I’m cutting to the chase here. After successfully playing hermit since the beginning of 2019, on Saturday, Aug 14 I went in to town and found someone who was infected with the Chinese War Virus.

By that evening, I was in intense pain – every joint, every muscle, every fucking bone in my body was screaming in pain, and then the fevers started and at that point everything becomes very disjointed for the next few days.

So anyhow, on Friday I got a Covid confirmation test (and for all you wanna be doctors at home – THANK YOU, I KNOW ABOUT THE MEDS. I AM OUTSIDE THE TREATMENT WINDOW ON ALL OF THEM. Just let it be).

So now I deal with coughs, hacking up a bit of blood from time to time. less persistent fever, headaches, a strong desire to shoot my goddamn phone the next time it rings. general fatigue, reduced mental clarity (some of you may make your own jokes now) and just generally feeling like 40 pounds of shit in a 5 lb sack.

I suspect in the next one to two weeks I will be better or I will be dead, and then you can argue about who I was, was I real, he’s faking, he isn’t really dead, he just smells funny. To say that I will not care will be an immense understatement.


When you want it done right…


Car detailing with a rather special touch…

Yes, boys, there are some hard working ladies out there who know their way around an automobile and will render one virtually showroom new – while you sit in a lawn chair and watch. It was a well spent Saturday morning.



I haven’t posted anything in a long time.

Okay, what’s going on in the darksome corners of the internet?

Ivlog: Traffic appears to be down. This could be due to the usual seasonal drop off (it’s SUMMER! More sunlight, lots of stuff to do out of doors, vacation time, etc.) or it could be due to administrative shenanigans and some other questionable decisions that have come home to roost. Time will tell. (Have I typed these exact words before? I feel like I have.)

The Steaming Pile of Horseshit: We see that fatboy is begging for money because… well, that whole family would rather tell a laughably bad lie than utter the simplest truth. Fatboy made up some newer new rules for who could broadcast in the “People/IRL” section of his site (i.e., the front page), then he proceeded to define his newer new rules in a manner that would please a Philadelphia lawyer. I think it comes down to “if my mommy likes you, you can be on the front page, otherwise…”. The overall traffic seems to be steady thanks to the huge “Miscellaneous” section of his site, wherein one can watch virtually any TV show from the 70s and movies from all decades (including every stoner’s favorite category: Japanese Rubber Suit Godzilla Monster Movies). 

Glimesh: Now down to about 6 broadcasters, it just never caught on despite the implementation of FTL broadcasting ( a giant technical leap forward in terms of removing latency – “lag” to the Luddites). I have some thoughts on why things didn’t work out for them, but I have no public comment at this time, but I will, later.

Twitch: The 800 pound gorilla continues to dominate, due to it’s revenue sharing plan with every large-breasted woman in the world. Sex sells.

D-Live: With the collapse of the bit-coin, D-Live’s numbers are down. They are run by the Chinese (the BAD Chinese, AKA the Communists) and there have been some interesting interactions between some broadcasters and management, which has led to some good broadcasters saying “fuck this shit, I’m outta here.” I watched this happen one night from start to finish (first, second and third appearance of a moderator demanding that written proof of public domain status be supplied to D-Live regarding some cartoons that are literally 100 years old (and I’m talking OLD cartoons, the crap you can get on Archive.Org). The ‘caster shut the show down and never went back.

As far as personalities that we all know and have difficulty looking away from, the usual suspects are still performing their feats of legendary fucktardation (It’s a word now, dammit). On any given evening, (fill in the name of your favorite internet idiot) will be sitting in front of a live camera and microphone, proudly displaying their neurosis/psychosis/bad habits/addictions/lack of socialization/delusions and general tomfoolery like a crack addicted peacock. It is, in a sad way, comforting to know that some things never change.

Gas and Groceries… thanks, President Potato Head.

Rain, into each life it must fall.

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, “If only Casey could but get a whack at that—
We’d put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.”

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile lit Casey’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt ’twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped—
“That ain’t my style,” said Casey. “Strike one!” the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted someone on the stand;
And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, “Strike two!”

“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered “Fraud!”
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.

