Doc's Place: Humor

All’s Well That’s Going To End Well. (A Shopping Update)

Sat, 05 Jul 2008 18:15:38 GMT

Celebrate! Celebrate! Dance to the music! Umm, sorry. I become a little gleeful and giddy when I perpetrate vengeful acts upon objects, establishments, and even people who thwart me. I gloat. I even take sinful pleasure from planning and researching these acts of reprisal. I shall elucidate.

When I got home and thought about how absurdly predatory the pricing of the previously mentioned USB cable was, I searched for anything I had in the apartment with a similar cable. I actually found one the next day, which surprised me somewhat. I’m not at all certain why they are used on the large capacity Maxtor USB/FireWire hard drives, but they are. Once I knew I had a temporary substitute, I called the Circuit Place to determine if they would accept the return of an unopened purchase. A sleepy sounding female voice said that they would. It was the 4th of July, so I leaped upon the opportunity and went there immediately. I had “neglected” to mention that I did not have a receipt. Upon arrival, I went directly to Customer Service and apparently found the same young woman I had spoken to on the phone. She was telling a co-worker how much she just wanted to go home and and take a nap. We had started the refund process before she asked for the receipt. I clearly stated, “Mumble, mumble, lost, mumble, didn’t get, mumble.” She didn’t appear to care very much and simply refunded the price back to the credit card I had initially used to buy it. It is quite surprising, really, how instantaneously the profuse “Thank you’s” in the store turn into wicked, elderly cackles of joy when one passes through the entrance door on the way out. Gotcha.

I did not immediately go to the store where I had found the same cable for $17.00. That is because I had found them on Tiger Direct’s website for $6.99. I also found long stretches of Cat5e cable (50’ and 100’) for $12.95 to $13.95 to go around corners, over closet doors, and get to the desk in the next room. I am still of two minds on that issue. I could simply drill a hole through the wall and use a much shorter run, but the assistant manager of the apartment complex lives downstairs. I’ll have to give that a bit more thought. I recall that the lease said something about not having lengths of wire strung about the place, but made no mention of drilling holes through walls. Likely another oversight, as was the failure to forbid building a ‘41 Willys C/Gasser in the living room. Anyway – Gotcha II

I did find out further bits of intelligence while doing the online searching, however. I found that Systemax is the parent company of Tiger Direct, and has very recently acquired CompUSA.com. Ooh! A larger stock and more goodies to cause me to drool on the keyboard.

While searching online, it came to mind to look for book cases. I found two four-shelf models which I liked much better than the overpriced three-shelf unit at Big-Box emporium. Planked cherry or classic cherry colors are available, rather than the light oak color of the three-shelf unit I was considering. All my other furniture type “stuff” is in darker colors. And how far would I have to drive to get one of these items, one might ask? A full-line retailer is located about 1/2 mile south of the Big Box store. Though it was July 4th and the store was closed, I stopped to peer into their showroom window, at least until the police car slowed to have a suspicious look at me. Definite potential Gotcha III.

Finally, I have two serious, heavy-duty “wants” bouncing around inside my head. A good pocket sized digital camera, and a “good” PC. I have found an acceptable Olympus Stylus for about $250 online or $300 at the Big Box. Monday is “Seniors Day” at the Big Box, with 15% off on general merchandise and apparel items. If electronics are considered general merchandise, the base prices would be within $5.00. I can’t quite decide, however, because the online price would come with no tax or shipping and I could add a 2 Gig memory card and a second battery pack for a bit over $300 and, even with the senior discount, The Big Box one is over $275 with sales tax. The Oly itself is a 10.1 Megapixel with 7x optical and 5x digital zoom. I won’t even start on want number two, the computer, again. My brain already hurts.

Peace, Doc

“Old age and treachery will triumph over youth and skill every time.” – Proverb. (Probably initiated by an old person.)

Six Idiosyncrasies Tag

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 20:19:58 GMT

To begin, I have titled this post Six Idiosyncrasies Tag because I do not wish to publicly admit that I am in any way ... umm, ... odd. My regular readers will immediately recognize this as a blatant and bald-faced lie, but some new visitors may be tricked. I believe that with the current mini-feature thing, I should try to represent Microsoft Spaces Live in an appropriate manner. To this end, there will be no mention of hemorrhoids, hairballs, or hemostats.

If any of you take the time now (or return later when you have a day or two to waste) to read over the past three years of posts, you will quite likely to be able to say, "Hah! Caught him. He repeated himself." Probably so. One can only contain a limited number of eccentricities before someone else (a psychologist, perhaps) starts calling them symptoms. I can't have that happen, because I have found that I may not bill my insurance company for talking to myself, even if I feel much better afterward.

1.) Cold food or drink must be cold! Ice cream should be so hard that spoons are bent trying to get it out of the carton. Milk is to be drunk with ice cubes in it. Coffee and tea should be iced.

2.) I believe in cleanliness and order in my life and in my living space. I also believe in Santa Claus, the Tooth Faerie, the Easter Bunny, and ...

3.) Almost all the books on the top two shelves of the living room bookcase were published prior to 1918. One surgical dictionary was published in 1834. I am not an intentional collector of antiquities. These are family items that must not be parted with. Firstborn got the complete works of Charles Dickens (and the handmade, glass front book case) when I moved. Number One Son got a Winchester model 1896, octagonal barrel, pump action rifle.

4.) When my time comes, (preferably 30-40 years from now) I wish to be buried in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt. I am considering buying a plain pine casket (pre-need) from a group of Trappist Monks in Iowa, to use as a coffee table or a book case in the interim, to ensure that my wishes are followed.

5.) One of my huge cats (Bittle) expects to sleep under my right arm every night. If I am able to get to bed and to sleep before he notices, he wakes me to "make room." The other, even larger cat, (Stinky) "hides" in the bathtub and watches me. He also expects me to find him, roll him over, sing to him, and rub his underside. I do these things.

