August 2005 Archives

I was very concerned about how I was going to get to Dallas for the annual OU/Texas Hoedown. I considered that I might save money by driving. All 1280 or so miles. But then, when you factor gas, roughly half an oil change and air filter, it'd cost me about $200 to save any money. And I'd put 1280 miles on the car.

And that's not counting all the driving I'd end up doing once I get to Dallas. 700 miles over a three-day weekend wouldn't be too wild an estimate. And you'd have to throw in the 5% chance of me wrecking the car and/or the car getting stolen.

Well, then I looked at how much air fare cost. Non-stop STL to DFW: $308. And that was on Expedia. They had one that was $134, but it had a two-hour layover in Minneapolis and six hour travel time. I thought surely there's a better way.

Finally I checked American's website. DFW is a hub for them, and St. Louis is kind of a hub-let, a legacy from when St. Louis was TWA's hub, before TWA went belly-up and was bought by American.

Anyway, they're running a special over at American where they're giving flights that they consider a Short Hop™, for a mere 15,000 frequent flyer miles. Guess how many miles J has more than? And name two cities the jaunt between which are considered a Short Hop™?

So, I'm flying to Dallas for a mere $5 service charge. This will be the second year in a row that my flight to OU/Texas hasn't come out of pocket. Last year, I spent the money they gave me to be violated anally, and this year I get to use frequent flyer miles.

Proving once again that, aside from the catastrophically unfortunate stuff that happens to me with distressing regularity, I'm the luckiest person alive.

Actually, it might even get better than that. I might have found someone to buy the Proud Larry. Someone in Dallas. Which means I could drive to the Big D and take a one-way ticket back to St. Louis. Granted, a one-way ticket is a high percentage of the cost of a round-trip ticket, but on the other hand, I'd get rid of the car.

And a thought popped into my head. "Wait a second... what happened to the Ozone?"

(If you have any Memory Lane music, here's the time to play it.)

I remember back in the late 80's and early 90's, everyone was convinced we were doing irreparable damage to the Ozone Layer. You couldn't go anywhere without someone wringing their hands and worrying (loudly) about the Ozone Layer. "Good God, is anyone going to do anything about the Ozone Layer?"

As best as I could tell, the Ozone Layer was important because, um, I think it had something to do with U.V. radiation. I don't remember exactly, but I think because of the fact that we used freon to make places like Dallas, TX semi-inhabitable by human beings, there was a hole being poked in the precious Ozone Layer. And something about hairspray. And everyone was going to get skin cancer. And guys were going to start shooting blanks. Or women were going to start having flipper babies. Or something.

Then people stopped talking about and worrying (loudly) about the Ozone Layer. And one day, you just stopped hearing anything at all about it. What happened?

Well, I can think of a few possibilities.

• Maybe we actually fixed it. I know you can't get hairspray any more. Maybe because of that, the hole fixed itself, and that's that.

  The problem with this theory is that, if that's the case, why didn't we hear any success stories? I mean, those environmentalists, aside from being a hirsute lot, are also a gloomy lot. You'd think they'd all be excited to mention something good that had happened.

  This isn't to say that this theory is definitely false. These enviromental groups could have done some focus group tests that show that interest and fundraising drops when you trumpet a success story versus when you trumpet a "You're all going to die" story.

• Maybe it wasn't fixed, but some other studies came out that seemed to indicate that nothing they said about the skin cancer and the flipper babies was true.

  This theory couldn't possibly be true. If it were true, it'd be the first time before or since that environmental activists actually noticed, responded to, and altered their script based on information contrary to what they've been preaching.

• Here's my theory:

  Compare the ozone hole to global warming. If there's a problem with the ozone layer, we all might get skin cancer. Or we could just stay inside all the time (which would suit me fine). And the remedy would be no more hairspray, and use a slightly more expensive kind of air conditioner. Whereas with Global Warming, the consequences involve New York City being flooded and Germany turning into a desert. And the remedy involved nobody driving and all manufacturing in the first world being cut in half.

  Sexier problem, sexier solution.

  So, it's not that anything happened to make the dreaded ozone hole better or worse, just that global warming was a more dramatic problem, and every minute spent talking about it was a minute not spent talking about something bigger and more important.

