Ancient tech.

I was cleaning out my office on Saturday, and I came across this relic of an ancient civilization.

Ah, the old flip phone. I'm not sure when my wife finally had enough and demanded we get smartphones, but I know I was using this Samsung as late as 2013. I think it was after a trip out of state in which we were going to a wedding, and I forgot my digital camera. I bought a disposable digital camera, but I inadvertently got one without a flash. So all the pictures from the reception were deep brown; it looked like it was being held in a sewer rather than a lovely hall. The Samsung flip phone did get a few shots, but not all that great. 

Regardless, that wasn't the reason my wife pressured me into agreeing to get smartphones for us soon after. The reason was that the suits upstairs at her workplace were eliminating the company-issued Blackberrys and were going to insist employees instead use apps on their personal phones. So we got iPhones and joined the 21st century. 

One reason for my reluctance is that, six years into the smartphone era, it was already plain that those little handhelds were more addictive than even the Crackberry had been. People of weak character couldn't seem to put them down. So I knew it would happen to me. 

In related news, we may be on the brink of a much larger technological upheaval. Guess who is being born today! 

Is this true? I mean, not does The Jetsons paint an accurate picture of the near future, but was George Jetson supposed to be born on July 31, 2022? For help I turned to that prestigious scientific journal, People magazine: 

In a tweet on Thursday, fan Brendan Kergin shared a chart from the character's online fan page, which includes George's basic information, such as his dad's name Montague, his wife's name Jane and his catchphrase: "Jane! Stop this crazy thing!"

But, most importantly, Kergin highlighted George's birthday — which is said to be July 31, 2022.

The article goes on to explain that the show, which debuted in 1962, was supposed to take place in the far-flung world a century ahead, so 2062. George's age in the first season was established as 40, so the year is correct. The actual birthdate is subject to conjecture, as far as I and People know. 

Of course, the real shock is that we are six-tenths of the way to the date of the show. I don't mind not having the flying cars, but I really would like the conveyor belt that got George clean, shaved, and dressed in under a minute. 

Also, as readers know, my elder dog is called Tralfaz, after Astro's original name on the show. I'd better not find Baby Jetson coming around here trying to swipe my dog, is all I'm saying. Or his dad, Montague. Or his boy, Elroy.

Counting crows.

So, the crows are back in town. 

I haven't missed them much. Their CAW always sounds like an accusation from an angry ex. They're not ugly birds, and black goes with everything, plus I admire their interest in getting to the high ground however tall a structure may be. 

Of course, they do like to go after the garbage, when people are too foolish to get cans with lids. 

"MMmmm!"

I mean, we're not foiling raccoons or bears here. A lid is all it takes to stop the crows. 

Anyway, I didn't realize that they were gone until they came back. That is to say, last summer was so wet that the crows never seemed to show up, not even in the fall when they are most active in these parts. I understand from certain crowologists that heavy rains discourage crows, and we sure had a lot of that in 2021. The grass had to be cut weekly. Now? My lawn hasn't been cut all month and even the weeds look exhausted. This may be ideal crow summer weather. 

One morning this week the boys and I went outside and on the front lawn it looked like we had some crow-on-crow violence. Or perhaps the local fox caught one and devoured it on the spot. 

Just black feathers hither and yon. As for the bird, well, nevermore.

Of course, my dogs were fascinated by the remains. They kept sniffing around, me trying to discourage it. Avian cholera, mad cow disease, bird mites, all kinds of fun things can be carried by those doity boids. I'd prefer to admire them from afar. 

If I'm trying to sleep, actually, I'd rather not admire them at all. I do not have any ex-wives around, but if I did, I imagine they would sound just like that. 

And now, another moment with Igor.

 

This has been another moment with Igor.

(Sorry for two Igors in one week, but it's been a lousy and very busy one, and I'm feeling like Igor is my spiritual twin at the moment.)

CBD!

I'm seeing places that promote CBD everywhere in New York these days. CBD apparently can cure every single problem you might have. Neuralgia, sinus trouble, lumbago, chilblains, Igor's hump, macular degeneration, inflammation, handmaid's knee, you name it, this modern medical miracle does everything but the dishes. So why is it usually promoted in storefronts where burnouts and vapers hang around?

For the record, a friend of mine was told to try CBD (cannabidiol) for tinnitus. He'd tried everything else. Once when drunk he'd even tried putting a screwdriver in his ear. So now that he doesn't drink anymore, he was a little nervous about taking something that came from marijuana. He was assured that it wouldn't get him stoned. He was also concerned that it would make him look stoned on a pee test -- he was driving a school bus part-time. 

Well, none of the three happened -- he didn't get stoned, he didn't give a dirty urine, and CBD did nothing for his tinnitus. 

Since CBD is advertised all over the place, over the 'Net, in magazines, and so on, I hope people going to it for relief have found what they wanted, but I'm pretty certain it's been oversold. Harvard is pretty skeptical about it. So is the FDA. In fact, the Food and Drug Administration has only approved a small number of drugs that use marijuana in any way:   

• Epidiolex, which contains a purified form of CBD derived from cannabis, was approved for the treatment of seizures associated with Lennox-Gastaut syndrome or Dravet syndrome, two rare and severe forms of epilepsy.
• Marinol and Syndros, which contain dronabinol (synthetic THC), and Cesamet, which contains nabilone (a synthetic substance similar to THC), are approved by the FDA. Dronabinol and nabilone are used to treat nausea and vomiting caused by cancer chemotherapy. Dronabinol is also used to treat loss of appetite and weight loss in people with HIV/AIDS.

I always thought that medical marijuana was just a stalking horse to promote the legalization of marijuana, and I think time has proved me right. After all, if THC -- the fun ingredient -- was so helpful for glaucoma and whatnot, why not have a pill form that could be dispensed by prescription? But no, the fight was always about letting Grandma take a bong hit for her chemo nausea because reasons. And the reasons were, people wanted to get stoned, and the state wanted us to be able to sedate ourselves while taking a big fat cut. Of course, it hasn't worked out that way. Freelance (shall we say) marijuana sellers can undercut the government by a large amount, and states like California are not seeing nearly the tax revenues they expected. Meanwhile, the government has put its stamp of approval on pot, like it does on booze, and more people are using both.