6.) I always wear out the left elbow of any shirt before almost any other spot. In looking back at number four, maybe I should make certain that I reserve a good one for "my time of need." I had not considered this previously.

Peace, Doc

"The only success worth one's powder was success in the line of one's idiosyncrasy. What was talent but the art of being completely whatever one happened to be?” - Henry James

And I May Hate Vacuum Cleaners, Too

Sat, 26 Apr 2008 00:58:24 GMT

At least if I'm grumbling about vacuum cleaners, you can tell I'm making progress with the sorting and pitching thing. If I need a vacuum cleaner, by inference I have enough carpet showing to be able to clean it. This is a definite improvement over the situation that was present only a day or two ago. Several more boxes, some with actual things in them, have been taken to the dumpster and I am reaching that psychological point where success breeds upon success to positively reinforce further cleaning efforts. For quite some time since my downsizing I was so intimidated by the piles of "stuff" in the living room and dining area, that I did very little to really dig into the job. When my offspring visited and chided me for my lack of progress, I pointed out that I had cleared out almost half the living room. They were quick to note, however, that it was the half between the recliner chair and the TV. Being caught out like that tends to be a problem with bright and observant daughters and sons.

The vacuum cleaner had not been used since moving into the apartment and I had to think for a moment to recall where the controls were located. I also had to warn the cats that that they were about to become annoyed with me for the loud noise that was soon to occur. After the cleaner was plugged in, set to low carpeting level, and reclined for use, I determined that it was not turned on. Following a thorough inspection of the machine, I finally found the on-off switch, well camouflaged, much smaller, and nearly invisible above the handle's recliner button. When it was finally turned on, it made a quite satisfactory brushing, whining, and clattering noise. The cats were not very upset as they had been prepared for the noise by my rather loud comments. After several passes over a particularly needy area, I checked to see that all was in order. It was not. I would say that the results sucked, but that is exactly the opposite of what had happened.

OK. A diagnosis was required. Electrical problems were ruled out as the motor ran strongly and no flames or large showers of sparks were present. Upon physical exam, all parts were found to be in satisfactory condition with seals intact and no cracks present in the plastic carapace. The exam then centered on an intestinal blockage. Hoses and filters were removed and replaced until the clog was found. Wow, was it ever clogged! The blockage was located behind the rotating brush, in the base of the cleaning unit, at the suction intake before entering the hose that led to the filter and catch bin. *Whew* Increasing sizes of needle nosed pliers were used to extract some of the dust and hair globs. I once had an immense pair of tweezers that would have been perfect for the job, but it had apparently been "borrowed" at some time in the past. When I tried the sweeper again, it was still clogged. I thanked the Gods and Goddesses that long term memory lasts much longer than short term memory as one ages, because I remembered an old black and white TV show I watched when I was a kid. On it, a woman solved every problem known to man with wire coat hangers.

This part took some real effort. The first difficulty was finding a wire coat hanger. They're all plastic or wood or whatever, now. When I finally did, I extracted the largest hairball I have ever seen in a vacuum cleaner. I would never have believed it could have fit into the space into which it was compressed. The thing, once released, was almost the size of a soccer ball! No wonder it didn't seem to be cleaning effectively. Now, to get to the rest of the cleaning rather than writing about it.

Peace, Doc

"There are days when any electrical appliance in the house, including the vacuum cleaner, seems to offer more entertainment than the TV set” - Harriet van Horne

A Slightly Modified Serenity Prayer

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 18:50:46 GMT

Once again, daNiece is mocking her elders (that would be me.) I was emailed a string of "old" jokes and a "you know you're old if you actually used ... " quiz. I scored 24 out of 25 only because I was not a gum chewer and did not actually use Black Jack gum. Below are some of the other signs one might be considered old, (I don't know the original author) followed by the piece de resistance, the modification of the Serenity Prayer.

"The only phone in the house was in the living room and it was on a party line. Before you could dial, you had to listen and make sure some people you didn't know weren't already using the line.

Pizzas were not delivered to our home. But milk was.

While cleaning out an older relative's house my forebear found an old Royal Crown Cola bottle. In the bottle top was a stopper with a bunch of holes in it. I knew immediately what it was, but my daughter had no idea. She thought they had tried to make it a salt shaker or something. I knew it as the bottle that sat on the end of the ironing board to "sprinkle" clothes with because we didn't have steam irons. Man, I am old.

How many do you remember?

Head lights dimmer switches on the floor.
Ignition switches on the dashboard.
Heaters mounted on the inside of the fire wall.
Real ice boxes.
Pant leg clips for bicycles without chain guards.
Soldering irons you heat on a gas burner.
Using hand signals for cars without turn signals."

I will not pass along the 25 question, "Older Than Dirt" quiz in fear of ruining Friday or possibly your whole weekend. The following "prayer," thought about from a certain perspective, may make as much practical sense as the original:

Senility Prayer

God grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked,

The good fortune to run into the ones that I do,

And the eyesight to tell the difference.