Still, if anyone knows what happened to the Ozone Layer (maybe they had a press conference and I missed it), let me know. That's what the comments are for.

Why Noam Chomsky Is an Idiot

I don't really think that Chomsky is an idiot. Apparently he's a brilliant linguist, who's really stretched the boundaries of our understanding of language and how it works. But I suspect he's one of those people who tries to overapply his technical expertise. Like when someone understands the wave/partical duality of light, but then tries to apply it to sociology, the results are sheer idiocy.

Anyway, there's a theory that's been espoused by many people -- Chomsky's just the most famous one -- that people are basically pawns of Madison Ave. Some company will launch a glitzy PR campaign for some product that nobody needs, and the people begin bleating like the sheep they are and march double-quick-time to the nearest department store to buy! buy! buy! whatever has just been advertised.

By "people", I am, of course, referring to people who haven't read anything by Noam Chomsky. Those who have are (apparently) the Elect. They have heard the wisdom of the great Prophet Chomsky (Peace and Blessings Be Upon Him), and thus have had their eyes opened to the Way the World Really Works. And when the Capitalist pig-dogs come a-knocking, they're armored against the Lies.

From personal experience, the guy apparently works. Your typical Chomsky reader seems to be impervious to all advertising for soap or deodorant.

But I'm digressing. What about the theory?

Something just doesn't quite add up. Let's take as an example, Marla, my iPod. Here's the Noam Chomsky narrative for how I ended up buying the iPod:

I saw a commercial for the iPod. I also noticed that everyone I knew had an iPod, and if I didn't have one as well, I'd be labelled "less-than-with-it" and be shunned by my peers. I couldn't possibly let that happen. So when I saw the purple background, the silhouetted dancer with the white earbuds dancing around to "Are You Gonna Be My Girl", the pressures of modern life got to me. I snapped. I lost all sense of morality and financial good sense, and I didn't regain my sanity (such as it was) until I was clutching the iPod in my clammy hands, like a sacred idol.

Now, for comparison, this is my narrative. It's possible I've acquired some kind of false consciousness, that the above narrative is what actually happened, and this is just my personal justification that allows me to sleep at night. We'll compare and judge for ourselves.

I discovered that those geniuses in Cupertino had invented a device roughly the size of a cassette tape that held the amount of music on something like 800 albums. Since it was basically a hard drive with an mp3 decoder built in, it would also facilitate moving files between work and home. But mostly it was a handy device that let me carry my voluminous music collection in my pocket. So, I bought one.

So, which one was it? Was I a pawn to Steve Job's savvy marketing and slick packaging? Or did I make a cold-blooded assessment of the product and buy it?

For the record, I was the second guy I knew personally who owned one of these, so it's not possible that it was peer pressure. Although I guess I could have bought it to show up my neighbors, but that's assuming I give a crap what those people think. And, it should also be noted, I bought the thing before they'd aired any TV ads. Maybe I'd seen a print ad somewhere, but since I don't read magazines, I doubt it.

The problem with the Chomsky theory is that somehow it hasn't occurred to him or his fellow travelers that maybe sometimes people buy things because they're neat. And they're neat by their own merits, not because a radio spot or clever product placement has convinced them so.

It's neat to have the entire collection of David Bowie albums sitting on my desk at work (but not taking up the entire desk). And there's obviously some value to that for me. My life is better because if I'm in the mood to listen to Hunky Dory, it will be right there waiting for me. Speaking of which, so is Richard Marx*.

Granted, maybe people aren't asking the question, "Do I need this?", but rather "Do I want this?" But so what? One man's utterly useless waste of money is another man's reason for getting out of bed in the morning.

Now, to bring this back to something more relevant to my life lately, do I need a BMW 7 series? Hell no, I don't. I'd be fine with a 5 year old Kia. I'd be fine with a 15 year old Toyota Camry named the Proud Larry, if it didn't leak oil.

But having driven one, I've been thinking: According to St. Noam, the only reason someone would want a BMW 7 series is because they've been programmed to want one by those evil greedy corporations. Or they're trying to buy a better car than their neighbors. Or something that doesn't have anything to do with the car itself, which really, isn't a car just a way to get from point A to point B?

