Phone Spam - a PSA

The following is true story, because I swear I can't make this shit up.
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*ring ring*

Me: Hullo?

Heavily Accented Male Voice: Hello?

Me: Yes, hello?

HAMV: Yes, this is Tim Humanastanislaw.

Me: Yes, what can I do for you?

HAMV: I'm from Microsoft Technical Support.

Me: Really.

HAMV: Yes. Microsoft Technical Support.

Me: Well, what can I do for you? Because I can assure you that you're not returning my call.

HAMV: Um, yes. I'm calling because a computer in your home is sending error messages to our technical support center saying it's INFECTED.

Me: HAHAHA!

HAMV: Every day. We get messages every day. Saying it's INFECTED.

Me: HAHAHA! I'll be sure and tell our in-house IT Support Technician.  ::snort::

*click*
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The moral of this PSA: Don't be a Pakled. Learn a little something about the technology that you use on a regular basis, so that you won't be victimized by reprehensible tools looking to take advantage of your ignorance. Seriously.

Some Observations from the Gym

I'm pretty disciplined about exercising - unless I'm out of town or some other professional obligation interferes, I'm at the Parker Fieldhouse six days a week, in addition to using our home elliptical on my lunch hours. The Fieldhouse opens for business at 7:00 a.m., which means that the early morning crowd consists of the geriatric crowd, early retirees, and people who can start work somewhat later than the norm. And over the months since I've been going, I've noticed some trends in terms of the types of people who go on a regular basis.

• Mr. Socializer. I think every gym has this guy. He's not really there to work out, although he's there each and every day. He's there to socialize. He approaches everyone, regardless of what they're doing, so that he can start his day with a friendly chat. He never breaks a sweat, and the most effort I've seen him put in is strolling on the treadmill while watching reruns of that retarded "Urkel" show on the house television. No, I'm not making that up - I've actually seen him change the channel so he can watch it. One time he asked me if I was satisfied with my results so far. When I said "yes," (I'd lost about 30 pounds at that point) he complained he'd gained 10 pounds in the year he'd been going to the gym. Um, yes. That's how it goes when you don't actually, you know, work. 
• The Bitter Old Biddy. This is the woman who is, in fact, making an effort to get off the couch and get moving, but believes that everyone's level of fitness should match her own, i.e., poor. When I repeatedly lap her on the indoor track, I get the hairy eyeball, followed by snide comments about how I'm "making everyone else look bad" and "showing off," even though I try to be friendly and gracious. Um, no. I don't get any fitness points for lapping people 20 years older than me, those on oxygen, or those who use a cane. I'm very lucky to work in a job that gives me the flexibility to be able to work out at 7:00 a.m. and still make it to my desk at a decent hour. That does not mean I have some obligation to work less hard so that others won't look at me.
• The Friendly Old Man. Unlike the Bitter Old Biddy, this guy is always as friendly as can be, and calls me "Speedy" every time I lap him on the track. He's 85 if he's a day, and I think he's a retired Air Force vet, based on his workout attire. His cheerfulness is awesome.
• The Lame and the Infirm. I'm really quite encouraged by the number of people who come to the gym who use oxygen tanks and canes. In a few cases, it's obvious they're recovering from some sort of surgery or injury, but in most cases, they're simply old and unsteady, or are paying for years of smoking by being forced to carry oxygen everywhere they go. But they're trying, no matter how slow they end up going, and this makes me FURIOUSLY HAPPY.
• The Professional Woman. This gal is focused. She does circuit training, and makes every minute she's at the gym count, whether it's running, weight training, or the Arc Trainer. She always leaves before 8:00 a.m., which leads me to believe she has work or some other obligation that needs her attention at a specific time. She always smiles and is friendly, but does not have time to waste on Mr. Socializer or anyone else. I suspect I fall into this category, as well. 

Due to the relatively late opening time of the Fieldhouse, the Smart Man goes in the late afternoon, and I expect the cast of characters he encounters are different, since he gets the after work crowd. But that's okay. With the exception of Mr. Socializer and The Bitter Old Biddy (who I find annoying), I enjoy my early morning crowd just fine.