 – Ernest Lawrence Thayer

Because I have been asked…

themonkeyasylum.com is down right now because the domain registration expired on March 19. Whether this is due to a payment oversite or some other reason, I do not know, BUT it can be stated for a fact that NO ONE “took the site down” (and yeah, I’m looking at the usual suspects here, and we all know who they are).

Now, before some of you go lunging in for the kill and try to grab the domain name, ICANN has an 80 day limit on the release of any registered domain name, so in a nutshell, you can’t do jack or shit for almost 3 months. At any time in the next 45 days, The Monkey can simply contact the host, catch up on the billing and the site is back up like nothing ever happened. After 45 days, there is a fee attached for the next 30 days, then there is a 5 day hold until the name is dropped (source for all this: ICANN Domain Registry Regulations, posted online fucking near everywhere).

I post this simply because I have been asked by more than one person if I know what happened. I do not know the what, but I do know the why, so to speak.

EDIT: SITUATION RESOLVED, The Asylum of the Simian is back.


A visit to Casino Guitars in Southern Pines, NC and …

A lovely all Mahogany Martin 000-15SM. It smells like cake.


If you are a member of any guitar forum, you are always running into “HN__D” threads. It means “Happy New (fill in the blank) Day”. As an example, HNGD is universally read as Happy New Guitar Day.

After months of trying to run down someone who could make custom pick guards, I finally found someone in Canada that was willing to take on my project. Their results were perfect.

Charley Patton hitting the Road
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Custom Telecaster Pick Guard by GreasyGroove

The colors look a tad flat in the photo, there is actually a sealed gloss finish over the art work that is supposedly semi-impervious to the usual things guitars get subjected to (spilled beer, flipped cigarette butts, projectile vomit from the front three rows, etc). In any event, if you need a customized pick guard (or drum heads, mandolin pick guards, bass pick guards, and so on) go to Etsy and look for a vendor called GreasyGroove.

Upgrades that work

The AMD AM4 socket mobos feature the semi-mythical upgrade paths – that actually work. I went X570 Socket 4 on my last build and have been very pleased with functionality, stability, temperatures, power consumption, etc.

The other day I got one of the numerous daily emails from Newegg and they had the Ryzen 7 5800x on sale. “Hmmmm”, I say to myself. Follow these steps and know happiness:

Step One – Go to the manufacturer website of your motherboard. Does it list the processor you want? Yes? Does it require a BIOS upgrade to install said processor? Yes? Run the BIOS upgrade.

Step Two – Upon successful BIOS upgrade, now you can order the processor, confident that it will work.

Step Three – Wait for processor to arrive.

Step Four- While waiting for the processor, gather items needed to install a new CPU (thermal paste, appropriate screw driver, review instructions for removing after-market CPU cooler, etc).

Step Five – Upon arrival of new CPU, ponder what a pain in the ass it is going to be to pull your PC out from under the desk, disconnect everything (audio, video, network, mouse, keyboard, webcam, printer, mystery USB cables, etc).  Stare at computer for at least 24 to 48 hours, acknowledging that you will need to go get your vacuum cleaner because there’s at least a year’s worth of dust build up on fans, filters and any flat surfaces.

Step Six – Bite the bullet. Get down on the floor and unplug everything. Pull the PC into the light, place a hand on the chassis to discharge yourself to ground, then go to work getting that after-market CPU cooler removed, then unlock the AM4 socket and remove the old processor (and while you are doing this, you really need to remove the thermal paste on the cooler surface and the old CPU. Isopropyl alcohol will clean this off very nicely.

Step Seven – Carefully vacuum out as much crap as you safely can. Your vacuum hose should not be used as an avenging battering ram, let the vacuum do the work. If you have compressed air on hand, using it in conjunction with the vacuum cleaner will get some dust out of otherwise unreachable areas. ProTip: Use that vacuum hose in conjunction with the air can to catch the dust as it gets kicked up into the air, otherwise it will ALL end up right back inside the PC again.