The answer is "No". A 1990 Toyota Camry is a way to get from Point A to Point B. This BMW is really something special. It's special for reasons that have nothing to do with what other people think of it. It pins you to the back of the seat when you accelerate down the on ramp. It has heated seats, for the love of God. Does anyone need heated seats? Probably not. But if you've got a seat heater that doesn't involve eating chili for dinner the night before, that's worth something, regardless of whether anyone's impressed.

That's just my theory anyway. Although I'm willing to be convinced otherwise. Here's the test. If you can explain how we're all a pawn of corporate marketing forces in such a way that also explains the following story, I'll be a believer. I'll stop bathing that very day.

You may not remember this, or you may not have noticed, but Tommy Hilfiger clothes were very big in the black community a few years back. Happened without any real effort on their part, too. One day, for some reason, everyone was suddenly wearing Tommy stuff.

Tommy Hilfiger isn't a dummy and he started noticing what was happening with his sales numbers. So he decided he'd try to expand his presence in this new market by consciously targeting ads for the black community. The result? His sales there began to plummet almost immediately.

Now, if someone can explain how we're all tools of Madison Ave. and fit the above anecdote into your theory, I'll consider it.

* No, I don't have any Richard Marx on my iPod. Not even "Should Have Known Better". Although I'll have that "Right Here Waiting For You" song stuck in my head all day.

Now, unlike some people, I didn't get my car to compenstate for anything. I got the car I got because it was a once-in-a-lifetime bargain, and it's really fun to drive. The only person's image it was intended to improve was my own. The dimensions of my junk did not enter into the equation.

But I'm concerned about the perception. I'd be doubly concerned about that perception if, say, I had bought the car for exactly that reason.

I'm sure there's more than just me and possibly one other person who has this concern. Which is why I designed a bumper sticker. This bumper sticker.

In fact, you can purchase one at the Salivating Dog Gift Shop. Get one for your car. Or perhaps for that well-endowed friend with a pimped out machine. Or the poorly-endowed friend with the pimped out machine. Or maybe you don't have a wang, you just think it's funny. Everyone needs this bumper sticker.

This Chomsky thing is taking longer than I anticipated, so I'll get to that tomorrow.

Tonight the Cub's spending the night while the folks are off in beautiful Saratoga, NY, gambling away the retirement fund. It's picture day for him tomorrow. Remember picture day? Inevitably the day of the year when you'll have the worst hair ever. Especially if you have my hair, which is incredibly tempermental.

I suppose there's some rationalization I could do about owning a BMW. I'm very good at rationalizing. It would work something like this. "Yeah, I own a BMW. But see, the fact that I own one, by itself, will lower the value of everyone else's BMW. Kind of the Groucho Marx theory, who wants to own the same kind of car as that asshole? And by 'that asshole', I mean myself."

That's how the rationalization would work. But I think I'm too old for rationalization. That's the car I have, and I'm now the kind of guy who lives in the suburbs and drives a BMW. That's me. That's who I am. This is American, and in America, you are what you own, and you are what you drive. And therefore, apparently, I am the Ultimate Driving Machine.

Well, whatever. As I handed over the money and took posession of it, I could feel the last shreds of counter-culture in me dissolving. And that was before I drove the thing.

Holy cow! This is some piece of machinery! This car drives so much better than Proud Larry, I almost killed myself getting home. Like you touch the gas pedal and you get pinned to the back of the seat. And, in a sharp departure from Proud Larry, the car starts turning well before you turn the steering wheel 90 degrees.

So, you really have to think about what you want to car to be doing. Unlike Proud Larry, which pretty much did whatever it wanted, unless you were really emphatic.

And the thing has more buttons than the space shuttle. Automatic climate control? Sure! Heated seats? Yep! A stereo system that is able to liquify the contents of my colon? Absolutely! Okay, that last one I'm not sure about. That could be blamed on dinner last night.

So, the moral of the story: becoming a complete sellout is really easy if you get a BMW out of the deal. If the BMW has enough features and buttons and horsepower, it's possible that you'll only be faintly cogniscent of the actual act of selling out a mere few hours after you did it.

Tomorrow I'll explain why Noam Chomsky is an idiot. And probably for exactly the reason you think.

So, I saw Donnie Darko at the midnight movies. Now, not only had I never seen this movie, I didn't know the first thing about it, other than that it was supposedly really good. That's my favorite way to see a movie, not knowing anything about it. Just the blank slate, with no preview-driven preconceptions about what the deal is.