Who could have foreseen all that, except anyone?

In my wayward youth I was pretty much just a drinker, and that was bad enough, but I wanted to use it to have fun on the go or pound beer with my pals while conversing into the night. I didn't want to sit around and stare at lava lamps. But to each his own, I guess. 

Still, I'm not a fan, and I'm not happy to see even more burnouts around in the kids than we had when I was in high school, and we had a lot of burnouts in my high school. It just seems to make people into wasteoids (another term of art in my youth) at an earlier age. Plus, in my large and overcrowded city high school, not one kid died from drugs in the four years I was there; now it's a common tragedy. 

What things have changed since 1999?

And now, a moment with Igor.

 This has been a moment with Igor.

Blurry.

I had bad night of sleep, lots of work, and a long drive out and back, and I was ready for a nap. Once I knew the dogs would nap for a while too, I silenced my phone and crashed on the couch, face to the bolsters. I didn't move for almost two hours. 

When I got up, the vision in my right eye was blurry. Like, really blurry. Like, twelve martinis blurry. 

It wasn't hard to guess that I had smushed (to use a medical term) my eyeball by falling into a coma on it. I even had a red pillow mark like an angry villain scar running from my forehead diagonally over the eye. It persisted, however, making it difficult to do the editorial work that helps pay the bills. Could it be just smushing that caused this?

To the Internet! Which, of course, was a mistake.

In no time I found out that waking up with blurry vision in one eye meant that I had suffered:

👀 Glaucoma 

👀 Eye tumor

👀 Stroke

👀 Cataract

👀 Migraine

👀 Eye infection

👀 Tear-duct trauma

👀 Concussion

👀 Diabetes

👀 Macular degeneration (wet or dry)

But I didn't see anything about eyeball smushing. Of course, I didn't see anything clearly with my right eye at all. 

Well, it was a good excuse to knock off for the day, which I did. And I'm glad to report that this morning all is normal. I guess my eyeball reasserted its usual shape, or else I got over my glaucoma, tumor, stroke, etc. 

Remember the kid in Kindergarten Cop who immediately diagnosed Arnold with a brain tumor?

I'm convinced that kid grew up to create WebMD.  

Special offer!

Hello, smart investors! It's me again, your ol' pal Fred, CEO of Fredcoin, the world's greatest cryptocurrency! And today I have an exciting offer that you'll only find right here on your daily dose of Vitamin Fred!

Yes, we know everyone is worried about the plunging value of those other, rotten cryptos, which goes right along with the plunging value but rising costs of everything else. But here at Fredcoin, we believe in giving you the very best offer we can. We're still selling at a bargain 1-to-1 value with the U.S. dollar, so every Fredcoin costs just a buck. But wait! That's not even the good part! 

Here it is: Today and today only, for every 100,000 Fredcoin you purchase, you'll get 1 Fredcoin absolutely gratis! On the house! Freebie! No cost to you! Nada! One Fredcoin for nothing! Beat THAT deal!

You can't, especially not with those crooks over at HodagCoin.

I would never cast aspersions on a worthy competitor, so I'm free to do so now. HodagCoin is garbage. They sicken me. Don't consider it! Don't even think about it! I'm sorry I mentioned it. 

But to reiterate: You get 1 whole free Fredcoin with the purchase of 100,000 Fredcoins. How can you pass up a deal like that? A smarty like you? No way! See you on the trading floor! 

Plenty of nuttin'.

I'm sorry, my friends; today is one of those days when I have nothing for the blog.

It wasn't lack of inspiration, just lack of time. I had to work all day yesterday as well as handle some typical Saturday errands, so it just didn't happen. But tune in tomorrow for thrills, adventure, laughs, and cheer -- and maybe we'll learn a little something along the way. (NB: No thrills, adventure, laughs, cheer, or learning may actually occur.) 

Haiku, low tide.

 Five haikus for summer

Summer sands and skies
Just you and me and the sun
And eight million more

Balloon floats over
The ocean in perfect peace
Kid lost another

Mighty sun above!
Bringer of summer's bounty!
Burns me like bacon

Sausage and peppers
Zeppoli and soft-serve too
Indigestion calls

Dark eyes upon me
My movements, grace and fluid
Stupid ring toss game

Dominant species.

I hate to keep krexing about nature, but I've come to think that the dominant species on Earth ultimately will not be humans nor cockroaches nor mosquitoes nor bacteria. I think it's going to turn out to be crabgrass. 

As far as grass goes, this stuff is mean. You try to pull it, you can't get it all. You try to poison it, and half of it stays green. You put down all kinds of chemicals, and back it comes next year. 

When all of us are gone, and our Kentucky bluegrass, our fescue, our Bahia, our buffalo and Bermuda and creeping bentgrass are toast, the crabgrass will still be here, annoying whatever mammal still lives. 

I can see it becoming an evil species, like the giant carrot man from the vegetable uprising episode of Lost in Space. 

Yeah, that guy.

While retaining its evil crabgrassy ways, it will leave Earth to go pester other life forms throughout the galaxy, impossible to ignore, get rid of, or isolate. It won't take over planets or displace other sentient life; it will just move in and not leave, like the galaxy's unemployed brother-in-law. 

At least that's how it looks to me today. Is there no hope? Why, yes, there might be, thanks to our friend BG Bear, who posted this: 

Kill it with fire! I'm not sure if this little number is available anymore, but flaming weed killers can be bought at large hardware and yard outlets. 

It's either that or we nuke the crabgrass from orbit. Easy choice, you ask me. 

I want my DDT.

Just before bedtime the other evening, I noticed something flittering around the kitchen light. At first I thought it was a moth, because that's what moths do. Then I realized it had those skinny legs, like a marionette flying about with its strings cut. 

GAH! Mosquito! 