Step Eight – Open the packaging of the new CPU, note the marked corner of the processor, note the marked corner of the AM4 socket, then gently set the processor into the socket. A proper fit will be immediately obvious. Lock the processor into the socket, then using whatever technique you prefer, apply thermal paste to the surface of the processor and either reinstall the old cooler or install a new one if you decided you needed to get a new Noctua NH D15 or a Wraith Prism (I kept my Cooler Master 212 and my temps are running just fine, btw).

Step 9 – Hook up the mouse, keyboard and your main monitor ONLY. Start the PC. The PC will detect the new processor and ask you to confirm that you want to reset BIOS for the new device (this is a Y/N option). The PC will cycle into and out of the BIOS 2 or 3 times, then the machine will do a full start into Windows. You will almost certainly be told you need to do a driver upgrade (accept and proceed). Take a peek into the Device Mangler… I mean the Device Manager and confirm that Windows is seeing and reporting the new CPU correctly. Shut your PC down , reconnect everything and shove it back under your desk. Start up and everything should function exactly as before, with one possible anomaly. 

The Anomaly – For reasons that absolutely elude me, this upgrade set my time zone to Mountain Time (GMT -7). This was very easy to correct, but I am compelled to mention it because it is the one and only thing that I found unusual in the entire process.

Now, in the future, when video cards FINALLY start to sell at sane prices again… but this is a post for another day.

Got myself an Annie

Being an old man, I figured I may as well get a .22 that was a step or two up from a 10/22 (not that there’s anything -wrong- with a 10/22, mind you), so I talked to one of my cousins who, along with his charming Mrs, competes at a professional level with .22 caliber rifles. After talking with him for some number of hours, I had settled on getting one of the top end CZ models, when he said the fateful words “one more rifle to consider is the Anschutz…”

Well, after doing a couple of days of research into Anschutz sporting rifles, I called my cousin up and to make a long story short, I ordered a 1761 with the threaded barrel.

I had to get some optics and there was a six month wait on my tax stamp for the can (which, based on my last stamp, was not a long wait at all), and getting the right rings turned into a saga unto itself, but in due time everything came together. Now I wait for some decent weather so I can run off and find out what particular brand and flavor of ammunition this rifle likes to eat. My cousin gave me some RWS, Eley, Lapua, SK and Aguila to try out, I have gathered up some Norma, CCI target and a few other American made brands.

I’m looking forward to going out with one of my uncles (which, coincidentally, is the father of the aforementioned cousin) and spending the day poking holes in paper. 


Her like shall not be seen again

Lee Anne Wilson, AKA “Frozen Fruity” (or for you old timers on BlogTV and Yahoo Live, “Nothing But Fun”) has passed away from the Big C and complications thereof.

As is usually the case, word of this reached me by indirect methods, and while I know intentions are good, I have a need to get to the bottom of things when I am told someone has passed on.

Sadly, I have spoken to a family member who confirms that Lee Anne had received an injury that was not healing as it should, which lead to the discovery of a cancer she did not know she had, and then a host of other complications set in and before you know it…

For those of you that knew her, you were aware that she was a woman of exceptionally rare beauty, on the inside (where it really counts) as well as the outside. She had an amazing singing voice that she really hated to be complimented on (boy howdy, did Dan and I visit her woodshed more than once over that subject, and yet, as befits the mysterious ways of the female of the species, there are youtube videos of her in various karaoke shows), she brooked little to no shit from anyone, and when she flipped you off (and I got flipped off more than anyone, I think), she had middle fingers that … well, they were long and not easily missed. She was the yin to Dan’s yang and made him an absurdly happy man while he was on this earth and I know she missed him terribly when he passed away 2 years ago. She leaves behind a pair of granddaughters that she loved dearly and a small, extremely eclectic group of internet friends that will miss her presence for years to come. I don’t think she loved us like her granddaughters, but she was genuinely fond of some of us and she tolerated me (from time to time, to a degree). I count myself as fortunate.

So never again will I intone the phrase “Ladies and gentle, please give a large (insert site name here) welcome to the one, the only… FROZEN FRUITY.” I’m gonna miss doing that. Slowly but surely, the OG of social broadcasting is departing the realm; with her passing the stage grows dimmer for us all.