So, the first thing I noticed about it was how many people I recognized from other things. "Look, it's the president of the colonies from Battlestar Galactica!" "Hey, wasn't that that one guy from that horrible piece of shit Doom Generation?" "Hey, it's the Secretary!" "Isn't she... hasn't she been in like a bazillion things where she plays 'Generic Southern Woman'?"

There's also Noah Wyle and Drew Barrymore, before she figured out how lucrative it is to play the love interest to Adam Sandler. And Patrick Swayze! Patrick Swayze!!!

Man, I love that guy.

So, being that it had Mr. Road House himself, things were already looking up. And the movie itself didn't disappoint. It was very creepy. The pacing was either "slow" or "deliberate", depending on whether you liked it or not. I liked it.

The acting was superb, which would be easy to pull off, since it was a very good cast. Even Drew Barrymore. The plot was really interesting, though it confused the hell out of me. It wasn't as confusing as, say, Primer, but then, nothing is as confusing as Primer. However, I'll probably have to see it again if I hope to figure out what the deal was.

I'm being vague here, because, after an impromptu poll, I discovered that a lot of people haven't seen it, and, as I mentioned, I like the idea of watching a movie knowing as little about it as possible. (Although I've already given away the biggest suprise, which is that Patrick Freakin' Swayze (!!!) is in it.)

I'm certain I wouldn't have enjoyed this nearly as much if I hadn't seen it at the midnight movie. It was on the big screen, and the late hour kinda put me in a slightly altered state mentally. But I'd recommend it to anyone.

So, find someone you want to snuggle up with, watch it at night on the biggest TV you can. You probably won't be disappointed. Four Charlie heads.

Just a quick few comments about seeing the midnight movie. I felt really old. I believe I was the oldest guy there by about 10 years. I got another quick lesson about how little I like teenagers.

There were these five dumpy girls all wearing fedoras. I know! Fedoras! And I thought, "You know, if they'd all lose about 70 lbs, they'd look like a gang of Debbie Gibsons." And then I realized that if I mentioned that to them, they'd be extremely hurt. But more importantly, they'd probably have no idea who Debbie Gibson is. Because when Debbie Gibson was both big and wearing a fedora (i.e. 1987), they hadn't freakin' been born.

I remember my younger cousin going to Crestwood Mall to see her arch-rival Tiffany perform. And this was all before these people were even born. As Frank Sinatra as played by Phil Hartman would put it, they weren't even a gleam in some drunk Mick's bloodshot eye.

I also learned that I'm not physically cut out for staying up until 2 any more. Today, I was both sleepy and very emotionally vulnerable. I felt all day like I'd quit smoking yesterday. It could be a coincidence, but I just don't think so.

This is the Ryugyong Hotel. It's a 105 story building in Pyonyang, North Korea, and perhaps the creepiest looking structure ever built by human hands. It looks like the stronghold of the main bad guy in some cheeseball fantasy movie from the 80's. In fact, I think this may have been modeled after the Dark Fortress in Krull.

This is where it gets really interesting, though, and this will tell you everything you need to know about North Korea. Construction on the building was halted in 1992. Nobody knows why. The most popular theories are that they either ran out of money to build the thing, or there was some kind of fatal design flaw that wasn't discovered until it was too late.

So, it's just a gigantic shell. But, despite the fact that it's about 60 stories taller than the next-tallest building, nobody ever talks about it. It doesn't show up on the maps and if you ask your government assigned guide about it, he'll claim not to have any idea what you're talking about.

Straight outta Orwell.

More about it can be found here.

This picture almost made my brain explode. So, if you suspect your brain might be more volatile than mine, don't open that link!

You'll all be pleased to know that Charlie made it through her girl-parts-ectomy with flying colors. Well, she's been really mellow all day, so I wouldn't say the colors were flying, exactly. Maybe "with colors hanging limply in the breeze" would be closer. But still.

All evening long, I keep getting this look. This very sad "How could you do this to me" look. It's very distressing, but it can't be helped.

This car.

Well, not the one in the picture, but that kind of car.