Just what you want as you're about to go to sleep -- the knowledge that a bloodsucking freak is lurking.

First I tried to slap it silly by smashing my hands together, but it kept getting away and probably thought I was applauding. Fortunately it was staying near the light over the table, so I took a moment to bring in the big guns -- the flyswatter. 

I stalked my prey, my nerves as taut as a divorcee's underwire, as I neared it and -- zing! Slapped it out of the sky. 

"Where did it go?" I said. 

"I think you injured it," my wife said. "It's done for."

"Don't be silly! They're at their most dangerous when they're wounded."

It would be very satisfying if, when you wing one, a mosquito went down in a spiral of smoke and gave off a little explosion when it hit the ground, but that's not the way they work. Instead I had to deal with the uncertainty. Did it survive? Would I get stung in the night? 

The answers appear to be no. Maybe one of the dogs ate it. They'll go after anything on the floor.

All of this leaves one question in my mind: Those who hate DDT and similar bug-killers and buy completely the Rachel Carson schtick always say that in countries where malaria is a deadly menace, mosquito netting is the answer. Do African mosquitos only bite at night? They certainly bite in the daytime here. 

Deputy & dawg.

A couple of weeks ago the coast looked clear, so I unleased the hounds into the front yard. Little did I know that the incident would involve law enforcement and a firearm. 

It's been hot, and the hairy mutts can't get much exercise in the heat of the day, plus that's work time for the saps who pay the bills. So the trip to Peeville outside is a joyful event. 

I generally make sure there's no one around, because old dog Tralfaz runs out without a leash. The little dude Izzy gets a leash, but Fazzy knows better than to go in the street. 

However, Fazz does bark and then greet any pedestrians with wagging tail. Since he is so huge, though, people can get scared, and hear the barking but ignore the wagging tail. (The old joke has the owner saying, "Don't you know that barking dogs don't bite?" and the other guy saying, "I know that and you know that, but I don't think your dog knows that." Ha ha!)

What happened was a fellow in slacks, dress shirt, and necktie suddenly appeared around the neighbor's house, and Fazzy went galumphing up to him. "Is he friendly?" the man yelled. "Too friendly!" I answered. And Tralfaz got some pats and cheer, and was happy. Meanwhile, Izzy was dragging me as hard as he could to get in on it. 

It turned out the man was from the sheriff's office, and had a holstered gun on his belt to prove it. 

Having gotten some love, Fazzy went to find a nice quiet place to pee, but Izzy stayed with me. It turned out the sheriff had an application from one of the neighbors to become a corrections officer, and had some questions for people in the 'hood. I was glad to help out. It was basic character stuff, like did the guy and his family do anything shifty, were they considerate, things like that. Well, three years ago they had a graduation party that was too loud and too long, but I didn't bring that up. Ever since they've been ideal neighbors, unlike the families that live on either side of our place. 

While I was answering the questions, and the fellow was taking notes, I suddenly realized that Izzy was licking the man's holster, right at the business end of the gun. I casually yanked him away while trying to look like I wasn't pulling on an 80-pound dog. I didn't think the gun would go off, but I didn't want the man to be alarmed, thinking someone was going for his weapon. Knowing this puppy, the lick is often the father of the bite; if he thought the holster tasted good, it might have been chomp city, and the whole congenial discussion could have gone south in a hurry. 

Fortunately all was well, and the man left with my recommendation for the fellow up the block. If he wants to be a corrections officer, then God bless him. For me, it's all I can do to control the hairy little inmates at my place. 

In the trenches.

 

The tree menace.

I recently posted a picture of a house that had been bashed by a falling tree, being a little flip about the whole thing. But it can be deadly serious. This dead tree below, which seems to be held up by vines and hope, is poised to go one way or another -- it may smash into a house or fall across the road; the slope of the ground wouldn't seem to leave it much other choice. 

I'm a fan of trees, finding them shady in a good way, and pleasant to be around. But I'm not a dimwit who thinks they should not be tended to, just let them go as nature intends. Bad things happen without good forestry, as we've seen time and again with wildfires that could have been prevented with careful pruning and thinning of brush. Many wildfires are caused by malice or stupidity, but sadly there is no cure for those evils in the human condition. The least we can do is be good caretakers to our woods. 

The worst tree story of the year happened to a family a parish or two over from ours. The dad, Anthony Apostolico, was riding on the picturesque -- and heavily wooded -- Palisades Interstate Parkway, that runs 42 miles up the west side of the mighty Hudson, from the New Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge to the Bear Mountain Bridge in New York. He had a family-owned Italian deli in Rockland County, and was riding home on Father's Day with two of his children, ages 20 and 17. The weather was windy, according to reports, although I don't recall it being blustery. His son was driving.

A tree fell on the truck.

The father was buried; the children are still recovering at home and expected to do well. How you ever really recover from something like that, though, I wish I knew. 

I imagine the family will have grounds for a huge lawsuit against the Palisades Interstate Park Commission, or whoever is responsible for the tree surgery along the Palisades. I don't take that road often, but I can tell you it's a nightmare at rush hour -- the road itself is often potholed like it had been bombed, people drive it to their jobs in New York City at breakneck speeds, there's not much shoulder, and apparently there's a chance the foliage will come out of the sky on you. If that accident had happened on a weekday morning instead of a Sunday, the death toll could have gone to double digits.

Trees can be dangerous. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration says that more than 100 deaths are caused by falling trees and such per year in America, which is way more than the number of deaths due to shark bite worldwide. And that doesn't even include the deaths in the tree-care industry, which is considered very hazardous. In addition to falling off trees or being hit by limbs, workers may be electrocuted, suffocated, or that old favorite, pulled into a wood chipper. 

I guess what I'm saying is -- watch out for the trees. We love them, we need them, but they're just objects and need to be treated with good judgment for safety. If you have one waiting to fall on your house, don't delay -- get a tree surgeon in soon.

Done to death.

I'm telling you, these dogs are driving me crazy. You know, when I called the producer and said we were going to need a couple of dogs, I expected to get some with a little more pizzazz, you know, a little imagination, a little razzmatazz. Instead it's just the same old same old. 