Printers, I hate them so very, very much

I despise a fucking printer. I honestly think it would just be cheaper and easier to have a full-time scribe sitting in my office and let them write out whatever I need to print. Bar codes might be a bit tricky…

So here I am, this damned Canon I bought to replace the Konica which I bought to replace a something or other isn’t printing for shit, and no matter how many clean head and deep clean heads cycles I run, it prints like shit. So, I am buying yet another damn printer.

I still have the Konica. It’s a beast of a color laser jet, but it’s a cool $500 to get new “ink” (yeah, I know laser jets don’t use ink, they use johnson and johnson talcum powder that goes everywhere, sticks to everything and never comes off. It’s great stuff). I bought a refill kit a few years ago and that was a waste of money, a waste of time and likely caused several people in my proximity to arm themselves because the crazy bastard on the 3rd floor had finally lost it for real. This is THE TRICK for printers. The printer is cheap. The ink… oh boy, do they have you by the short hairs on the ink. I looked at replacing the ink in this Canon I will shortly be throwing out, ink cartridges made by Mao Tse Dung are 10 to 15 dollah, while the Canon branded ones are $65. Hmmmmm, this is quite a difference. One set is crap (you do indeed get what you pay for) and the other set is grossly over-priced. So I am doing the only thing I can.

I just bought another printer. It’ll be here early next week. Going with a monochrome laser by HP that has refill kits that sell for around $20 (I ordered 2 of them with the printer). I expect the print quality will be crap for a laser, but hopefully I can get more than two years out of it.

Probably won’t.

On vaccinations

In 1967, dear old Dad was given orders to report to Baumholder, WEST Germany (back then, that “WEST” meant a great deal) and that meant once again packing up the possessions and moving to yet another in a series of Strange Lands.

In 1967, the Department of Defense still regarded Europe as it did in the 1940s, a haven for every germ, virus, disease and infection vector known to mankind, so orders for Germany meant shots. Lots and lots of shots. These were not optional shots, these were “shut your fucking mouth, roll up your sleeve and deal with it” shots. The shots were spaced out over a set time frame, as the military had a great deal of experience as to the order the shots could be given and the time interval in between. Some shots did not require much of an interval (read: no interval at all), so one very memorable morning I got one in the left arm, then one in the right arm, and then another one in the left arm. By the time we set foot in the semi-mythical place we call Europe, we were as immune (read: resistant) to any germ that made its home from the Cliffs of Dover to the Iron Curtain as the medical technology of the day could make us. And that is the how and why of a vaccination: it exposes you to some (for lack of a more scientific phrase) watered down form of Germ X, which in turns tells your body to manufacture antibodies to combat this evil germ should it be encountered. If things go ideally, you may well be exposed to Germ X and your antibodies dispose of it so efficiently that you never even know the exposure occurred.

What the vaccinations will not do is render you invulnerable, they will not melt your brain, they will not rewrite your DNA and turn you into a dog, they will not guarantee that you don’t get sick from Germ X. They just stack the deck in your favor as best they can.

The mRNA vaccines that have been rolled out to fight the Chinese War Virus of 2019 are “new” in the sense that this is the first time mRNA has been used in the general population (as a side note for any geeks reading this, an mRNA trial was carried out in 2018 for folks with a rare genetic disorder that leads to extreme plaque buildup, said test was a success). The method by which they work is new, but the effect they have is fairly much identical to the “dead germ” viruses we all grew up with. The mRNA alerts your innards to “be on the lookout” for a particular bad actor (said bad actor being mentioned above) and reacting by attacking the bad guy if it is detected. Just like any other vaccine, you do NOT have 100% immunity to the targeted “germ”, but the deck is being stacked in your favor. Think of annual flu shots here – you may still get the flu, but the odds (chances, likelihood of outcome, etc.) say that your case will be milder and therefore potentially less likely to put you in a pine box, which is a real possibility, especially for the old, the young, the infirm and the unlucky.

You get dealt one hand of cards in life; if you can stack that deck in your favor, you’re a fool not to do it. Politics, religion, race, gender… they have not one goddamned thing to do with it.