It's ten years old, and it's got 45,000 miles on it. I'm not saying how much it was, but it was a bargain. Not so much of a bargain that I'm not now going to have a car payment, but I was going to have a car payment for anything more than $35. Which is how much I have in my pants right now. And, coincidentally, it's the amount of equity I've built up in the Chateau de J these past three months.

So, I'm still going to have to get a roommate. But I can live with that a bit better now that I know what he/she is going to be paying for.

I have many thoughts about the fact that I'm going to own a house in the suburbs and drive a BMW. But I'll save those for another day. Maybe the day I actually get the car (sometime next week). My perspective might have changed

Tomorrow is a big day for Charlie the Dog. It's the day she finally gets her special girl parts removed.

Stay tuned!

And if you haven't voted yet, do so.

Feel free to vote, and if you think it's really important that everyone knows why you voted the way you did, use the comments for this post.

This poll will stay open until I think of a better poll question.

First off, I took my car in to get the oil changed. I'd noticed some fluid of some kind dripping out. I don't know shit about cars, so I had no idea what it have been. Maybe oil, maybe washer fluid, maybe pomegranate schnapps. I just didn't know.

So, I asked the guys at the shop to take a look. See what the deal was. Turns out, it's the rear main seal is leaking. Good news and bad news about that. The good news is, it's a $30 part.

The bad news is, it's $825 in labor. You're probably thinking what I was thinking: How the hell could there possibly be $825 in labor? Well, step one to replacing the rear main seal is remove the engine. Apparently removing and reinserting engines is harder work than you might think.

So, I got about $900 worth of repairs on the Proud Larry before she's totally seaworthy. It bears mentioning, the Proud Larry is a 1990 Toyota Camry. So, here's the dilemma: $900 is about the least I can buy a car for. Maybe I can find a car for less, but there's no telling what had happened to it before it got to my hands. Despite the fact I've had it for the last 50,000 miles, the Proud Larry is in really good shape, and that's worth something.

On the other hand, say I spend the $900 to fix it. Then I have a 15 year old car with 130,000 miles on it. No telling when something else is going to go wrong. What's next? The transmission? The nathanganger?

I'm faced with, as best as I can see, three alternatives, in order of cost:

• Each time I gas up, add some oil back into the engine.
• Repair the rear main seal.
• Get a new car.

As for the first idea, the leak might be slow enough that this could work until sometime next year, when I might get a raise. Or it might not. Knowing me and how I am about these things, there'll be that one time I forget, and the car will run out of oil. And then, I have a large maroon-colored boulder, of little use to anyone.

The problems with the second idea have been discussed.

As for the third idea, well, this is a good time to point out that I make exactly enough money to afford the lifestyle I want right now. I make (almost to the penny) just enough to afford rent, eating out when I was feeling to lazy to cook for myself (which isn't all the time, but it's a few times a week), going to see movies, purchasing music rather than stealing it, and the occasional personal electronic device of some sort. Any increase in expenses or decrease in payroll could destroy the delicate balance I've managed to set up for myself, and lead to either fiscal or personal catastrophe.

Wait, hang on, no. That's not true any more. That's how it used to be. But then, in a move that I continue to kick myself for, I bought a house, and thus overturned my fiscal applecart. Now, instead of making just enough money to afford my lifestyle, I make considerably too little to afford my lifestyle. And, as I mentioned, I could either A) go bankrupt, or 2) alter my lifestyle.

Fortunately, I had a bit of savings before I moved, which I dipped into until I could figure out how much of my previous life I could bring with me to the house while still getting the mortgage paid. Answer: none of it. This took me the last couple months to figure out. And between this important life lesson and the torrent of random crap that I had to pay for (window refurbishment, air conditioner repair, a dog, etc.), my savings has dwindled down to almost zero.

But through force of will, I've staunched the bleeding, by relentlessly trimming out all the fat from my budget. Things like "leaving the house on the weekend", "turning on the lights", or "eating".

And that's what I mean when I say "I don't have a social life, I have a mortgage."

So, getting a new car is out of the question. Or is it?

I started thinking of how I could squeeze a car payment into my current financial scheme. Obviously, I either have to spend less, or make more, money. To spend less, the only item in my budget that could be eliminated is the "gas" item. I could stop buying gas. This would actually save me a fortune. On the other hand, that kind of defeats the purpose of my getting another car.