Peace, Doc

"You know, I have found a new way to get high and stay spaced out for hours on end, and the government can't stop me ... It's called senility." - Robert Anton Wilson

daNiece Strikes Again

Wed, 06 Feb 2008 07:58:42 GMT

I am very lucky to have a loving, caring family who email me warnings of the latest dangers lurking on the web. I got to the end of the fourth sentence before my skeptic-tenna picked up anything of doubtful validity. The text of the email is reproduced below:

If you receive an email entitled 'Bedtimes'

Delete it IMMEDIATELY. Do not open it. Apparently this one is pretty nasty. It will not only erase everything on your hard drive, but it will also delete anything on disks within 20 feet of your computer. It demagnetizes the stripes on ALL of your credit cards. It reprograms your ATM access code, screws up the tracking on your VCR, and uses subspace field harmonics to scratch any CD's you attempt to play. It will program your phone auto dial to call only 0898 numbers. This virus will mix antifreeze into your fish tank.
IT WILL CAUSE YOUR TOILET TO FLUSH WHILE YOU ARE SHOWERING.
It will drink ALL your beer.
FOR GOD'S SAKE, ARE YOU LISTENING? ?
It will leave dirty underwear on the coffee table when you are expecting company.
It will replace your shampoo with Nair and your Nair with Rogaine. If the 'Bedtimes' message is opened in a Windows 95/98 environment, it will leave the toilet seat up and leave your hair dryer plugged in dangerously close to a full bathtub. It will not only remove the forbidden tags from your mattresses and pillows, it will also refill your skim milk with whole milk.
***WARN AS MANY PEOPLE AS YOU CAN. ***
And if you don't send this to 5000 people in 20 seconds, you'll fart so hard that your right leg will spasm and shoot straight out in front of you, sending sparks that will ignite the person nearest you.
Send this warning to everyone!!!
THERE'S A LOT OF SADNESS IN THE WORLD!
Right now, as you read this, 17 million people are having SEX!!!
And look at you - you're on the computer!!

And to think that she sent me this only two days before I am to assist her when she tests a Mini before she purchases it. I believe that I am only supposed to be window dressing to impress the salesman that she is not a "lone ditzy female" who can be taken advantage of (not much likelihood of that happening.) If I can appear innocent enough, I may be allowed to "drive" it! Heh, heh.

Peace, Doc

"Mu-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha!" - Unk (AKA Doc)

Dealing with C***ast

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 13:21:01 GMT

Yesterday I felt it was the time was right to complain to my cable company about the services I was receiving, and those I was being charged for but not using. The customer service number is easy enough to find, but from that point on, their Customer Relations Management (CRM) directory system takes over. CRM software is designed to make it as difficult as possible for you to speak with a Real Live Person (RLP.) It is quite possible that there is only one RLP per huge, enterprise sized corporation. It may even be a part-time position.

It makes no difference which number you press from the initial contact on, because you are not intended to get past that point anyway. First, you are to press the phone number with which the account is associated. OK, would that be your home phone number from **&T, the cell number you used in setting up the changes, or the new number they assigned to you and which you do not know? Your account hangs out with them all. The system allows approximately twelve seconds to accomplish this task before suggesting that you try again. You know that this is hopeless, but you try. Even if you knew the number and had it written down in front of you, there is no earthly way to comply. The cell phone keys are packed so closely together that your chubby little fingers have a near zero probability of pressing the correct sequence of numbers within the time limit.

They know that. Therefore, an alternative is offered. You may enter your sixteen digit account number, instead. At this point you become certain that the CRM software is toying with you, but what to do? Entering a series of random numbers is fun. Repeating this action using different numbers is good when told that the first entry does not exist. This is also the point at which you begin to gain some control. The system decides it is dealing with a total incompetent and offers you simpler choices. Do not choose any of them! Press zero! Continue to press zero in response to anything the system suggests. You are taking a slight risk here, that the system will simply hang up on you. As long as the company doesn't know if you want to buy something, this is not likely to happen.

When you get to the RLP, state in a frustrated but very relieved tone, "Thank God I finally got to someone who can help me!" No anger, complaining about the CRM, or menacing threats about dropping their service entirely. Remember that you want to get something. You want the RLP to feel as friendly and helpful as possible. You may be the first person of the day who has treated them nicely or made them feel good. Use that advantage!

When I completed my business with the RLP, I thanked her profusely, told her that I was very pleased with her helpfulness, and assured her that I would be a C***ast customer forever. This would be good for her next performance evaluation as "all calls are recorded for training or whatever purposes."

Oh, by the way. When I called I was paying $160.16 for the bundled services. When I hung up, I will be paying $92.97 for exactly the same bundle and the Speed Channel was added.

Press zero ten times

Fumble and mumble; be nice

Get cable half-price

Peace, Doc

"Old age and treachery will prevail over youth and skill." - Unknown

I Hate The Furnace!

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 09:57:39 GMT

I mean it. I don't just dislike it. I am not moderately annoyed by it. I hate this object with a passion equal to that which I have felt toward any inanimate object that I did not destroy. It doesn't care. It knows it is immune to my wrath because I do not own it, and it takes advantage of that knowledge. I believe that it even knows that I am armed and still it taunts me. A few magnum slugs through its fan motor and capacitor would silence it but it knows I won't do that because I would be evicted and it is -5° F (-21° C) outside. Earlier yesterday when I ventured out for groceries in the warmth of the day it was 5° F (-15° C) with a -16° F (-27° C) wind chill index. When I returned, it felt warm for almost 30 seconds until I realized that I should not take off my coat.

I live in an two story, eight flat with all the plumbing, heating, and electrical supply lines located centrally. Architecturally, that makes a certain amount of sense, but it locates eight toilets, eight bathtubs, eight washer-dryer units, and eight furnaces roughly within a 12' x 12' x 10' space. Where do you imagine the most sadistic architect you can imagine would place the bedroom in a design such as this? Right! And the air intake for the furnace is located directly outside the bedroom door. As one lies awake at night, anticipating the next heating cycle, it is possible to drift off to sleep in warmer weather. First, a small, relatively quiet fan starts, soon followed by the "whump" of the natural gas ignition. It is then only a matter of seconds until the main fan begins to deliver heat of the devil's own fires to the apartment. When this occurs, I can only compare the sound to the Arfons brothers' Green Monster jet dragster of the 60's. Its J-47 engine being fired up for the first time at US 30 Dragstrip burned down the timing shack in the process.

