Rockin’ Chair Colonial Style
Note: This post may contain some historical inaccuracies. See if you can find them!
One fine day Thomas Jefferson strolled over to see his good friend George Washington. He found him relaxing on the front porch.
“I say, old Gorgie. I’m in the market for a rocking chair. What you got?”
George looked up from his mint julep and greeted his pal. “Tommy boy! Good to see you! You’re in luck, I just whittled me up that chair over yonder with my trusty pocket knife. That’s one piece construction, too. The whole thing came from a single piece of cherry wood from a tree I personally felled.”
Tom went over and admired the piece, lovingly running his hands over the perfectly finished wood. “She’s a beauty for sure, George,” he said.
George nodded. “Thanks.”
Dammit, Tom thought to himself. Sometimes George could be a man of annoyingly few words. Get a little of Samuel Adam’s ale in the bastard, though, and he’d open right up. Unfortunately Tom was plumb out.
“OK,” Tom said. “I’m interested. What do you want for her?”
If George was intrigued, he didn’t show let it show. “I don’t know. What you got?”
“I find myself with a few extra odds and ends in my larder,” Tom replied. “Some bones of oxen, sheep and goats. And some clay pots. Oh, plenty of bacon and lard, too.”
George nodded. “I’m sure we can come to an accommodation. The chair is yours. As always it comes with my lifetime warranty.” George extended his hand.
Tom grasped the offered hand and they shook on it. “You’ve got yourself a deal, George.”
George nodded. “I’ll draw up the papers for your John Hancock.” They both laughed off their asses at that one.
Later they both signed the document that George had produced. George handed Tom the rocking chair and Tom allowed George to raid his larder. But nowhere did the signed instrument define the term “lifetime warranty.” So what was it, besides a rocking chair, that Tom had just purchased?
Tom remembered the principle of caveat emptor or “let the buyer beware.” He needed a definition for lifetime warranty and he needed it fast. He couldn’t allow George to pull another fast one on him.
Tom fired up his Windows 1763 and search for “lifetime warranty.” One example he found was this:
Cisco Limited Lifetime Hardware Warranty Terms
Duration of Hardware Warranty: As long as the original End User continues to own or use the Product, provided that: fan and power supply warranty is limited to five (5) years. In the event of discontinuance of product manufacture, Cisco warranty support is limited to five (5) years from the announcement of discontinuance.
Source: Cisco.com
In other words, when you hand over your money to Cisco in exchange for a piece of hardware, one of the things you are agreeing to is that the definition of “lifetime” means five years for the fan and power supply and five years from when the product is discontinued on all other hardware.
I bet they really emphasize that in their advertising and proactively provide a definition when they take your money, right?
Jefferson tried to get payback on Washington for the rest of his life and only succeeded once when he switched in a marked deck of cards. Washington was never able to win at solitaire again.
How to hang Christmas lights
I may be an atheist but I still love Christmas.
I like this time of year. I enjoy Christmas cheer. I was standing out on the street in front of my house the other night waiting for my wife to pick me up and take me out to dinner. A few of the houses already had lights up. The night had the December chill going on. The evening was totally clear and eerily quiet. And I was thinking, “This sure feels like a holiday night.” Amazing because only a few weeks ago the same type of night had a distinctly Halloween feel.
The Christmas season is upon us! (No doubt this will be big news to retailers who have been eagerly “celebrating” since September.)
So this last weekend we decided to hang a few Christmas lights. My wife dug around in the garage and found five strands of colorful LED lights. Last year she wrapped them, put twisty ties on them, and organized them nicely. Dang, these things were almost like new!
As is my nature, I set about my task with Spock-like logic. One step at a time. First I took the lights and tested them on my workbench in the garage. Each and every one worked! That’s when I had my first positive thought, always a bad sign. “Hey, these LED lights are cool. They might even work. Wow!”
After that, two strands were given to the Mrs. to decorate the two columns near our front door. I took the rest and began to install them in the bushes at the front of our house as a nice cold rain began to come down.
I plugged each strand in as I did my work to make sure they were still operational. Everything was proceeding swimmingly.
Eventually I plugged in the final strand, arranged everything just so and stood back to survey my work. Pretty nice. Nothing too extravagant, mind you, but still festive in my own modest way.
I had just turned to walk back to the garage when it happened. I saw it just out of the wee corner of my eye.
Unblink!
All the lights I had just put up just died. Just like that my festive night became a “dark and stormy night.” WTF?
Thus began the systematic process of gathering up the strands of lights, one at a time, and taking them back to my workbench for more testing.
Strand #3 was carefully extricated from the bushes and tested. It worked fine. Same result with strand #2.
Finally, strand #1, the leader of the bunch, was strung out on my bench, stubbornly refusing to light up. I briefly considered waterboarding.
Unfortunately the instructions were long gone. I tested and wiggled every single bulb. They all looked solid as far as I could see. I surmised it might be a fuse, but couldn’t find any trace of where one might be located. Finally, disgusted, I tossed the problem child to the side. Five strands of lights and one doesn’t work. That’s a 20 percent failure rate. Not too shabby!
I figured two strands would still be enough to cover the bushes, albeit not quite as nicely.