So, I'd need to figure out a way to increase my income. I only have one marketable skill (well, one skill the marketing of which is legal), and I'm currently employed doing that. (If I was too oblique there, I was talking about writing code. I also made a sly reference to something that doesn't belong on a family website. Which, fortunately, this isn't.)

So, it's come to this. I'd put it off all this time. We had a very good ride, some good times, sitting around in the undies, but now, I guess, I have to get a [shudder] roommate.

I mean, I suppose I could have gotten a roommate previously, and used his/her rent money to afford some modicum of a social life. But I didn't. And do you know why? Because, it doesn't matter how much rent he gives me, a roommate isn't worth it! (Well, that's not true either. If he gave me enough rent, I'd find a way to live with him. But still. I put a very high premium on playing music loudly at all hours of the day and night, clogging in the living room, talking to myself, and walking around with no pants on. If you throw the occasional movie and Imo's pizza into the other pan, it doesn't quite balance the scales.)

So, it would seem that I'll be getting a roommate. And not a roommate so I can add quality to my life, but a roommate so I can maintain the quality of life I already have. Minus the fact that I'll have a freakin' roommate.

(Note to J's roommate of the future: If for some reason you've caught wind of this blog thingy I keep writing in, and you decide to check out the archives, let me just say that I was very emotional when I decided to get a roommate, and I said some things I didn't mean. You're a fantastic guy and/or girl, and I'm glad you're living here and making my car payment for me. Just understand that right now I'm very resentful of your existence.)

And then, as though God really wanted to give me the full-on Job treatment, there's more.

I hadn't been pulled over for, gosh, years. Well, I had a bit of a, um, traffic incident almost four years ago, although this didn't involve me getting pulled over, exactly. So, I really can't tell you the last time I was pulled over.

Anyway, Johnny Law decided to make up for lost time. I got pulled over not once but twice. The first time, I managed to avoid a ticket by lying through my teeth. "Honest, you f-ing fasci... um, I mean, officer, I just plum didn't see that 'No Left Turn' sign until I was already in the intersection. By then, it was too late."

Plausible, but didn't happen that way. Although the Cub was in the car, and I hate setting a poor example, lying to a law enforcement official like that, but, hey. I also hate getting tickets. Sometimes you just have to pick one.

The second time, I wasn't so lucky. 15 over the limit, and he wasn't having none of it. Although the street I was on has a 30 speed limit, which is wildly unreasonable. It just looks like a 40 mph zone.

On the other hand, I'm sure half the city's revenue comes from that ridiculous 30 zone there.

Well, anyway, I'll keep you all posted on how that turns out. Maybe by throwing myself at the mercy of the court (and subtly reminding the judge that I live here and will vote against his sorry ass out if possible), I can figure out a way to keep this off my record.

But if not, then the insurance will go crazy. And then I'm really hosed.

Yep. It's definitely time to get a roommate.

Crap.

I'd had Sprint for the last, oh, jeez, since my third junior year of college. So, I guess for the last, I guess, seven or eight years. We've had some good times, Sprint and I. We've had some bad times. I'm sure I'd have had bad times with whatever phone company I'd have been with. That was a time of explosive radiating growth for that whole industry, and nobody's business model is as scalable as they think it is.

So, despite Sprint showing me through the good times and the bad, I pulled the plug. Why did I do it? First off, the reception sucked at the new house, the house I might well spend the rest of my days in. Can't be having poor reception all my life, can I? And if I waited for Sprint to add some towers and improve the reception, I could be waiting a while.

Also, for some reason, I'd signed up for additional services or what not on Sprint (or had them signed up for me). Each month my bill had about $15 of random crap that I couldn't figure out how it got on there and how to get off there. And I suspected that, if I did get the crap off there, part of the deal would be that I'd have to sign up for an additional two years of shitty reception, or pay the early cancellation fee of $7000 and a toe.

But the straw that broke the camel's back was that my phone went kaputz. Not that it one day just stopped working. Oh, heavens no. It was considerably more devious than that. It would just occasionally turn itself off. Every now and then I'd drop it into my pocket for a few hours, and when I dug it out to make a call, the thing was off, and I had seven messages*.