In which my engineering brain takes me 'round the bend

So I was at the gym this morning, and as I was starting my power walk I noticed my heart rate monitor was having some trouble. The receiver, which I wear on my wrist, was not getting a signal from the transmitter, which I wear around my chest. I'm sure the issue is simply a matter of replacing the battery in the transmitter, but it would be FAR TOO SIMPLE for me to leave it at that. So as I'm tooling around the indoor track, I had this internal monologue:

Me: Well, that's a bummer. I'll have to see if I can find time to pick up a new battery.

Engineering Brain (EB): But what about TODAY? You won't have any measurements for TODAY.

Me: I wonder what size it takes?

EB: Why are we still walking? There's no point in continuing if we can't MEASURE.

Me: What? 

EB: We must MEASURE. Everything must be MEASURED.

Me: What the fuck are you talking about? 

EB: If you don't MEASURE it, it doesn't COUNT.

Me: Of course it counts. You see me walking.

EB: But there's no MEASUREMENT.

Me:  I can use the measurement from the last time I power-walked for 30 minutes until I can get a new battery. No biggie.

EB: NO BIGGIE? You plan on replicating data and it's NO BIGGIE?

Me: I think you're getting a bit...obsessive...about all this. Now that I have baseline data for my activities, maybe I should just use those data points.

EB: It's like I don't even know you anymore.

Me: I'm just kidding. Our new FitBit will arrive tomorrow. Then you'll have whole new worlds of obsessive measurement to keep you busy.

EB: FitBit! Yay!

Broken. I think my brain is broken...

Retiring to Monaco

Like many Americans, I have a 401K through my company. And like many companies, my employer offers a financial planning service through a third party vendor. Once a year they "evaluate" my retirement savings and try to convince me that they can help me achieve my retirement goals, because obviously their decision making skills in this area far exceed my own.

Aside from the irritation that my company allows these yahoos access to my private financial information so that they can shill their services, this year's "analysis" made me scratch my head. The form they send gives "green," "yellow," or "red" areas of concern in my portfolio, and here's the section for "retirement income:"

Danger, Will Robinson!

Yeah. $167,000.00 a year in 2011 dollars MAY NOT BE ENOUGH FOR ME TO RETIRE. In fact, it's possible my retirement income may be AS LOW AS $93,500.00 A YEAR. Horrors!

First of all, my current total target compensation* is not $167,000.00 a year, and we manage to do just fine here at the Big Yellow House in terms of being able to pay our bills and ensure my Hot Daughter is getting an education. We're not eating Top Ramen (except when we want to), and we even manage to leave the house periodically, in addition to putting a pretty sizable chunk into our retirement savings.

Where the hell do these people think I'm going to live in my retirement? Monaco?

That's my condo - the dump on the left

For some strange reason they've decided I need at least $142,000.00 a year to live in 2011 dollars in my retirement. NEWSFLASH: I won't.

So either their calculations are wildly optimistic (more likely), or they really do think I'm going to be spending my golden years in one of the most expensive places in the world (less likely). I tend to believe they need to revamp their automatic calculations and perhaps even review the output before they send out their letters shilling for business.

But I do hear Monaco is nice this time of year...

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*I'm on a variable compensation plan since I'm in sales. Some years my income is above my target, most years it's below.

Subjectivity

So Friday night was the monthly get together for the ladiez in my family, and as usual, the topics ranged far and wide, from the power of forgiveness to gossiping about people we don't like.

One of the topics that came up was who our celebrity boyfriends were, and the choices were as diverse as my family.

While we all allowed that Jason Momoa was suitable eye candy for anyone, the choices were wildly divergent from there. Patrick Stewart (my Hot Mom). Johnny Depp (my Hot Aunt). Neil deGrasse Tyson (me and my Hot Mom). Shemar Moore (my Hot Cousin). Someone even mentioned Pauly D, which made me throw up in my mouth a little, but whatever - it's all subjective.