Take, for example, the hydrant situation. 

At first I thought these guys would bring something new to the part, since they didn't urinate on the hydrant, but they kept sniffing at it like they were trying to get a dose of intranasal iron. 

It got worse from there -- lying around, barking at passersby, chewing sticks. All the dull clichés we've always seen. I thought they were showing a little spark of creativity when they didn't chase a squirrel, but it turned out they were just being lazy. 

After we wrapped for the day, I got to thinking that maybe they are method actors, and were getting too into the idea of Dog rather than bringing themselves to the part of Dog. So I texted one of them and asked what his motivation was with the hydrant business. He wrote, "sniffin stuf".

I can't work like this!

If these two don't show some chops, we're going to have to recast. I mean, they're fuzzy and adorable, sure, but adorable is a dime a dozen in this business. I want ACTING!

Maybe if I get a couple of cats to play the dogs... Hmm....

Vender bender.

 

Junkers, clunkers, heaps, hoopty wagons, beaters.

I was walking the younger canine up the hill by the larger houses last Saturday when it became clear that someone had graduated from high school. Not just the public high school either, but -- as became apparent by the sign on the lawn where the party was held -- a private school. I think everyone in the class was invited, because there had to be fifty cars all along the street. 

I couldn't help but notice that they pretty much all looked brand-new, too. I'm not assuming that every single student at the school got a new car for graduation, but it would be hard to argue against that suggestion. 

And good for them, if that's the case. I lived within the confines of New York City as a youth; I didn't even bother getting my driver's license until I was in my twenties. Of course, if someone was buying me a new car, I probably would have done so, but I knew no one was going to do that for me.

The thing is, the gang I hung around were a little eclectic and from a range of backgrounds. We were all middle class -- everyone had a dad, and every dad had a job, and a lot of the moms did too -- but we were across the spectrum within that class. So our first cars were all pretty crappy, including the one I got when I finally did get my license. Even the kids that got their parents' old cars got some seriously old cars. All were used, all rusted, all too small, too hot, all with options that no longer worked, some with holes, all with funny noises, all with the tantalizing promise that this could be the day we broke down on I-278.

My first car [artist's impression]

And let's face it -- a junker like that could be a colossal pain in the ass. One night I took my girlfriend out and she dumped me over dinner, and I went to take her home and my car wouldn't start. Her dad came to get her, and I sat in the parking lot roiling in misery, waiting for my own dad to come help me get the freaking 18-year-old piece o' crap going so I could get home and brood.

Then again, bad cars can make for good stories. Riding with seven guys stuffed into a compact sedan on a hot August day to get pizza (one guy lying across three laps in the back) was not a lot of fun, but was hilarious even at the time. When you're young, you can stand a lot of inconvenience, at least if you're with your friends. 

I think that is one of the lessons you learn from starting out with a bad car -- inconvenience is part of life. Freedom means not having the best of everything, but it's worth it. 

I know it's tempting to make this a we walked uphill both ways in the snow and liked it story, and I would hate to have a crappy and unreliable vehicle now at my age. But there are other valuable lessons an old beater of a car can teach a youngster, such as:

🚗 The kid is more likely to have worked for the money to buy the car, and thus it is much more valuable to him;

🚗 The kid may learn to handle basic repairs and maintenance, like changing tires or oil; 

🚗 The kid may learn that human dignity is not tied to the cost of possessions;

🚗 But the kid may learn some humility for not having the costliest car among peers.

It's an truism that hardship -- even the minor hardship that comes from an old car -- builds character, and indeed it can. If the person prefers to sit in resentment and jealousy, then no. But if the person learns from experience, especially to laugh at the troubles of driving a clunker, then yes, it can build character. And my old friends are still some of the biggest characters I know. 

Fazzy gets it done.

I take it all back. Everything I wrote yesterday that was in the least critical about dogs. All that stuff about them being willful, disobedient, and stubborn? I take it all back without reserve. 

Why? Because huge elder dog Tralfaz pulled his weight. 

What you see here is a $100 gift card I received, thanks to Tralfaz. I entered his picture in the Pet Month sweepstakes that ShopRite was running, and he was one of the winners! 

A few things to note, though:

1) This was a sweepstakes, not a contest. We didn't win because Fazzy was the handsomest dog -- although he unquestionably must have been. It was a random drawing. 

2) What helped was that people don't read rules. The rules said you had to enter via email, but when the sweepstakes was announced on social media, people just started posting pet pictures there. So, that had to cut down on the number of entries. 

3) With the current inflation rate of 9.1%, this gift card will buy about 90% of the groceries that it would have bought last year. I'm used to sticker shock, but I've been sticker STUNNED at the supermarket these past couple of months. 

4) It's a good thing they don't put actual price stickers on items the way markets did back in the stone age; the staff would be out with the sticker guns raising prices 24/7. I've never seen prices skyrocket like this. 

But thanks to Tralfaz, without whom I might not have entered this sweepstakes, we can defray some expenses this week. Of course, I have to buy more of his favorite dog treats for him with the winnings, so that's another expense. It's only fair.

Dog job description.

What we have with our dogs in a failure to communicate. 

One of the ignored features of the movie Up is that the evil Charles Muntz invented one of the most ridiculously important devices of all time -- a machine that not only allows dogs to communicate in English without even vocalization, but apparently helps them to understand us completely and without training. Not only that, but the dogs are able to express their own thoughts to one another that way. It's completely mind-boggling. Nothing else in the movie comes close to that level of crazy, not Kevin the magical-ish bird or using sails to steer balloons or the fact that Muntz has lived almost a century and is still pretty spry. The idea that animals have human-enough brains to communicate with us via a proper device would have made Muntz the greatest biologist and inventor in history. So it's better not to think about it while watching the movie. 

"Hi there!"

As things are in the real world, dogs hardly understand us and very often don't even try, because it would interfere with their own interests. I don't know if they're being stubborn or willful, or just didn't read the job description properly.