When the heating cycle finishes, the silence is deafening. I firmly believe that these furnaces were originally garage heaters which, by way of the Peter Principle, worked their way up to their level of incompetency. From such lowly beginnings, they try too hard. The main fan must be running at a speed somewhere between double and triple its rated capacity. At the opposite end of the apartment, the hot air blowing down from the ceiling vents is louder than the TV, and can literally be felt ruffling one's hair. The thermostat that allegedly controls the temperature seems to have only two settings - too hot or too cold. There might be a 0.5 mm point at which the setting is correct, but it moves and dodges about. Really. There seems to be no correlation between the thermometer and the tremendously oversensitive movement of the heat adjustment lever. The single positive thing I can say about this ... device ... (aside from providing heat, however undesirably) is that the cost of the gas it uses is included in the apartment rental.

I have plans. I don't believe that it knows I have tools. Temperature probes that will measure its output at several locations in the apartment. Pliers, screwdrivers, drills. Devices of torture such as Vise-Grips and soldering irons. And I'll use them! I swear it!

And I don't much like the toilet, but that's another story.

Peace and Warm Wishes, Doc

I didn't even look for a quote for this post, but I'm certain I could have found something from Dante's "Inferno" or Big Jim Whittaker's climb of Everest that would have been appropriate. - Doc

Help! I've Fallen And I'm Not Certain I Want To Get Up.

Fri, 05 Oct 2007 06:15:36 GMT

Thursdays are garbage pickup days in the neighborhood. Given my excellent skill set regarding procrastination, this means that I wait until well after midnight on Wednesday and then rush around trying to assemble as much of the collection of strangeness that my living circumstances have allowed me to keep (just in case.) I gather as much of the disposable parts of my life as possible to leave at curbside before dawn. Some things are easy decisions. I don't even remember why or when I decided that I needed to keep every plastic pill vial, small container, or bottle that passed through the house, intercepting them before they were thrown away. But I did. That was an easy decision because there were no memories connected to the objects and only a certain wonderment that I had once thought I might be able to use them.

Other things were of no practical use, but had memories connected to them. One of those things was a relatively large, specially built shipping crate that my final Cross Country RC sailplane had arrived in from California. I had the startup company slightly modify a prototype they were advertising as "coming soon" and send it to me. I had to leave cash with the family to pay a C.O.D. fee of around $74.00 and that is where a small sin of omission occurred. I ~~lied~~ ... neglected to mention that the fee was only the shipping cost. I had already paid slightly more for the model prior to shipping. Memories like that, even attached to useless objects, slow me down in the culling process. I believe that my excuse to myself about keeping the box was that I might want to ship the model to a contest, and what better packing than the fiberboard and wood container in which it had arrived. There may be a more general phenomenon at work, here. The amount of potentially useful objects one keeps varies in direct proportion to the number of unfilled cubic feet in the basement.

About the falling part. I had piled some old magazines (circa late 1970s to early 1980's) about home computers of the time such as Imsai and Altair kits, The VIC-20, and the Commodore-64. Clearly, in my mind, they had passed the point of usefulness and entered the realm of "collectible" some while ago. I'm not at all sure what I'll do with the Commodore-64 itself. It worked fine the last time I used it to plot a series of wing airfoils with the pin printer. Back to the magazines. There were a lot of them. Sixty to eighty pounds, at least. I picked up about half of them and headed upstairs to the recycling bin in the garage. I didn't make it to the stairs, however, as I tripped over another of my irreplaceable possessions and fell on my butt. Not much more than my dignity was harmed, but I was glad the cats weren't watching. As I lay on my back on the cement floor and tried to get up, I couldn't. It came to my attention that I was still clutching the magazines. I hadn't dropped a single one. I hesitate to put a psychological label on myself for being so attached to them, so you may draw your own conclusions. Finally it became clear to me that I was not going to be able to get up until I let loose of them. How embarrassing is that?!

When I was again refocused on my primary goal of getting the garbage out, my course of action became clear. I carried load after load of stuff to the curb and quit when the two major indications of quitting time displayed themselves. My back was hurting and told me, none too subtly, "One more load and I'll mash a disc to stop you," and I noticed a strange glow in the Eastern portion of the sky. The project had been timed relatively well, however. After I had cleaned myself up, lay down, and ingested some pain medication the screeching, hooting, and banging of the Waste Management trucks was heard outside the bedroom window.

A somewhat unnerving admission at this point is that none of this seemed all that strange to me at the time it was happening. It only becomes ludicrous when I try to put it into words for others to read.

Peace, Doc

"Gravity is a contributing factor in nearly 73 percent of all accidents involving falling objects." - Dave Barry

Eight Things Tag

Sat, 08 Sep 2007 12:11:26 GMT

E. W. Dragon has seen fit to tag me to reveal eight "new" things about myself. I interpret that to mean things that readers might not know about me rather than things that have happened in the past week or so. No doubt either would be entertaining. The following is the challenge she set:

"The Rules of this TAG are:

1.) Each person posts the rules before their list, then list 8 new things about themselves.

2.) At the end of the post, that person tags 8 other people or more, letting them know that then have been tagged and to come read the post so they know what to do.

Ok...so, here we go: ..."