But it did get me to thinking. The things I find attractive are far different now than when I was my Hot Daughter's age.

• Being overweight isn't a deal breaker. But letting yourself go to the point where you can't participate in the activities that give you pleasure is. The Mechanicky Gal and I call this the "Too Fat to Walk" rule.
• Going bald or grey isn't a deal breaker. But wearing a toupee or dying your hair is.
• Not having higher formal education isn't a deal breaker. But lacking intellectual curiosity is.
• Not liking the same kind of books as me isn't a deal breaker. But not liking to read for pleasure is.
• Being a person of faith isn't a deal breaker. But being intellectually dishonest by denying empirical facts in order to protect your faith is.
• Not making a ton of money isn't a deal breaker. But lacking generosity of spirit is.
• Not voting the same way as me isn't a deal breaker. But failing to use your franchise intelligently and defensibly (or at all) is.
• Not having the same belief system as me isn't a deal breaker. But thinking it's your responsibility to proselytize until I change my mind is.

Your mileage will almost certainly vary - so feel free to add your own thoughts in the comments.

Random Act of Culture

You've heard of "flash mobs?" Try this on for size, instead. The Opera Company of Philedelphia and Friends execute a Random Act of Culture.

Wave of the baton to my Hot Mom.

Now That's Thinking

We have a local pub that we like to go to periodically. They brew their own beer and have tasty sandwiches. It's a small place, and we know the wait-staff, who are all young, friendly and attractive.

We went there last night, and the place was dead - I mean dead. When we arrived, there was one table, and us. Our usual barmaid served us, and she was desperately happy to see a customer - any customer - to alleviate her boredom.

As we were chatting, the Barmaid told us that when she was bored, she would periodically play with something called a "shake-weight," a late night TV product that a regular customer bought her after they had laughed and laughed at the idiocy of the commercial:

She then told us she has noticed a trend - when she uses the "shake-weight," her tips increase exponentially. So she's started using it when her rent's due to close the gap. I believe they call that entrepreneurship.

I ♥ Grover

Suck It, Wagner

As you all may know, the UCF has been following the antics of one Walter L. Wagner for quite some time. His incredible litigiousness is like a train wreck - I just can't look away.

Well, his latest frivolous lawsuit was an appeal at the United States District Court to stop the operation of the LHC (which has, incidentally, been quietly colliding its particles for months with no discernible ill effects to the world-as-we-know-it) on the grounds that it is DANGEROUS and MUST BE STOPPED before it creates micro black holes and SWALLOWS THE EARTH, O NOES.

The judge has ruled, and amazingly enough, it turns out ole Wally was wrong. AGAIN.

According to the decision,

Wagner cannot demonstrate that he has standing. A plaintiff alleging a procedural injury, such as Wagner, must still establish injury in fact. See Laub v. U.S. Dep’t. of Interior, 342 F.3d 1080, 1086 (9th Cir. 2003). Injury in fact requires some “credible threat of harm.” Cent. Delta Water Agency v. United States, 306 F.3d 938, 950 (9th Cir. 2002). At most, Wagner has alleged that experiments at the Large Hadron Collider (the “Collider”) have “potential adverse consequences.” Speculative fear of future harm does not constitute an injury in fact sufficient to confer standing. Mayfield, 599 F.3d at 970.

Even if Wagner has demonstrated injury in fact, he nevertheless fails to satisfy the causality or redressability prongs set out in Lujan. The European Center for Nuclear Research (“CERN”) proposed and constructed the Collider, albeit with some U.S. government support. The U.S. government enjoys only observer status on the CERN council, and has no control over CERN or its operations. Accordingly, the alleged injury, destruction of the earth, is in no way attributable to the U.S. government’s failure to draft an environmental impact statement.

CERN maintains total ownership, management, and operational control of the Collider. CERN has never been properly served, and is not a party to this case. Even if this court were to render a decision in Wagner’s favor, such a decision would have no impact on CERN or Collider operations, and would not afford Wagner the relief he seeks. [[Because our determination of standing is not dependent on the identity of the Appellant, we need not address whether Luis Sancho is a party to this appeal.]]