WANTED: DOG

JOB DESCRIPTION

One (1) dog sought to fulfill position of: Dog. No experience necessary; will train. Duties include:

Obedience: Will listen to and obey a short list of commands

Exercise: Will encourage humans to get exercise with play, walks, etc.

Affection: Will provide affection to humans occasionally, as inspired (not mandatory at all times)

Protection: Will provide canine protection against wild animals and human assailants as needed (not a common occurrence)  

Toys and food to be provided to match your preferences (to be determined over time) and health needs. Note: No chewing on walls, floors, furniture, or rugs permitted. 

That's what I would have written as the want ad. What the dogs would have read, however, seems to have been an entirely different ad. 

WANTED: DOG

JOB DESCRIPTION

One (1) dog sought to fulfill position of: Dog. No experience necessary. Duties include:

Listening: Optional, with obedience as you feel like it

Exercise: Lying on the grass or the porch when inconvenient. Best time for play is in the wee hours, or whenever humans want to sleep.

Affection: To be determined by dog

Protection: Go insane at UPS man, other dogs; responding to threats close to home optional

All things within home may be chewed as determined by dog; anything may be a toy or food as required. Optional self-assigned jobs may include: eating poop, chewing baseboards, eating inedible objects, digging miscellaneous holes.

Sometimes I think those Muntz collars might be helpful to prevent these little misunderstandings. Other times I think I'm happier not knowing what my dogs are thinking. I'm always glad that the neighbors don't know what my dogs are thinking. It would lead to fistfights or at least embarrassment. 

American jobs!

You know, when companies are run by idiots, even when they do things right, they do them wrong.

Take for example Procter & Gamble, the company so woke that it insulted the vast majority of its razor users and watched the division fall by $8 billion. 

One of its longstanding products is Safeguard soap, which was only available as a bar soap (as far as I know) in the pre-pandemic era. During the height of COVID mania, the company released large bottles of liquid hand soap under the Safeguard brand. I got some on a few occasions because hand soap, like hand sanitizer and toilet paper, went flying off the shelves at that time and you had to get what you could get.

Well, my wife really liked it, so despite my desire to continue to punish the company for its rudeness, I have been compelled to get some for use at the kitchen sink. But I note that on the bottle they say "Made with American Jobs." What, they suddenly love America? 

In fact, they love America so much they repeat the slogan on the back. (They seem to think that the US has one star on its flag, like Texas or Puerto Rico, but never mind.)

The thing is, I will never trust the company to do what it says again. So I wrote them the following e-mail: 

"I see that the Safeguard soap bottle says 'Made with American Jobs.' What does that mean? It doesn't mean it's made in America; it could just mean someone in America called the factory in Mexico or Canada to order more. I'd like some clarification on this, please."

A few days later I got a reply:

"Thanks for getting in touch with Safeguard. I'd be happy to help assist you today. All Safeguard products are made at facilities in the United States of America. Our liquid hand soap and body wash are made in Iowa City, hand sanitizer is made in California and Virginia, and bar soap is made in Ohio."

So there you go -- the products are actually made in America, but for some reason they couldn't just say that. Instead they had to use some unusual phrasing that made it sound like they were cheating. 

"Oh, yes, we mean an America, not that America. South America is sort of still America." 

"By American jobs we meant Hector in the mailroom, who sends the note to the plant in Xinjiang to order more." 

"We referred to Peter Jobs (no relation to Steve) who is working at the factory in Mexico City." 

Which just shows you that when you break trust with the people, they expect the worst. And it takes a long time to reestablish the respect you've lost. All our institutional leaders ought to bear that in mind. But it's probably too late.

Space make deaf.

A friend of mine posted this from Beyond Fest, and it really is a gem. 

If the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences had any real sense or taste, they would indeed enshrine this film depiction in their Academy Museum.

I showed it to my wife, and she said, "Google Translate would do a better job than this!"

That, of course, got me to thinking: Would it? Let's find out! 

Here in the depiction of the 1979 horror-SF classic Alien from IMDb, with tagline added: 

In the distant future, the crew of the commercial spaceship Nostromo are on their way home when they pick up a distress call from a distant moon. The crew are under obligation to investigate and the spaceship descends on the moon afterwards. After a rough landing, three crew members leave the spaceship to explore the area on the moon. At the same time as they discover a hive colony of some unknown creature, the ship's computer deciphers the message to be a warning, not a distress call. When one of the eggs is disturbed, the crew realizes that they are not alone on the spaceship and they must deal with the consequences. In space, no one can hear you scream.

 Now we'll put it into Google Translate and turn it into Chinese.

在遙遠的未來，商業宇宙飛船 Nostromo 的船員們在回家的路上接到了來自遙遠月球的求救信號。機組人員有義務進行調查，隨後飛船降落在月球上。粗略著陸後，三名機組人員離開宇宙飛船去探索月球區域。在他們發現一些未知生物的蜂巢群的同時，船上的計算機將消息解讀為警告，而不是求救信號。當其中一個蛋受到干擾時，機組人員意識到他們在宇宙飛船上並不孤單，他們必須處理後果。在太空中，沒有人能聽到你的尖叫聲。

So far, so good. Now we'll turn it back into English and see how it looks. 

In the distant future, the crew of the commercial spacecraft Nostromo receives a distress call from the distant moon on their way home. The crew was obliged to investigate, and the spacecraft landed on the moon. After a rough landing, the three crew members left the spacecraft to explore the lunar region. While they spot a hive of unknown creatures, the ship's computer interprets the message as a warning, not a distress signal. When one of the eggs is disturbed, the crew realizes they are not alone on the spacecraft and they have to deal with the consequences. In space, no one can hear your scream.

That's terrific. A couple of small changes but no problem at all understanding it. Nothing laughable. Is Google really that good? Or is it just really deeply in love with China? 

Let's try the translation with another language, like say Kurdish. 