Before I proceed further, I wish to state that I will not tag anyone else, but if someone wishes to participate, just go for it. I also noted that I was the first person tagged by Ms. Dragon and that she only listed seven tagged people. I don't know if this has any particular significance, but it was there. Now for my eight "new" things:

It is possible that the sale of my house is failing due to the inability of the buyer to get a mortgage in the currently deranged lending and housing market. Our local newspaper published 41 foreclosure sale notices in the legal section two days ago. I shall look on the sunny side, however, and rest secure in the knowledge that my septic system is in good condition.
I have been in four Unions (one of my own making.) A.F.S.C.M.E., Mineworkers, Steelworkers, and Local 13 of the Villains, Thieves, and Scoundrels Union. The last was from high school days and derived from the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon character Boris Badinof who headed the V.T.S.U. We simply decided to become a local chapter of it.
In high school I was a "mad bomber," able to time when a cherry bomb or M-80 would explode by drilling a hole through the lower part of a candle and inserting the fuse. Timing was accomplished by measuring the time it took for the candle to burn down to the fuse. The one in the auditorium during band class worked perfectly, but the one in the upper bleachers during girl's gym class was discovered before it could accomplish its mission. I was called into the principal's office. The cherry bomb and candle were on his desk. I was able to maintain enough of a poker face that he ended up telling me to get a haircut.
I dress left.
Since age 50, I have donated two pony tails to Locks of Love. To prevent any possible misinterpretations, deliberate or otherwise, yes, I grew them myself.
It disturbs me that my profession prevents me, both ethically and to avoid offending the other person, from bartering services rather than paying for them.
I write haiku. This began as a way to condense and distill intrusive, depressive thoughts following the death of my wife. It grew on me, though. I generally publish them elsewhere now, as ~~some~~ most of my readers have expressed ambivalence of one sort or another regarding them. This is much the same as telling a person, "Lots of luck. There are two kinds, you know."
I think I will go flush the toilet a few times now - to count my blessings.

Peace, Doc

"The reason I talk to myself is because I'm the only one whose answers I accept." - George Carlin

This House Troubles Me

Sat, 23 Jun 2007 12:04:09 GMT

When Annie and I first bought the house I am now trying to sell, it started causing psychophysiological symptoms before the purchase was even completed. As we sat in the mortgage broker's office and signed the necessary papers, it was required that we be told exactly how much interest we would pay on the loan over its life of 30 years. When I heard the huge number, I choked. Literally. When I could speak, I asked, "What did you say!?" When the broker repeated it, I found that I had not misheard the number. My ears were not the trouble. It was an eye. My left eye. It developed an instantaneous tic that blinked uncontrollably for at least three weeks after the signing. I pointed to my eye and stated to the broker, "You did this to me!" We had already signed the papers and she did not seem sufficiently concerned to pacify me. To be more precise, she laughed. From that point on, through the actual closing of the deal three weeks later, I took pleasure in pointing out my tic to anyone with whom we met regarding the loan, title search, survey, deed, etc. (especially when the broker was present,) telling them "She did this to me!"

Almost immediately upon occupancy, my dreaded "curse of the sump pump" struck again. I have owned four houses and, if I recall correctly, nine sump pumps. They somehow sense that I know they are going to break. They taunt me with when, however. This house has two. I have replaced both. The main one knew about the curse before the wastewater pump. During the first heavy rain, I learned that the downspout from the eaves had been directed toward the window well opening, which then directed a great deal of water into the basement. This minor flood actually made sense to me because we had noticed that the main pump didn't appear to be working properly during our final walk-through and it was agreed that it be repaired. Unfortunately, a new switch was installed on the other pump instead. With a number of dramatic pump replacements under my belt, I knew what to do. Drive rapidly to the nearest hardware store, buy the heaviest duty pump available and all possible adapters, race home, rip out the old pump, and install the new one as rapidly as possible, disregarding any foolish notion of good looking work, plug it in despite the danger of electric shock, and then duct tape anything that leaked. A cleaner installation could be done later while not standing in a puddle, anyway. I've been told that most homes in the South do not have a basement. That would be a plus.

Over the years of home ownership I have become agitated when a storm blew out a computer, a TV/VCR, and broke a plate glass window (by far the largest window in the house, of course,) and water found its way into a wall due to dislodged shingles and flashing. Catastrophic water softener failures, various laundry appliance and stove failures, doorbell outages, garage door opener replacements, driveway tar sealing, boys breaking a riding mower by running into fences and trees while teaching themselves to drive (and showing little interest in helping when it was replaced with a walk-behind mower,) have all wrought various amounts of distress and anger. These feelings would occur as bimodal distributions: [ graph -> ^----^ ] A peak would occur when I discovered the calamity, a period of lower tension as I accepted my fate, followed by a second peak when I had to get out the charge card for the repair or replacement. For these privileges, I pay over $6,000 in property tax per year, not to mention insurance and the tic producing mortgage. I believe I will be much less stressed following the sale of this house and land. I'll even leave some old fenceposts as firewood for the new owner.

The disposition of "stuff" was discussed in the last post, but the accomplishment of that disposition is proving to be a stress producer. I must accomplish it as soon as possible if the sale is to occur in a timely manner and I have no help. Firstborn has almost agreed to help run a garage sale over which she will be granted complete authority to set prices and a share of the income. I have newspaper ads planned to sell some larger items and am looking into local storage facilities for things that cannot be discarded or used while living in firstborn's basement (She still doesn't believe I'm serious.) I have cleaned out two ancestral homes, each contributing things with which I don't think I can part. And then we get back to the trophies and the like. I think I'll keep maybe one trophy and the brass award strips from each of the others. Many clubs like to re-use trophies this way. I have many good ideas of what to do with things but little time to accomplish it. Over the past several days, that stress has precipitated a series of cluster migraine headaches to the point that I hide from noise and light, get very little accomplished, and develop even more stress about getting things done. There is are services around this area that pick up large junk items and another, "Two Men and a Truck," which I can probably hire to help me move items into storage. Six men would be more realistic.

