with photos and prices of all their wares, from aardvark to wombat; chimpan-A to chimpanzee. It's alot more interesting than you think, and not nearly as creepy as you, also, probably think. Well, unless you personally need a creature processed, and we then get into their tremendously detailed and helpful directions for Fedex-ing a head:

1. Raw heads need to be drained of excess moisture.
2. Freeze heads prior to shipping.
3. Wrap heads in newspapers to absorb excess moisture.
4. Tie heads in multiple plastic bags to prevent excess moisture seeping out and ruining shipping box.

Did we mention the excess moisture? Did you infer that that's bad? OK then. Just so you know. No excess moisture though, OK?

The site includes an online store for t-shirts, most of which I found surprisingly lame for such an astonishingly weird and cool line of business. Being the thrifty sort, I made a beeline for the slightly damaged wares, the factory seconds, if you will, of the boiled and dissolved-in-acid taxidermy world. I found pirhannas with broken fins and pigs with missing teeth at quite reasonable prices. Also saw a pig skull with a hole in its forehead; probably don't need CSI to solve that puzzle.

I was more interested though in the creatures with horns, as they make the most striking display. They have your steer, your ram, your wildebeest, and about a dozen other horned beasts I've never even heard of but that have just great skulls. For some reason I found the critter heads interesting, too- raccoons, cats and the like.

It's also a terrific place to shop for the upcoming holiday season, for the man who has everything. Buckethead's fantasy present below the fold:

Florida manatee skull. Note the outsized molars for crushing the bones of humans engaged in aquafrolic.

About 2 months ago I had a phone interview with an organization in the UK. More precisely the interview was with an HR firm that organization had hired to conduct this particular search. I didn't believe anything would come of it- a belief that was borne out as it happens- and that's not really my point. My point is that it was funny getting past the language barrier.

The woman running the search was supposed to call at 11 local on the designated day. Her assistant called instead, and explained that the boss was running late with other calls and, if it was quite alright, she would like to call back in 20 minutes. That’s the translated version.

At that moment though I was having trouble:

"Yes?" [Me, in standard by-God Amurrican English. Since I was expecting this call, I wasn’t as abrupt as I usually am. But I still answered like I had just eaten a rare steak. I’m not sure why, but that was an important image to convey telephonically.]

"Hello, is this Geeklethal?" [Him, with the Queen's diction, polite and helpful with just a wisp of priss.]

"Yes."

"Geeklethal, this is Mott Hooply with Frothingsham Limited. I gribniff the eltra docalax for katy in the hibell and foralently."

"...?" [The ellipsis, here, means near total incomprehension: face pinched; eyes shut tight; lips frowning with grim tension like I was a mathematician working on fucking Enigma and the outcome of the Battle of the Atlantic hung on whether I could just get the damned key and I knew I was close, but I couldn’t get my mind working on the problem because all I had going on in my skull was my own voice yelling ‘FUCKING *WHAT* did he just say!?’ So, that’s what those three dots meant there. Moving on.]

"If that's alright...?"

"Ah, ok..." [As I slowly worked on a general sketch of comprehension, with growing awareness of an awkwardly long pause over what was probably a very routine and undemanding question.]

"And shall she criff at this number, or friddle theraflu alta?"

"....Ahhh, this number's............ffffine?" [Near-total guess, there.]

"Splendid!"

Phew, this is going to be harder than I thought, um, I thought.

When she did call 20 minutes later, it again took a few minutes to shift my eargears into British but more surely and with less grinding than with her assistant. At first it was like I was speaking to her on the Moon, with a gap between her question and my answer. But the gap was due not to distance but me "translating" what she'd asked me. I had to listen carefully, wait for my on-board translation matrices to filter it, re-understand it in American, and go from there. Later I realized that my brain does precisely the same thing, in the same way, when trying to navigate a conversation in German- starts out ok, readily grasping the first few words in the sentence, then falls off a cliff, then comes many seconds, sometimes minutes, to recreate in my mind what that was all supposed to have meant- if I ever even get an answer. Funny it was the same in unfamiliar English too. It smoothed out after a bit, and by the end was cruising right along, but never quite got the ease of comprehension we all have with each other as native American speakers.

So I basically had to blather about how dynamite I am, which if you've never done it on the phone in this manner is hugely awkward. It is in such a situation that we realize how much we rely on body language, eye contact, and a dozen other physical cues from our audience that we use in turn to modify our speech. Such body language is probably not so very culturally distinct as speech.

Compounding that awkwardness was the distinct sensation that the more I spoke, the more I felt that what she heard on the other end was not my disciplined, thoughtful responses to her questions- themselves the result of careful reflection on a brief but respectable career - but more like "UUU HUH HEEILK YES'M I SHO' NUFF AM DA MAN FO' DA JOB". I felt as if I was from the deepest piney woods of Fuckbuckle, Arkansas, was applying for the presidency of Harvard, and any second would ask the women on the hiring committee who was keeping the house all day if they were here?

Well, since I wasn’t subsequently invited to England for a real interview, I didn’t have to figure out how I was going to communicate with them on their home turf in their own language. But after that call I could see some QESL (Queen’s English as a Second Language) coursework in my future.

Wait...not prone to seething rants and anger...? Well, I'm skeptical then of this quiz' accuracy. But since the code didn't need to be unfucked, I'm going with it.