I'd pledged when I got this phone that this was my last Sprint phone, that I was going to change services to something else in two years or so when my contract ended. But the phone was at that spot of maximum annoyance where it didn't turn itself off so often that I really felt justified getting a new phone before the two years was up. But it turned itself off just often enough that it was infuriating for me and anyone who called me.

But the electrical short (or whatever the problem was) kept getting worse, and at some point, it passed the tipping point where it became annoying enough to justify surrendering the $7000 (okay, it was $150) and a toe. After all, I'd still have nine others.

So, I switched to... [drum roll] T-Mobile! That's right. And much like Catherine Zeta, I'm getting more. And by "more" I mean, "pretty much the same phone service I had with Sprint, although the reception at my house is much better." And fortunately by "more", I don't mean "hot Michael Douglas lovin'".

Now, I justified switching with this logic: I'm going to have to shell money from out of pocket for a new phone from Sprint. But if I switch phone companies, they'll have some kind of introductory offer where they'll give me a new phone. Therefore, aside from the toe thing, if you compare the money I won't have to spend on the new phone with the early termination fee, it's about a wash. And maybe T-Mobile gets reception at my house.

Well, this was the plan, anyway. However, for me to make it work, I had to get the free phone, the cheapo Nokia. Once I got to the T-Mobile store, see, this is how they get you. (At least, it's how they get me.)

Right up front, they have the cheapo phones, which looked even cheaper than I'd thought they'd look. Then they have, right next to them, the Blackberries, for like, $700. And that's with a new service plan. So, when you look at the phones that are only, say, $100, you start thinking. "Wow! That's quite a few more features than the free phone." And when you think of the $700 Blackberry, you feel like the model of frugality.

Once you've made the decision that you're going to spend money, you're already screwed. Because it's so easy to spend just a little bit more money. "Look, for a mere $50 more than this other one, I can get this one. It can shoot video! I wouldn't imagine there's enough memory on this phone to store more than 20 seconds or so of video, but never mind that! But wait! For $50 more than that one, I can get this one! Not only does it shoot video, it has Bluetooth! I don't have a Bluetooth receiver on my computer, but that doesn't mean I can't pick one up, does it?"

Well, after moving the goalposts further than I probably should have, I ended up with this phone, the Motorola V330. It's been about three weeks with this guy, and so far, I'm delighted.

First off, it gets fantastic reception at my house. That part was a gamble. I could have ended up with worse reception than I had, but fortunately I didn't.

Second, the phone is very handsome. I like the blue rubberized finish. Although it'd be more handsome if it weren't in its silly naugahyde case.

And it has more features than I know what to do with. Although I'm finding uses for them.

After I got the aforementioned Bluetooth receiver for my computer and the PhoneTools CD (not pirated at all, Scout's Honor!), I found there's all kinds of things I can do with it. Like, did you know that this phone can play mp3's? Well, if you Bluetooth the files over, it can! So, I've been converting songs into ringtones, and assigning them to people.

I made the Cub's ringtone his theme song, "Baby Elephant Walk". And I have a friend who used to sell drugs. In fact, he won the title of Worst Drug Dealer Ever. Which is why he's not in the business any more. Depite all that, I made his ringtone be the intro to "Pusherman" by Curtis Mayfield. I thought about the irony of that, especially if he were currently a drug dealer, and specifically my drug dealer. Like every time he calls it announces to all and sundry "It's a drug dealer! See, his phone is playing 'Pusherman'!"

Or, more likely, nobody will recognize the song. These kids today have no sense of their own history.

Anyway, I'm still thinking of other songs to make into ringtones (and something to do at work tomorrow that has nothing to do with mutexes and fixing a deadlock problem). So if you'd like to recommend a ringtone for yourself, or for someone else, here's a good time to add a comment. Or don't.

My favorite so far: Bally is "The Final Countdown". What a song that is!

* This is, of course, hyperbole. I don't get seven calls in the typical month.

Get Behind Me Satan

The White Stripes

One of my all-time favorite Mr. Show quotes is when the hippie cameraman suggests that, with Jerry Garcia dead, he feels like he's lost his best friend. David Cross responds, "Yeah, because I know all my friends charge me $35 to sit around and listen to them dick around on guitar for 3 hours."