Yeah. The court has determined that not only does the U.S. District Court have no authority to tell a European entity what it can and cannot do, it also has determined that Wagner's Chicken-Little "speculative fear" has no standing.

I'M SHOCKED. SHOCKED, I TELL YOU.

Who could have guessed that Walter L. Wagner's personal crusade to shut down the LHC to protect us from the Black Holes (o noes) would end in an ignominious dismissal? Besides everyone but Wagner, I mean.

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H/T to Dr. Phil, who is an ACTUAL PHYSICIST. With a Ph.D. In PHYSICS. Unlike some other people we could name...

Something Icky This Way Comes

So the doorbell rang yesterday afternoon, and it was my mail carrier with a package for me. A package from Brooklyn, NY. A package from Nathan and John the Scientist.

::cue ominous music::

A number of years ago, the Incomparable Anne™ and I sent John a bug-pop that we bought at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. And by "bug-pop," I mean a lollipop with an actual bug in it. This, of course, necessitated a response.

 The green box appears to be some sort of chocolate coated cookies, although the photo looks like chocolate coated mushrooms. Or penises. Either way, I'm not eating them.

The bubble envelope contained a ziploc baggy.

A ziploc baggy with a cold-pack and a butcher's tray.

A butcher's tray containing duck tongues. Because really - nothing says "I am your true friend" like a package full of duck tongues shipped from Flushing, New York.

Needless to say, the duck tongues are now double wrapped and sitting in the trash can at the curb awaiting the fine folks from Waste Management to come and take them away. Nicely played, guys. Nicely played. 

You know what this means.

I'm Sensing a Trend...

This morning's e:Mail brought this delightful selection of Tea Party T-Shirt logos from long-time friend and occasional commenter The Mechanicky Gal. I especially enjoyed the one about harvesting the organs of immigrants. Because really, what ELSE are they good for?

If nothing else, the Tea Party sure provides comic relief...

Mob of Racists and Homophobes

This arrived in the mail today from long time friend and occasional commenter Juan Federico.

He knows me so well...

Boogie Blogging Friday - Cat Friday Edition

I'm not usually a fan of cats (which is why we do "Boogie Blogging Friday" around here rather than "Friday Cat Blogging), but I'll make an exception in this case.

Here, kitty, kitty...

Loot! Loot! Loot for ME!

I've been having kind of a crap day today for a variety of work related reasons, most of them stupid and petty. So imagine my delight when today's mail brought me LOOT. LOOT FOR ME.

The Mechanicky Gal sent me this nifty shopping bag and pouch because the art reminded her of me. The funny part? I've had a shopping bag hanging around the Big Yellow House for three months waiting for me to get off my ass and get it in the mail for her. It doesn't have this drawing, but one that more accurately suits her personality.

She knows me so well. I do indeed love not camping. Or camping at the Hotel del Coronado. In their luxury suite. With room service. Either way, really.

Thanks, Mechanicky Gal.

Mental Detritus

I actually managed to sleep last night without struggling with insomnia. Yay! But I'm still trying to plow through the 4,587,289 hours of mandatory training I have on my plate. Boo!

The result is a case of mushy brain. A brain like overcooked cauliflower. I'm still trying to determine if that's better or worse than Broccoli Brain. I'm thinking whichever one has the lowest drool factor.

In any event, today you get my mental detritus rather than any scintillating political analysis or social commentary.

There's more than one way to skin a pole

There's a new business in the strip mall near our house. It's one of those pole-dancing-as-exercise-and-self-esteem-enhancement places, and it's called "Mile High Pole Club." (Insert obvious and tired sex joke here). Now I have no intention of patronizing this establishment, but not because I have any issue with their activities, their business model or their customers. The simple fact of the matter is that if I were to attempt such an activity, there's no doubt in my mind that I would end up braining myself either on the floor or on the pole. Given that fact, I'll be sticking with the Evil Machine of Torture.

Don't you wish you were graceful and sophisticated like me?

Black holes FTW!