Also of note, keep in mind that the average IQ is 100. In the US, it’s actually closer to 95. Always remember that half of the people around you are dumb, too dumb to stack the deck. Also remember the last thing the referee says to both fighters before the match begins: keep your guard up and protect yourself at all times. What I wrote may seem to be a non-sequitur, but it isn’t.

Get the shots.


Regardless of the verdict of the Circus in Minneapolis, downtown is gonna burn yet again. I could refer back to my post of several months ago wherein the county coroner informed the *prosecution* that George Floyd died from an overdose, but no one needs to bother with facts when they have the story that has been repeated ad nauseum by virtually every media outlet in the world. Stories with headlines such as “Helpless Black Man Has Neck Crushed By KKK Loving Police” sell a lot more papers than stories that are titled “Overdose Claims Another Life”. So, this all makes sense from a business perspective, and screw anyone who happens to get caught up in the wake of the narrative.

Here’s what’s going to happen:

  1. Officer Badman is found not guilty based on the evidence presented – riots, burning, undocumented shopping go on for roughly 1 week until nothing is left to burn or steal.
  2. Officer Badman is found guilty regardless of evidence, does/does not appeal – riots, burning, undocumented shopping go on for roughly 1 week until nothing is left to burn or steal.
  3. Officer Badman is found guilty, the ground underneath him splits open, Satan rises from hell and claims him on the spot – riots, burning, undocumented shopping go on for roughly 1 week until nothing is left to burn or steal.

There is no way around what’s going to happen. Short of sending in the 82nd Airborne Division with fixed bayonets and a decided willingness to use them, nothing is going to stop the second raping of downtown Minneapolis. If you live there, move. If you own property there… no one will buy it, so donate it to some left wing organization so they get to pitch in on the tax hike that is coming to pay for the clean up. And this won’t be confined to Minneapolis, no sir, not by a long shot. Why should their looters have all the fun?

This will be yet another summer spent indoors, avoiding downtown areas from coast to coast because every single one of them has the potential to turn into a war zone in a matter of seconds (be careful who you blow your horn at, etc) and will add a few more million first-time firearms owners to the rolls. It will suck for them, because last summer the shelves at the gun stores were cleaned out and are no where near replenished. Those first time buyers will have a very limited selection, prices will be at quite a premium (it’s called “supply & demand”) and ammunition… good luck finding any at all.

I was amused this morning

Like many SENIOR Americans, I find online grocery shopping to be an unmitigated blessing. Today, I ordered my sustenance from the local Wal Mart and arrived at 11AM to pick my order up.

And older gentleman brings my order out and he is very interested in my car.  He was surprised at the room available in the trunk (I should insert here that I drive a sixth generation Camaro, which is justifiably known for being parsimonious on interior space) and stated that he wanted to get one now that he was retired. He was very interested in my specific model, which is the SS with the big engine and the six speed manual transmission (manual transmissions are a BIG selling point for us grandfathers, we are amongst the last generation of drivers who had to know how to drive a manual, anyone younger than a 40 something likely has no idea how to make that car move an inch – which is just fine with us).

He said his biggest concern with getting one was the ability to get in and out of the car (and here, I quote him directly) “but when I saw you get out of it…” and then he trailed off, so I finished his sentence for him by saying if a fat bastard like me can get in and out, he will have no trouble at all. Then we shared the laugh of the old people, bid one another farewell and we went in our respective directions.

I must admit, I am pleased to be a role model to old fat guys in this great land of ours. I hope he gets his dream car, as I believe they will only be made for a couple of more years.

Franz Kafka, call your office

So I have a couple of credit cards. I use online banking to pay them off every month (a word to the wise kids: KEEP THAT BALANCE AT ZERO!).

A couple of weeks ago I got an email from Bank XYZ stating that they were “changing the way we do things” and instead of answering a security question or three (which, by the way, they reset annually) you would now be texted a code number to your mobile device to be able to conduct your online business. As a side note, I really do wonder what the fuck people who do not have a “mobile device” are supposed to do. Are they simply the new untouchables, denied the ability to pay a credit card balance because they choose not to own a fucking cell phone? This strikes me as fertile ground for an ADA or senior citizen class action suit.