Well, that about sums up the White Stripes. Some asshole dicking around on the guitar while some homely girl dicks around on the drums. Sure, they have some good songs, though not because they're talented songwriters, but more because they're prolific, and they're bound to stumble upon something decent eventually.

Well, that's what I thought before I listened to the latest offering, "Get Behind Me Satan". But now, having listened to it, my opinion remains exactly the same.

This would seem to be same freakin' album they continue to put out. Maybe a bit better than any of the previous ones, but they can improve pretty significantly from their previous efforts and still not be in the same zip code as "good".

There are two things to recommend this: the first track, "Blue Orchid" is genius, undeniably so. And it's considerably more listenable than their previous efforts. By which I mean that if it's playing in the background, it's mercifully easy to ignore.

Except for "Passive Manipulation", which seems to show that Meg White has actually regressed in her singing since we last heard from her. She's gone from singing at Ashley Simpson level to singing at Wesley Willis level. It's horrible. Thank the baby Jesus it's only 35 seconds long.

If I could make a suggestion, pirate the song "Blue Orchid", and then don't buy the album . As you all know, I'm never a party to music piracy, and I certainly don't endorse it. However, I feel justified making an exception here, since the real piracy is all the fools giving money to these semi-talented idiots. If you steal their music, you'll be doing your part to cancel out these aforementioned fools and attempt to return balance to the cosmos.

And, out of a maximum possible five Charlie Heads, I give it two Charlie Heads.

One other thing. This didn't impact the above review, but it does bear mentioning:

I didn't think it was possible to look like more of a douche bag than Jack White.

Then he decided to grow that mustache. Oh, the humanity.

I've been described as a sex pot before*, but nothing like these sex pots. (Probably not work safe, although if the bossman (or -woman) pokes his/her head into your cubical, you could claim it's art. Because it is art. Unlike Mapplethorpe, which is not art, and don't try to convince me otherwise.)

These are from the extinct Moche people northern Peru. Fascinating stuff. Alas, when the killjoy Spanish missionaries showed up, many of these pots were destroyed.

Although, apparently it wasn't all gay threesomes for the Moche. Their primary god seems to have beens someone known as the Decapitator, who demanded some pretty gruesome sacrifices.

Everyone has been whipped relentlessly with the talk about how Americans are stupid because, well, look at the comparison of test scores between Americans and Indians/Japanese/Europeans/Cambodians/Cameroonians. You'll hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth, that goes something like this: "I mean, look at these test scores! Just look at them! It's a disgrace! We come in dead last in math. Dead last†! We're behind Burkina Faso, and we don't have scurvy-induced developmental disorders in half the children, like they do. I mean, think about that!"

Well, it's apparently not that bad. If this story is to be believed, the problem isn't so much that Americans haven't learned anything, just that they know the difference between a standardized test that means something, and one that doesn't. And they don't bring their A-Game to the ones that don't count.

Which I'd never thought of. I mean, what are they really comparing? They're comparing these international tests. Like those Iowa Basic tests we took in grade school. I mean, I always tried my best, but I'm pretty dorky, and am probably the exception. These tests they're always touting are taken by high school seniors who are right about to graduate.

Think back to when you were high school senior. Or imagine being one. Now, say someone hands you a test and says, "Do your best here, because national prestige is on the line!" What's your response going to be?

This isn't to say that there aren't serious problems with the education system. But there's another explaination for why things aren't as bad as they seem.

I have no comment whatsoever about this cartoon. Other than that he's entirely right.

And don't try to tell me you haven't done it. You know you have.

And don't try to tell me you can't have done it because you don't have one of those. You know you've snuck up one someone who does have one of those, and then did it. To him.

He may have a thousand years of power, but it's nothing against a taser.

I was trying to track down a quote by the great Bruce McCulloch, when I came across his web site. Which also has some of his writings.

And it's from the poem (of sorts) called Aunt Dog that I bring you todays...

QOTD

I'll never forget my uncle's last words - "My life has been shit, I have done nothing, I own a Volvo. 'Death of a Salesman' is a fairy tale compared to my shit existence!"

*Editor's Note: Nobody has ever described Famous J a sex pot. This is a damned lie.

†Note: I'm quoting the above hand-wringing from memory. I'm pretty sure we don't think we come in dead last in math. Or at least behind Burkina Faso.