I trudged back out into the rain and flung ’em on the bushes with no attempt to make them look nice. I plugged them in. This time they worked.
“That’s done,” I grunted in curmudgeon language. “The hell with this, I’m going back inside.”
Days later they still work. I’m stunned and amazed.
Merry freakin’ Christmas.
H&R Block should secure our airports
May I suggest that next time you think about airport security that you think about H&R Block instead of TSA?
Yes, it’s true that H&R Block can do so much more than screw up your electronic filings and not have the ability to provide your tax returns from previous years when they handled your filings. They can and should do so much more!
I had to go through H&R Block security procedures yesterday at our local office, and I can tell you – these people are good!
Here’s the story.
My new boss needed some documents picked up from H&R Block. Since I live all the way on the other side of town and about 200 yards from the H&R Block office, he asked if I could pick them up on my way to work. I said, “Sure. No problem.”
I walked into the office and said, “I’m here to pick up some documents for XYZ Corp, Acme Division, Widget R&D Department of the Enterprise Zone Chamber of Commerce Interface Committee.” Or something to that effect.
“Oh yes,” the woman said. “We have those ready to go. May I ask your name?”
“Tom.”
“I hope you understand, Tom. I’m going to have to call and confirm you are authorized to pick these up.”
“No problem.”
“Do you have your office’s phone number?”
Whiskey tango foxtrot!
As often happens in life, I couldn’t help myself. “Eh? Are you serious? You need to vet me. I can grok that. But what possible value is it to you if I provide the frickin’ phone number? What does that prove?”
The point eluded her. “Well, I have to ask.”
So I gave the mental midget the phone number. She called and the person on the other end of the line, apparently trustworthy as far as she knew, told her I was copacetic. Whatever that fucking proves.
Wonderbar.
“Now I need your full name.”
“Tom B. Taker.” At this point I was feeling crotchety and incredulous.
“And now I’ll need to see some ID.”
You mean this fake ID, I thought to myself. If I was dirty so far she hadn’t done jack shit to verify anything about me. I showed her my ACLU card.
And, this is where I was really floored with the sheer professionalism of H&R Block procedures. She grabbed a blank sheet of 8-1/2″ x 11″ paper and wrote it. “Tom B. Taker has been authorized to pick up documents for XYZ Corp, Acme Division, Widget R&D Department of the Enterprise Zone Chamber of Commerce Interface Committee. Documents have been released as of this date.”
She pushed her handwritten scrawl in my face. “I’ll just need your John Hancock right here.”
No way, lady! That would be forgery! 🙂
I signed her official looking form.
Finally, she handed over the documents while giving me one last lingering once over with her shifty eyes. Mwuahahahaha! At last! The documents were mine!
Truly, I vote think we should get H&R Block in charge of airport security ASAP. What could possibly go wrong?
Meet a formerly wild and crazy guy
The renaissance man in action back when he was younger, circa 1977
“Just the other day.. I went home with this girl.. and she had the best pussy I have ever seen….
AW CMON!! I was talking about her cat! You people make me sick!
[pause]
That cat was the best fuck I ever had…”
…Steve Martin (admittedly paraphrased by yours truly from memory)
It seems to me like women are all a gaga over Steve Martin these days. Comedian, author, musician, actor, screenwriter, and all-around renaissance man.
Poop on that.
Over 30 years ago I knew a different Steve Martin. One that was cutting edge and on the fringes of good taste. One that told ribald jokes. Yeah!
Then he went all soft and started making movies like “Father of the Bride” and “Cheaper By the Dozen.” Ungh. Admittedly, though, I’ve never seen either one of those movies. You can always pinpoint when someone cutting edge goes soft and gains commercial success, i.e., sells out.
Did you know that Steve Martin was inducted as a “Disney Legend” in 2005? He started working at Disneyland at the age of 10 (after school, on weekends and during the summer). He did jobs like selling programs and dressing up like a cowboy and selling lasso ropes. Later he spent a lot of time hanging around “Merlin’s Magic Shop” in Fantasyland. He learned jokes and practiced magic and made balloon animals.
I guess his status as former employee is why Disney claims him as one of their own.
To celebrate the 50th anniversary of Disneyland, Martin even appeared as a “co-star” with Donald Duck in a movie called, “Disneyland: The First 50 Magical Years.” I can’t help but wonder if he got second billing to a cartoon duck.
I wonder if Disneyland has the joke that started this post enshrined somewhere for all of the kiddies to see?
This post is basically a PSA. I just wanted all of the women in the world to know a little something about Martin’s earlier comedy stylings. Let us not forget the type of comedy he relied upon to make it to the big time. You know, back when he was really cool.
Now Martin has a new softer and gentler kind of comedy he usually employs. Here’s a recent example where he shows off his “atheist hymnal.” It’s cute but not quite like the old days.
Bonus post: Britney Spears
I’m off to work. Here’s a bonus points. Many thanks to YouTube for their help on this project. Without their invaluable assistance this post would be the written version of dog crap.
Enjoy!
This first song is as close as I get to prayer. I think you’ll find the central theme fits me like a glove.
This next song is completely autobiographical.
I just learned that Peter Steele, the heart and soul of the band Type O Negative, died earlier this year. To celebrate his death I offer the following little ditty:
Shouts from the Abyss 
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