Di paşerojeke dûr de, ekîba keştiya fezayê ya bazirganî Nostromo li ser rêya malê ne dema ku ji heyvek dûr bangek tengahiyê digirin. Ekîb mecbûr in ku lêkolîn bikin û keştiya fezayê paşê dakeve ser heyvê. Piştî daketineke dijwar, sê endamên ekîban ji keştiya fezayê derdikevin da ku li herêmê li ser heyvê bigerin. Di heman demê de gava ku ew koloniyek hingiv a hin mexlûqên nenas kifş dikin, komputera keştiyê peyamê deşîfre dike ku bibe hişyariyek, ne banga tengahiyê. Dema ku yek ji hêkan teng dibe, ekîb fam dike ku ew li keştiya fezayê ne bi tenê ne û divê ew bi encaman re mijûl bibin. Li fezayê, kes nikare qîrîna te bibihîze.

And back into English: 

In the distant future, the crew of the commercial spaceship Nostromo are on their way home when they receive a distress call from a distant moon. The crew has to investigate and the spacecraft will then land on the moon. After a rough landing, three crew members leave the spaceship to explore the area on the moon. Also when they discover a bee colony of some unknown creature, the ship's computer decodes the message to be a warning, not a distress call. When one of the eggs goes awry, the crew realizes they are not alone on the spaceship and must deal with the consequences. In space, no one can hear you scream.

Looks darn good! What if we try it in Chinese with a slightly lesser known work, say the description of my book, Larry and the Mascots?

When Larry gets thrown from the roof of his dormitory, little does he realize that his troubles are just beginning. Surviving this encounter due to the help of an advertising character—Whitewall, a pitchman for tires who is actually made of tires—Larry discovers that a group of advertising mascots have come to life. There’s Mitts, a flying oven mitt; Captain Freshy, a homicidal pirate who sells canned tuna; Sweety the Sugar Fairy, who glazes children’s cereal; Mushy MacClown, a sad clown on packages of marshmallows; and others—some of whom are up to something sinister. Who are they? What do they want? And why did one of them steal his crummy laptop? What Larry discovers is a conspiracy that springs from the actions of one of the school’s greatest patrons—one that ultimately threatens the lives of the students on campus, and perhaps even the entire nation. Larry and the Mascots is an intriguing adventure, full of action, heart, interesting characters, and cartoon characters, and is part of a complete breakfast.

We'll run it back and forth through the Chinese translation and then:

Little did he realize that his troubles had only just begun when Larry was thrown from the dormitory roof. Surviving with the help of advertising character Whitewall, a salesman for tires that are actually made of tires, Larry discovers a group of advertising mascots have come to life. There are gloves, flying oven mitts; Captain Freshy, a murderous pirate who sells canned tuna; Sugar Fairy Sweetheart glazed on children's cereal; Mushy MacClown, the sad clown on marshmallow wrappers; and others -- some of whom are making some sinister things. who are they? What do they want? Why did one of them steal his tattered laptop? The conspiracy uncovered by Larry stems from the actions of one of the school's biggest patrons -- ultimately threatening the lives of students on campus, and possibly an entire nation. Larry and the Mascot is a fun adventure full of action, heart, funny characters and cartoon characters that is part of a complete breakfast.

I mean, it's not awful. A little confusing, but roughly understandable. "Tattered laptop" is amusing. But a far cry from that Hong Kong description of Alien.

So what have we learned? That Google Translate has gotten scary good, and that movie pirates ought to use it rather than rely on their cousin who claims he speaks English unto like native total. 

Out & about.

Or, as our Canadian readers might say, oot & aboot. 

In other words, it's another Pictures from the Road entry! 

This day started off with a pleasant sky; a friend I showed this to said it looked like a macaroni and cheese morning, but I think it's more like a customer got a little crazy at the pizzeria with the Parmesan.  

Someone set up a cute li'l deer sculpture, but as I noted some time ago, most lawn statuary represents things you don't see normally, and we got deer out the bazooty around here. Why put up a statue to one? We know what they look like. Why not a gnome, or a jockey, or a saint? I've never met one of them. Well, maybe a saint or two.

Ouch! This house got it but good. I hope I think of this anytime I dream of a peaceful cottage nestled in the woods. One of those trees gets a little ancient and bam! Tarps and Tyvek and insurance claims, and God I hope no one got hurt. 

Over the in sewer department, looks like the guys halted progress on a job for the weekend. I don't know what that green thing is, but it's a new one of the rusted thing. 

And finally, off to Walmart for the big Back to School extravaganza! On July 9! Go ahead and cry, kids; the days are getting shorter already. 

Devil in the DEETails.

 

Do NOT try this at home or anywhere.

Today's blog entry is a public service announcement, trying to help a YouTube star get the message to all home craftsmen and artists. 

It may come as a shock to you that things you see on the Internet are not always trustworthy -- although I doubt it, since you show the intelligence and good taste to visit this site (ahem). But what will come as a shock to you or me or anyone else, a shock of the fatal variety, is if we try this stunt.

Ann Reardon is a food scientist and baker from the Land of Oz, maybe best known for her incredible miniature bakes on her "How to Cook That" channel. She also makes terrific videos that review silly kitchen implements and debunk food hacks. But this debunking isn't about food; it's about a project using electricity to burn patterns in wood. At the time she made the video there were 34 known deaths in the United States reported due to this project, and who knows how many more in other places or just not reported in the newspapers. So of course YouTube moved this important video to the top of their viewing for everyone, right?

Nah, they banned it. 

After making this protest video with the important parts of the original and posting it, Ann had shamed YouTube into reposting the original. But I wanted to do my little bit to keep this going, because I know a lot of crafters and you probably do too, and let's not do this craft together, shall we? 

Here's the problem in a nutshell, which she explains far better than I can: While normal household electricity is usually not instantly fatal to an adult human, this project calls for taking the transformer out of a microwave oven and using jumper cables to burn patterns in wood. An average dingdong like myself might think that's just a means of getting the juice to the cables, so it's no more dangerous than sticking a paper clip in an outlet. There might be a pop, and I'd get a shock and maybe a burn, but it's not going to kill me, right? And when these things happen, the circuit breaker will instantly shut off anyway.