Peace, Doc

"You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star." - Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

Piled Higher and Deeper

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 23:51:38 GMT

I may be the last person in the academic community to "discover" this web site, blog, and its' published books (hint to have a look at the relevant books on the Amazon.com ad on the left.) It has been a comic strip in the Stanford Daily since 1997 but I did not run across it until a few days ago. It really is named Piled Higher and Deeper; a grad school comic strip. It was presumably named after the old joke; "We all know what BS is, MS is More of the Same, and PHD is ..........."

When I read the first few strips I laughed. The next few made me somewhat wistful for those long gone days. Then reality sneaked around the corner and I began to think about the truth of it and about my early career aspirations. I was offered an electrician's apprentice job at a Ford Motor Plant, at four times the minimum hourly wage, directly out of high school. That would have been between $10 and $11 in 1964.

Had I taken the offer of the apprenticeship, my current financial situation might have been different. Taking into consideration the years I paid to exist in an academic environment, cost of books and supplies, amount of money not earned during those years, the amount of money I have made as a state employed psychologist and in private practice, I came out of graduate school roughly $282,500.00 behind the electrician I might have been. Making only the assumption that the electrician's hourly wage would have increased to about double the entry wage (likely a gross underestimate) over 20 of the 30 years I worked for the state, I almost broke even at $48,000 behind the electrician. *sigh*

The comics are "true" and I have reverted to the ramen noodles and the procrastination due to the fear of the outcome that were present in my blissful grad school years.

Peace, Doc

"Whenever it is in any way possible, every boy and girl should choose as his life work some occupation which he should like to do anyhow, even if he did not need the money." - Attributed as either an Irish Blessing or to William Lyon Phelps.

Depends on Your Perspective, I Suppose.

Sun, 04 Feb 2007 00:19:16 GMT

I've heard that there's a big football game comin' soon. I had to research it a little because footballs don't have engines or wheels and don't do anything of much interest to me. Besides which, racing helmets are way cooler than the hats football players wear. I went to the Superbowl official site and they had a game day countdown timer, just like the big boys in real sports like Formula 1, NASCAR, or NHRA.

I live near Chicago, so I think I'm supposed to be ecstatic that Da-Bears made it to the Superbowl this year. I checked them out on Google, and damned if they didn't have their own countdown timer, too. It appears that they are going to be knocking down people from Indiana, where I was born and caused mayhem for the first third of my life. I guess they're called The Colts. They didn't have a countdown timer but they had a lot of pictures of cheerleaders. Have I mentioned that "al" (Da-Niece) still lives in Indiana? This situation seemed to call for a taunting email, and as luck would have it, one of my clients had just Fwd: Fwd: Fwd: Fwd'd me an appropriate one:

Two boys are playing hockey on a pond in a Chicago park when a crazed Rottweiler suddenly attacks one of the boys. Thinking quickly, the other boy takes his hockey stick, shoves it under the dog's collar. twists it and breaks the dog's neck, saving his friend..

A reporter is standing by, sees the incident, and rushes over to interview the boy. "Young Cubs fan saves friend from vicious animal," he starts writing in his notebook.

"But I'm not a Cubs fan," the little boy replies.

"Sorry, but since we're in Chicago, I just assumed you were," says the reporter and starts writing again. "Sox fan rescues rescues friend from horrific attack."

"But I'm not a Sox fan either," the little boy replies.

"Oh, since we're in Chicago, I just assumed you were," says the reporter and starts writing again. "Bears fan rescues friend from horrific attack."

"I'm not a Bears fan either," says the boy.

"I assumed everybody in Chicago was either for the Cubs, Sox, or Bears. What team do you root for?" the reporter asked.

"I'm a Colts fan," the boy replies.

The reporter starts a new sheet in his notebook and writes: "Little bastard from Indiana kills beloved family pet."

Go Bears!

Al's first email back to me consisted almost entirely of a "GRRRRRRRRR!!" A day later she sent the following:

A guy took his blonde girlfriend to her first football game. They had great seats right behind their team's bench. After the game, he asked her how she liked the experience.

"Oh, I really liked it," she replied, "especially all the big muscles, but I just couldn't understand why they were trying to kill each other over 25 cents."

Dumbfounded, her date asked her, "What do you mean?"

"Well, they flipped a coin, one team got it, and then for the rest of the game, all they kept screaming was 'Get the quarter back! Get the quarter back.' I'm like ... Helloooooo? It's only 25 cents!"

I know I'm all stocked up on Pepsi and butterscotch pudding for the big evening of new commercials, during which I will quite likely fall asleep. I'm saving my energy for Daytona, which as I write, is only 14 days, 19 hours, 42 minutes, and 12 seconds away. "Boogity, Boogity, Boogity!"

Peace, Doc

Ponderisms

Tue, 09 Jan 2007 13:35:23 GMT

Da-Niece forwards emails to family and friends when she has the time. Her life has been quite troubled and busy over the past year, but she is a strong woman and has kept her sense of humor. As I have become lazy again, I will simply reproduce a recent email she sent to me.

I used to eat a lot of natural foods until I learned that most people die of natural causes.

Gardening Rule: When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.

The easiest way to find something lost around the house is to buy a replacement.

Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway.

There are two kinds of pedestrians; the quick and the dead.

Life is sexually transmitted.

Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.

The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth.

Some people are like Slinkies; not really good for anything, but you still can't help but smile when you see one tumble down the stairs.

Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals dying of nothing.

Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.

All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to criticism.

In the 60's, people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.

How is it that one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box of them to start a campfire?

Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, "I think I'll squeeze these dangly things here, and drink whatever comes out?"

Who was the first person to say, "See that chicken there? I'm gonna eat the next thing that comes outta its butt."

Why is there a light in the fridge but not in the freezer?

If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a song about him?

Why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time, but not to their crotch when they ask where the bathroom is?

Why does your OB-GYN leave the room when you get undressed if they are going to look up there anyway?

If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?

If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?