The winner of the LEGENDARY ADDRESS LABEL CONTEST IS...Anne! Her suggestion that I really should be using an image of a black hole as homage to the freeze-dried whack-a-loon's who believed (still believe) the LHC would (will) create black holes that would swallow the planet, oh noes. Here's the image I selected:

Anne is receiving a FABULOUS PRIZE. A FABULOUS PRIZE from BonBon Bars! The rest of you can commence your envy. Or you can go to the web site and order your own fabulous confections. I'm quite sure Nina would appreciate it.

Hey! Cute shoes!

I've been looking for some shoes to wear with jeans. I don't typically like to wear athletic shoes with jeans, and I'm getting a little bored with my Dansko's. So I've been looking and looking. I did find one pair I just loved, but I needed a size 39.5, which (of course), Josef Seibel doesn't make, the narrow minded bastards. So I kept looking. And while I was perusing the aisles of one of my favorite stores, DSW, I came across these:

Totally not what I had in mind, but really - so cute! I'll re-institute the search for leather shoes for jeans in the fall, when the choices might be better due to them actually being in season. But really - how can you go wrong with rubber toed canvas tennies? Just looking at them makes me laugh and laugh. Although that could be the broccoli brain talking.

Put him in a barrel and feed him through the bunghole

Don't you wish you could just put Joe Lieberman in a barrel and feed him through the bunghole? Seriously - "The Terrorism Expatriation Act?" REALLY, Joe? Is there no depth you won't stoop to in order to get your name in the paper? What a tool.

Have a nice Thursday, Hot Chicks and Smart Men. It's back to salt mines of my 4,587,289 hours of mandatory training for me. Send help.

Weigh In!

HA! You probably thought this was going to be another post about my interminable diet and Weight Watchers and how my love affair with ice cream and the salty-crunchy has had some very unfortunate results, didn't you?

PSYCH.

It's actually about a much LARGER issue. An issue of PARAMOUNT IMPORTANCE.

My address labels.*

Thanks the wonderful Random Michelle, I have three varieties of address labels that I can use, but quite frankly - I'm bored. Bored, bored, bored. My first variety features a photo of a hobby I no longer pursue:

My next labeled featured this, kind of as an inside joke. Spreading joy where ever I go - that's me:

My third choice was a reflection of a prior life, one that shaped who I am, but one from whom I've moved on:

So here I am - in need of a new symbol for my all-important address labels, and I need you Hot Chicks and Smart Men to WEIGH IN.

Please paste the links to your suggestions in the comments. Anyone who posts a link to either the Pr0n or the Food Pr0n (yes, John the Scientist, I am looking at you) is getting the Shovel of Doom™. The winner, however, will win a PRIZE. That's right - a PRIZE. No, you can't ask what the prize is. No, you can't name your own prize. Greedy bastards.

Please make sure your suggestions reflect me, your gracious hostess. Extra points for the funny.

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*I'm learning a new system this week, so please forgive the somewhat manic behavior. Plus - there's a PRIZE. A rather FABULOUS PRIZE, if I do say so myself.

Because This is What I Need Today

Even the coldest, most unreasonable human being wouldn't be able to look at this and not smile.

Thanks, Ethan.

SMBC Fan-Girl

I love Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal, and their SMBC Theater is fast becoming the teehee highlight of my week.

Here's the cast of SMBC Theater cast performing "Both Sides." 

This Made Me Happy

I especially enjoyed the older gentlemen who appears to be having such fun dancing with his broom. Hee!

Wave o' the Glove to My Hot Mom

CTI (and the Muppets!)

Today I'm neck deep in CTI protocols* and the ways they're used in Advanced Contact Center design. Why, yes, that is as dry and boring as it sounds. Thanks for asking.

Thankfully occasional commenter and all-around Hot Chick Naomi linked to this AWESOME video, which is totally MADE OF WIN, thus saving me from the inevitable automatic weapon rampage.  Check it out - you won't be sorry.



*Computer-Telephony Integration, for the uninitiated. Yeah, I kind of wish I didn't know that, either.