And I would be wrong, oh so wrong, because the transformer lifts the voltage coming out to about 2,000 volts, enough to stop my heart before I even hit the floor. The circuit breaker has no connection to the transformer's output, so it doesn't even know this is happening, so the juice won't shut off. Even brushing against the wood while doing this craft can impart a fatal shot of Reddy Kilowatt. 

So bear this in mind if you should know anyone who likes to try woodcrafts, or is known to fall for the various "life hacks" promised on Internet videos. Beauty and art may be worth dying for, but foolishness is not.  

World Chocolate Day.

Happy World Chocolate Day! The day we celebrate chocolate, because without a holiday we wouldn't celebrate it at all. 

Pictured: A brick of Godiva hobnobbing
with some common chocolate-covered
cashews.

"But Fred," you ask, "isn't EVERY day World Chocolate Day, really?"

And I answer: Yes. But this particular holiday, according to Wikipedia, commemorates the supposed date -- July 7, 1550 -- that chocolate was introduced to Europe. So I guess it's another oppressive white colonialist genocidal holiday, like Columbus Day or Thanksgiving. Look for the usual suspects to start busting into chocolatiers' shops and tearing down their chocolate statues. 

It's hard not to think of Valentine's Day, Easter, Halloween, and Christmas as chocolate holidays, since so much of it is produced for those days, but one also finds lots of chocolate for Jewish holidays, Thanksgiving, and Mother's Day. But wait, there's more! The Wiki page notes that there are other days designated as chocolate-themed holidays, as of course does the National Day page. (Some dates may be different on different years, but these are for 2022.) They are: 

National Chocolate Day (U.S.), October 28

International Chocolate Day, September 13 (which was Milton S. Hershey's birthday)

Latvia World Chocolate Day, July 11

Ghana Chocolate Day, February 14 (so, crossover with Valentine's Day)  

National Chocolate Candy Day, December 28

National Milk Chocolate Day, July 28

National Chocolate Covered Raisin Day, March 24 

National Chocolate Pudding Day, June 26

National Chocolate Pecan Pie Day, August 20

National Cocoa Day, December 13

National German Chocolate Cake Day, June 11

National Chocolate Covered Cashews Day, April 21

National Chocolate Chip Day, May 15

National Chocolate Macaroon Day , June 3

National Caramel Chocolate Day, March 19

National Chocolate Covered Nut Day, February 25

National Chocolate Mint Day, February 19

National Chocolate Cake Day, January 27

National Bittersweet Chocolate Day, January 10

National Bittersweet Chocolate with Almonds Day, November 7

National Chocolate Covered Cherry Day, January 3

National Cream-Filled Chocolates Day (also February 14, which is like piling on now)

National Chocolate Covered Pretzel Day, October 7

National Chocolate Cupcake Day, October 18

National Chocolate Milk Day, September 27

National Chocolate Chip Cookie Day, August 4

National Chocolate Ice Cream Day, June 7

National Chocolate Milkshake Day, September 12

National Hot Chocolate Day, January 31

National Chocolate Mousse Day, April 3

National Chocolate Parfait Day, May 1

National Chocolate Wafer Day, July 3

National Chocolate Soufflé Day, February 28 

National Chocolate Covered Anything Day, December 16

I may have missed some. I'm not even counting the White Chocolate Days because racism. No, because white chocolate isn't real chocolate. But, for the record, National White Chocolate Day is September 22. 

Then there's National Chocolate Month, which is February, and American Chocolate Week, which is the third full week of March. 

That's pretty exhausting, and I kind of feel like between these dates and others that pop up like weeds and normal holidays we probably have the whole calendar covered. Which isn't a bad thing necessarily, but remember! Moderation is key to enjoying chocolate every day. Not that I would know anything about that, but that's what I hear. 

I have known that people are completely crazy about chocolate since the time I was a tot and heard a report on the school playground from a companion who had come back from a family trip to Montreal. He regaled us with stories of chocolate-covered ants, which seemed to me to be a bridge too far and still does. Here's a delicious recipe for chocolate-covered ants, if you're interested. Strangely enough, there does not seem to be a National Chocolate-Covered Ants Day. Maybe in Canada. 

He's a goofy-feet grommet.

 

Memories of fruit.

It's the season for the most amazing produce, and I grabbed a bunch of it at the store last week. Fruitwise, I hit that department but good. Watermelon, berries, mangoes, and other stuff went into the cart without a second thought, joining the celery, corn, bell pepper, and onion already present. 

It made me a little reflective yesterday, actually. I was cutting this and peeling that and chopping the other thing, and it brought back memories of produce past. Without further ado, here's some Froot of My Yoot.

Plums -- My dad was crazy for plums. When they were in season, my mom could not buy too many. He'd fool with the thing for a bit, nibbling and breaking the skin, then twirl it around and get the good stuff, then suck that pit dry. Nary a drop got on his shirt. Somehow he did it without dislodging his dental bridge. He was a maestro with the stone fruit. 

Blueberries -- I have always loved blueberries, but the best I have ever had or probably ever will have were wild blueberries in Scandinavia. I'm not bragging; our trip there when I was a child was 90% family business, not because mater and pater thought it would be broadening. But it was amazing, and the woods seemed to be full of wild blueberries, a powerful sweet flavor. We were sent to gather some with our distant cousins and had quite a treat. If I ever go back, I am going in the summertime and leaving everyone and running into the woods with a basket until I find some. 

Mangoes -- We were not mango people. They weren't as widely available in my childhood as they are now, but I do recall Mom buying one to try it. I was put off by the flavor, as it was not one of the Four Fruit Flavor Groups with which I was familiar, those being Omnipresent (apples, bananas, grapes), Summer (plums, peaches, nectarines), Floridian (oranges, grapefruit), and Candy (Jolly Rancher, Kool-Aid, Jell-O). Mom liked the mango flavor, but didn't like cutting it because the mango made a hell of a mess, and the only things she'd tolerate that made a hell of a mess were her kids, and those just barely. Later I came to love mangoes. I've probably peeled and cut more than a hundred of them since, and every one has been a barely avoided ER run for stitches. I'm sure there are people who make a living peeling and cutting mangoes, and I'd like to see their technique.