Do illiterate people get the full effect of Alphabet Soup?

Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him on a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?

Does pushing the elevator button more than once make it arrive faster?

Why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?

Do you ever wonder why you gave me your email address?

Author unknown.

Thanks, al. I needed that.

Peace, Doc

I never think of the future - it comes soon enough. - Albert Einstein

Getting Older

Sun, 17 Dec 2006 01:03:51 GMT

You Know You're Getting Older When:

There is an ache, pain, or bruise present and you have no idea how or where you got it.
The burrito you were eating was sticky enough to completely suck the bottom plate of your dentures off.
You want something in the kitchen. You go to the kitchen. You even inspect the refrigerator, but you still have no idea what you were seeking. You "cover" by taking something else, instead.
You suddenly remember what you wanted from the kitchen pantry immediately upon using the toilet and re-discovering you have no toilet paper on the dispenser.
You begin to make "unh" or "umpf" noises when you get up from a chair, roll over in bed, or get into a car.
You glance at the car's clock while driving to an appointment only to find you are an hour late. After a brief state of agitation, you remember that you never reset it when daylight savings time ended.
You didn't reset it because you never look at it unless you're driving. You can't get to the owners' manual while driving and never remember, from car to car, how the set the damn clock. They make them all different on purpose. I am certain of that.
You discover the first gray hair - on your chest.
You cut yourself while shaving your ear.
If you were ever able to multitask, you find that ability declining to the point that typing text into your email entry space or typing a chat comment you were about to make into a Word document become increasingly frequent.
You buy smaller bags of water softener salt rather than admit you can no longer reliably lift the 80-pound ones.
You think this may become a regular feature of the blog but probably will not remember to use it. You should immediately write it down on a list of potential blog topics, which you will promptly lose.

Peace, Doc

The older I grow the more I distrust the familiar doctrine that age brings wisdom. - H. L. Mencken (1880 - 1956)

Wipe Out

Fri, 11 Aug 2006 10:46:06 GMT

On the occasion of losing a laptop to cyber-catastrophe, I am currently working on getting another up to speed (including 48 updates to WinXP Pro OS alone.) As it turned out, I could have had it repaired and the data transferred to a new hard drive for a bit over $600. This course of action made little sense to me as I would have ended up spending more on repairs than on a comparable new laptop.

Laptop suicide

Friday morning 5:00 a.m.

Mind blank as hard drive

Peace, Doc

Fifth Universal Force Discovered.

Sat, 15 Jul 2006 07:14:25 GMT

Now I want you all to think back to physics class. Remember there were four universal or cosmic forces? Well, even if you don’t remember, there were. They were weak nuclear, gravitic, strong nuclear, and electromagnetic, in order of strength. But Doc has made an astounding and unique discovery. There is a fifth universal force, stronger than all the rest. This has implications for physicists, theologians, philosophers, and other shrinks that might be concerned about Doc. It is Duct Tape!

Think about this for a moment. If the apple had been duct taped to the tree in the Garden of Eden, there would have been no original sin or knowledge of good and evil. What would we do if we didn’t have to be saved from sin? What would priests, ministers, rabbis, imams, and so on have as jobs?

What if that same roll of duct tape was used on Sir Isaac Newton’s apple tree? No apple falling and hence no discovery of gravitic force! Maybe it isn’t even weak or strong nuclear forces holding electrons and protons in their atomic orbits. Perhaps it is really teeny, tiny pieces of duct tape. I know that duct tape has been used to hold more than one electromagnetic device together. I can bear personal witness to at least two of my power tools, a dust buster, and a Dodge mini-van’s right front headlight. We thus cast doubt on the relative importance of all four of the previously known forces!

We have now had some insight into the power of this amazing material. I need to collect further evidence before I can actually challenge current subatomic physicists in a scholarly publication on my way to the Nobel Prize, however. Therefore, in an up swelling of popular enthusiasm for the most fundamental of sciences, I ask your help by telling me your most novel, inventive, and powerful uses of Duct Tape.

Peace, Doc

Six Weird Habits

Fri, 21 Apr 2006 10:59:30 GMT

In the comments section of the last post, Nae challenged me to list six weird habits I have and then tag six more people to do the same. I am going to modify that just a bit. I will list six of my more striking oddities and challenge anyone reading them to respond with their lists as comments. I feel a little uncomfortable, as a shrink, putting any pressure on friends to reveal things about themselves publicly, that they might find “unflattering.” You may leave anonymous lists if you wish or not play at all.

1. I cannot write my name and talk at the same time. I found this out many years ago when I was speaking to a co-worker and signed someone else’s name to a discharge summary.

2. I hide things in safe places where “I can’t lose them.” I then cannot remember where the safe place was. I think this may be genetic as Firstborn does this also with currency notes. She must do it better than I, because she is always happily rewarded when she does find one.

3. I love Spoonerisms. These are phrases where the first parts of words are interchanged “accidentally,” while retaining all the letters of the original. “Roast beef” becomes “boast reef.” A road sign, “Do Not Pass” became “Poo Dot Nass,” and drove my children to distraction. The very best kind are those which make sense both ways, “take a shower” becomes “shake a tower” or the more risqué “take a sh*t” becomes “shake a t*t.”

4. I have a long history of locking myself out of things or places. My graduate school psychology department reception room closet had “Tom’s coat hanger” bent into the exact shape to break into a ’69 Camaro. Nobody threw it away.

5. Sometimes I toss totally nonsensical “words” or “phrases" into conversations just to see if the other person is paying attention. In later life, this has come in quite handy in generating relatively secure passwords.

6. Finally, I sometimes leave things lying about just to see if people will find them or comment about them. This requires that it is either a strange thing in a normal spot or a normal thing in an unusual spot. Like an Easter egg. Actually, there is one on this page if you look for it.