So this morning, I get up at 5:30 and see a reminder that today is the day I have set to pay off the card balance at Bank XYZ. I log in with my user name and incredibly convoluted password and am confronted with a screen that says they will send a confirmation code to a phone number that has not been mine for years (I mean YEARS). There is no way around this confirmation code devil. I cannot even access customer service until I log in and… CONFIRM MY IDENITY using a phone number that is in the hands of some poor innocent who is (if there is any justice in this world) being deluged with notices of failed log in attempts.

No human can be accessed until 7AM to discuss this issue with, so I now have an hour and some odd number of minutes to attempt to distract myself from what is now the very center of my existence.

At 7AM sharp I call the “contact us if you are having trouble logging in” number and explain my issue. I am in luck. I only have to explain the problem to the first person I talk to twice. I am then transferred to the IDENTITY CONFIRMATION CENTER (now is that Orwellian sounding as hell or what?) where I am informed I will be asked five (5) questions about my past. Without going into detail, I did answer all 5 correctly – but I was left wondering JUST HOW THE HELL DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW ALL THIS SHIT ABOUT ME? Some of the questions I answered concerned actions/details that went back decades – long before I was a customer at this bank and, in my opinion, were none of their business. Mind you, all this is simply to correct a phone number in their database that they failed to erase or overwrite when they went to their new system of texting you a code to your mobile device. In point of fact, when I was transferred back to the first person whom I had spoken with, she confirmed that my current number was the one she had listed (and no, I did not press her on that, among the many jobs I had at IBM, one of them was database analyst, and I am all too familiar with data that embeds into a database that, much like Melville’s Great White Whale, surfaces from time to time simply to send your Pequod to Davey Jones’ locker).

In any event, a code was sent to my cell phone, which I was required to read to the call taker, who then approved adding my current number to the call list (and yes, the old number is still there, in the list of numbers, much like a sinister spider waiting to pounce upon and consume my present number). Selecting the correct number then led to another code being sent to my phone, which I typed into the now tiresome log-in page and miracle of miracles, I was now “in” my account and free to PAY THE BANK THE BALANCE ON THE CARD. Yep, all this bullshit so I can give them money. This is not the 21st century I was looking forward to, and I have no doubt the democrats are responsible for this – although I am probably giving them too much credit as I doubt they are smart enough to figure out something as convoluted and devious as what I went through to pay a bill.

Have a good morning. I doubt mine will get any worse at this point. Maybe.

HOW can this be??!!??


Behold, the miracle of the shipment that violates all known precepts of space and time!

How is this even possible?

I order a monitor from NEWEGG, and it “ships” from Edison, New Jersey on Dec 30, and then is “In Transit” from Baldwin Fucking Park, California 17 hours later (assuming they standardize time zones). This simply cannot be.

Random thoughts, late December edition

I have always been somewhat reclusive by nature, preferring to avoid crowds or other gatherings that require me to pretend that I am happy to be there.

Therefore, I am somewhat befuddled that I am upset that I am unable to visit a couple of uncles this holiday season. I want to have some of Aunt Diane’s chocolate pie and then drive up to Virginia, sit on my Uncle Paul’s porch and watch the sun go down while slowly nursing a glass of Seagrams, listening to Paul expound on how good life has been to him. Those options are simply out of the picture this year, and Paul in particular is not getting any younger.

All these years, I thought I was the Grinch Incarnate, and now I come to find out that I am just an old mushy sentimentalist. If only Dr Suess were still alive to write that story.

Grinch is not pleased

I am left to wonder if I will ever see these people again. My Uncle David (Diane’s husband) is extremely protective of her, as she has had respiratory issues virtually her entire life. None of us doubt that a brush the Chinese Communist War Virus of 2019 would do her in very quickly. David won’t let his own kids in the house, all visits are held outdoors on a spacious porch, masks are non-optional. I do not disagree with his course of action.

Uncle Paul is now in the back half of his 80s and has gone into Atrial fibrillation more than once since Thanksgiving. Paul has a better support system than most of us: his oldest daughter is a hard-nosed, no-nonsense retired ER nurse (God, I love her dearly), his youngest daughter is a practicing MD. They are watching their dad and neither is shy about getting involved with his immediate care if they even get a hint of a feeling of a notion that something isn’t right. His current situation places him pretty much off limits to spending some time on that porch.