Strawberries -- For some reason, Dad decided one year to plant a patch of strawberries on the lawn. He was a fan, and strawberries were pricey at the time. Well, the collie next door, a pinched-brain little ditz, peed on them, and decided at that moment that there was no place else in the world upon which she'd rather pee. We didn't live in a duplex, note -- to get to our yard this dog had to escape her own yard, run down a path, down a flight of steps, leap a short fence, and run all the way across the lawn to the spot to pee on it. This dog was putting in the work. I've always treasured a good strawberry since, because we sure as hell didn't get any that year. 

Blackberries -- We actually had some wild blackberries growing in a wooded area outside our property, and while they were not as memorable as the blueberries I've described above, they were pretty darn good and the price was right. The only problem was that we had to be exceptionally alert to when they were ready to pick, because the blue jays loved them even more than we did and would strip the plants in no time.  

Watermelon -- Always a summer treat. Also, more of a project than a fruit. As regards the messiness factor, see mangoes, above. We didn't have a lot of barbecues at my house, but when we did, the presence of watermelon was as certain as marshmallows to roast over the charcoal embers. I don't have a lot childhood memories that other kids have -- catchin' tadpoles, playin' ball at the park, climbin' trees, goin' to summer camp -- but those times I remember very fondly. And I still like watermelon. A few years ago when the Mrs. and I were on a trip to Southern California to visit friends and family, in the arid in-state areas, we stayed at a hotel that kept a cooler full of water with watermelon in it out in the lobby. It was the most refreshing water I've ever had, and in the desert, this northern boy needed it. 

Honorable mention: Nectarines and Tangerines -- When I was a kid I always thought the nectarine had to be a tangerine-like fruit because of the name, and to this day I have to remind myself it's really halfway between a peach and a plum. The confusion comes, as with so many things, from the French. The -ine suffix means like or related to or made of; the nectarine is "like nectar" and the tangerine is "from Tangier" in Morocco. Thanks, French! 

How about you? Got any fond food memories to share?

Where was George?

As we all know, July the Fourth is the official date of proclamation of the Declaration of Independence, although delegates from the colonies signed on different dates. Getting all the colonies to agree in the face of massive British reprisal was a triumph of diplomacy. The outcome of the Declaration was not assured until Lord Cornwallis had the band play "The World Turned Upside Down,"*  and even decades after it seemed like the whole American experiment was going to go down the cesspool at any time.

I got to wondering where exactly George Washington was on July 4, 1776. Obviously he himself was not in Congress, being in the field with the under-trained, underfunded, undermanned army, as he had been for just over a year. So what was he up to on that date?

According to the Library of Congress, Washington had left Massachusetts following the British surrender of Boston, and had set up in Manhattan by April 14. He is not too happy with the situation there, a feeling many people would have on arriving in New York to this day. The Library of Congress says, "New York has not yet come down decisively on the side of independence, and merchants and government officials are supplying the British ships still in the harbor. Washington, angry at the continued communication with the enemy, asks the Committee if the evidence about them does not suggest that the former Colonies and Great Britain are now at war. He insists that such communications should cease."

Washington's war preparations continued in New York, and he would have his hands full. On June 21 he would fifty miles upstate by today's West Point, calling for the construction of the Great Chain to block a British fleet coming down the Hudson.** 

So I'm not sure what exactly the great man was doing on the Fourth of July, which fell on a Thursday that year. But on June 29th, General William Howe and his brother Little Dickie (nah, his brother was Admiral Richard Howe) arrived in New York Harbor, so Washington was undoubtedly preparing for the British to attack. That would not occur for some time, as the British first wanted to talk George into giving up.*** 

The British would concentrate their forces on Staten Island, which was sparsely populated and completely unable to prevent the British landing. In fact, on September 11, 1776, John Adams, Ben Franklin, and Edward Rutledge would meet with Richard Howe at what is now called the Conference House on Staten Island to try to prevent the war. By then the British had already chased the American forces out of Long Island (where the colonists were saved from destruction by retreating under cover of fog), and would later chase them around the rest of the city. New York very nearly was Washington's Waterloo, almost four decades before Napoleon had the actual Waterloo.**** 

But that was all yet to come.*****  

On Tuesday, July 9, however, Washington got a copy of the Declaration and declared a celebration. He read it to his troops, and had copies sent to the other generals in the Continental Army. To General Artemas Ward he wrote, "The enclosed Declaration will show you that Congress at length, impelled by necessity, have dissolved the connection between the American Colonies of Great Britain and declared them free, independent states, and in compliance with their order I am to request you will cause this Declaration to be immediately proclaimed at the head of the Continental Regiments in the Massachusetts Bay." 

I do not believe the quote on this T-shirt is legitimate.  

Maybe in spirit, if not in actual words. 

Mentioning the Conference House reminded me of a great little bit from the film (and play) 1776; the film is fifty years old now. In the scene, John Adams, played by the brilliant William Daniels, complains about his fate in posterity:

Adams: I'll not appear in the history books anyway. Only you. Franklin did this and Franklin did that, and Franklin did some other damned thing. Franklin smote the ground, and out sprang George Washington, fully grown and on his horse. Franklin then electrified him with his miraculous lightning rod; then the three of them -- Franklin, Washington, and the horse -- conducted the entire revolution all by themselves.

Franklin: I like it.

That's probably what they are teaching now in history, if they still teach anything good about any dead white men (and horses). But we will know what our Founding Fathers did, and we will tell the stories while we have strength to tell them. 

🦅🦅🦅

*Or did he?

**Longtime readers -- you handsome devils -- will recall my visit to West Point and the remainder of the Chain in 2018.

***Spoiler: He didn't.

****Napoleon himself was six years old on July 4, 1776, and had already reached his full height. (Just kidding about that last bit.)

*****Summarized by William Bryk in a fascinating little piece here.