Peace, Doc

Hair, Hair! It's Good News Day!

Mon, 02 Jan 2006 22:36:10 GMT

As I reflect on 2005, I shudder and try to repress it. Rather, I will announce a good news day item that happened to me on the first day of 2006. I was frightened by my own hair. Why in anybody’s definition of good things would this be included? Because it is the first indication I got on my last major hair styling adventure that it was long enough to be tied into a ponytail!

At that time I was trying to rebel sufficiently to be transferred from the forensic psych program to…….., well, anywhere else. It was cut into a “professional” looking style during the last two hours of the time I was supposed to be on forensics. Yeah, I left and got a haircut. It was 17 inches long and had begun to restrict my movements. It caught between my back and the backs of chairs during meetings. While this enhanced my reputation for being negative, all it really meant was that I was physically restrained from nodding “yes” and could only make horizontal “no” motions.

That was about 10 years ago. I’m growing one again. It is still a baby. It is only about two inches long. However, I am putting back a piece of myself and that qualifies it as a Good News Day entry!

Peace, Doc

If God Used CRM

Sun, 01 Jan 2006 02:01:41 GMT

This excerpt was a part of an email I received recently from a friend. With the maddening proliferation of the corporate CRM (Customer Relations Management) mazes we encounter and never seem able to navigate to a real person who might resolve our problem, this concept is truly frightening. Perhaps ridding the world of CRM could be part of Good News Day.

Most of us have now learned to live with voice mail, especially Customer Relations Management, as a commonplace part of our lives. Have you ever wondered what it would be like if God decided to install CRM? Imagine praying and hearing the following:

Thank you for calling heaven.

For English press 1

For Spanish press 2

For all other languages, press 3

Please select one of the following options:

Press 1 for request

Press 2 for thanksgiving

Press 3 for complaints

Press 4 for all others

I am sorry, all our Angels and Saints are busy helping other sinners right now. However, your prayer is important to us and we will answer it in the order it was received. Please stay on the line.

If you would like to speak to:

God, press 1

Jesus, press 2

The Holy Spirit, press 3

To find a loved one that has been assigned to heaven press 4, and then enter his or her social security number followed by the pound sign.

If you receive a negative response, please hang up and dial area code (666.)

For reservations to heaven, please enter JOHN followed by the numbers, 316.

For answers to nagging questions about dinosaurs, life, other planets and such, please wait until you arrive in heaven for the specifics.

Our computers show that you have already been prayed for today, please hang up and call again tomorrow.

The office is now closed for the weekend to observe a religious holiday. If you are calling after hours and need emergency assistance, please contact your local place of worship.

Thank you and have a heavenly day.

Peace, Doc

A Psychologist's Christmas Greeting

Sat, 24 Dec 2005 08:33:02 GMT

ABCDE

FGHIJ

KMNOP

QRSTU

VWXYZ

Peace, Doc

Truth in Humor

Thu, 15 Dec 2005 08:48:46 GMT

In an abject and repentant attempt to regain the favor of my friends and to reassure them of my semi-sanity, this entry will be a sampling of “shrink humor.” None of it is original with me and I will attribute the quotes when I know the author. I have lots more.

For procrastinators:

“Remember. The day after tomorrow is the third day of the rest of your life.” George Carlin

On sanity:

“Show me a sane man and I will cure him for you.” Carl Gustav Jung

“Our occasional madness is less wonderful than our occasional sanity.” George Santayana

On starting one’s practice:

“Sheldon Kopp says when you are first starting your practice, ‘If a gorilla comes in with a $10 bill in his hand, you take the $10 bill and tell him to lie down on the couch.’”

On the scientific method:

The following is directly from Tom Weller’s Science Made Stupid at http://www.besse.at/sms/smsintro.html Try this site. It is hilarious:

“Since the dawn of time, man has looked to the heavens and wondered: where did the stars come from? He has looked at the great diversity of plants and animals around him and wondered: where did life come from? He has looked at himself and wondered: where did I come from? Later, he began to ask more complicated questions. He looked in his wallet and asked: where did my paycheck go? Am I on the right bus? Who do you like in the series? To the former questions, at least, science has provided answers. … Put most simply, science is a way of dealing with the world around us. It is a way of baffling the uninitiated with incomprehensible jargon. It is a way of obtaining fat government grants. It is a way of achieving mastery over the physical world by threatening it with destruction. … Once, when the secrets of science were the jealously guarded property of a small priesthood, the common man had no hope of mastering their arcane complexities. Years of study in musty classrooms were prerequisite to obtaining even a dim, incoherent knowledge of science. … Today, all that has changed: a dim, incoherent knowledge of science is available to anyone. Popular science books, magazines and computer programs - with their simple, fatuous and misleading prose, their garish illustrations, their flimsy modern production values - have brought science within the reach of anyone who can afford their inflated prices or who can mooch off someone else.
Indeed, today a myriad of sources are available to explain science facts that science itself has never dreamed of.
This web site is one of them. (Visit the site. It has an explanation of creationism versus evolution guaranteed to anger and please everyone, explanations of the earth’s formation, charts and tables, and more. Very little of it has anything to do with scientific reality and everything to do with laughing at ourselves. Doc)

On psychology:

“Psychology is the powder-room of philosophy.” Author unknown but presumably a philosopher.

“I never saw a person’s id

I hope I never see one

But I can tell you if I did

I’d clamp an ego as a lid

Upon the id to keep it hid,

Which is I gather, what God did

When he first saw a free one.”

By Helen Harris Perlman, see the humor page at psychotherapy.net: http://www.psychotherapy.net/humor/humorframe.html

And a Toast:

"Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The trouble-makers. The round heads in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status-quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them. But the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do." Jack Kerouac

Peace, Doc