I want, badly, to spend a bit of time with all of them, and it won’t happen soon, and it’s a toss up if it will ever happen. I count these vaccines that magically appeared overnight as too good to be true, and when something is too good to be true…

Anyway, Christmas 2020 sucks.

To the surprise of no one…

First, a quote from the settings page of an ivlog.tv channel:

“Stream Keys are available if you purchase a Pro Account. Please note, even if your Pro Account expires you will still be able to use your stream key.”

So about all those pro accounts I had purchased… they seem to be absent, n’est-ce pas?

So I loaded up my streamkey and RTMP server information into OBS (I keep stream keys and server info in a text file because who the hell can remember all that shit? Not me.) and abso-fucking-loutely nothing happened. Apparently that bit about “even if your pro account expires” bullshit is exactly that, bullshit.

I can’t say that I am exactly shocked by this. In point of fact, I would have to say my expectations have been met. In all aspects of the operation of his site, he will never miss an opportunity to lie, cheat or steal. Good job, Cram! Consistency is the key to greatness, and you are, without a scintilla of doubt, one of the greatest assholes on the internet. I salute your ability to compete with Gout Boy and his Allergic-to-Everything Mother when it comes to being an asshat of the purest ray serene.

Been a heck of a night.

My old friend Neil (Neil is an Irishman who lives in the lower Hudson Valley, and one of the finest people you will ever meet) and I were talking a few weeks ago, and we agreed that to a couple of average Joes like ourselves, it really doesn’t matter all that much who is actually sitting in the leather chair in the Oval Office. I assume it’s leather. For all I know, it may be Naugahyde. That would be be a shame. If I were President, I’d buy me a leather chair, with a high back so I could nod off (which I am wont to do as I get older).

Anyway, like a lot of “normal” folks, I still find myself getting a tad worked up over presidential elections (and thank god Bill Clinton is out of the picture, or we’d be getting worked up over presidential erections, and I’m sorry I even wrote that… ) so since around 23:00 I’ve been reading this site and that site and it seems (as always) there’s a whole lot of heat but very little light.

What I do have is a monster of a headache. I feel like a nail is being hammered into the socket of my right eye, which is somewhat unpleasant, as you may well imagine. Any time I get that “nail in the eye socket” headache, I go look at the local weather, because roughly 100% of the time, the barometric pressure is either rapidly climbing or falling. Tonight it is taking off like a damned rocket, and coupled with all the reading of both the learned and the ignorant I’ve been doing for the last 7 hours, this headache falls into the “blinding” category.

I tried laying down and convincing myself to go to sleep, but that effort was for naught, so I returned to my office for some relief out of one of those small plastic bottles. It will take a few minute to for the effects of the medicine to begin to work their magic, but in time, the pain will fade and life will be better.

This may be an analogy for elections. Maybe. Maybe not. I will leave that to the wise dead, such as Samuel Clemens, who ALWAYS had something absolutely spot on to say about most any aspect of the human condition. All I can can come up with is “Fuck, my head is killing me.”

So anyway, my thoughts for the evening are two-fold. Firstly, one pundit that I read tonight stated that whether you win, lose, or draw in this election, we live in a country where we can actually vote for the person we desire to be our leader, and in the known history of humanity, that privilege is actually fairly rare.  Secondly, the meds are starting to work and I am damned glad to live in an age where pain relief comes in plastic bottles at remarkably affordable prices.

All in all, it isn’t a bad time to be alive.

The Journey is complete

As of 00:01 hours, I am now on Medi… medicare? Medicade? I will be fucked if I know. I am now officially so old that terms such as “geezer”, “grandpa” and “old-timer” are considered polite ways of referring to me. Excuse me if I prefer to go with my well-earned title of “that grumpy old son of a bitch”.
When the sun comes up, I will sally forth from my domicile, cane in hand, and rap on the windows of various businesses and ask them if they have seen my old hound, “Spot”.  Ha. The joke will be on them, I have no hound of any age named Spot.

HAHAHAHAHA, that’s right. His name is Spot.