Okay ... I think we've all done this ... About two years ago, I found myself standing in Sports Authority, hands on my hips, looking over machine after machine, designed to get me into tip top shape. Pulleys and giant rubber bands and cables and attachments out the wazoo. I ended up buying an elliptical machine. I figured, I can climb on this thing and just walk/climb the pounds off and get my wind back. The salesman was more than happy to confirm this, touting the benefits of the gadget. He even helped me load it into my truck. That's where the help stopped. I got it home. I nearly KILLED myself getting the three boxes into the house. Then I spent the next three days putting the thing together. But ... Once I had it together, it looked impressive. It had a friggen computer on it that told me how many calories I was burning and how far I'd gone and what my pulse was ... It was so friggen cool. Each morning, for months, I woke up, had my coffee, then climbed aboard. After three months, I'd lost ... 3 pounds. My hips were getting screwed up from the lack of variation in motion and my live-in fiance' was not at all happy with me rolling out of the sack every morning an hour early, cutting into our 'snuggle time'. In the end, it ended up becoming a really nifty place to hang my jacket when I wasn't wearing it. A month later ... Yup ... Back at Sports Authority ... Hands on hips ... Same salesman. He didn't even remember me. Gave me the same line about a weight machine being the absolute best machine I could get my hands on ... Just like he'd said about my previous purchase. This go round ... 5 boxes. Weighed twice as much. Took a week to put together. And, three months later, I was in the same boat as before. This time, we started hanging damp towels on it when we got home from the beach. At least it was good for something.
I'm a Health Physicist by profession. I know a bit about fitness. Here's the skinny: The number of repetitions you do is far more important that how much weight you can lift or how much time you spend working out, running etc. With each repetition you do, you burn calories. Physics mandates that variety of motion and change of direction increases the number of calories burned and the amount of muscular benefit. It's just plain science.
That having been said, ad in the logistics of machines that weigh hundreds of pounds and take up a ton of space. Take into account how much time you have to spend changing configurations of your equipment for different exercises. Or if you choose to get a gym membership, take into account travel time on top of workout time etc. It's so friggen complicated.
So I went in search of simplicity.
Here's what I found: The FITRYO TOTAL BAR. I'll post the link where I found it in a minute. It has the science behind it. It doesn't take up ANY space. You can stand it up behind the bedroom door when you're not using it. It's fast. I can get in like 1800 reps in about 15 minutes. It weighs less than ten pounds. I don't have to spend a week putting it together. I watched the video for it and it's the first one I've seen that makes actual sense. There is one draw-back ... It doesn't look like I could hang much laundry on it. But then again, I won't have to.
So ... I'm ordering one on Friday. I can't wait to get my hands on it. With Winter creeping in, I'm gonna need something to keep from packing on those seasonal pounds and to stay in "swimsuit" shape so I don't have to work my butt off in the Spring, frantically trying to get back into shape.
Here's the link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsWe92wnZcM&context=C3194141ADOEgsToPDskLBzulTRDHzu2OkcMAq0Tkl
Buy one. I'm gonna.
Enough said.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
What's In A Name?
Ahhh, Shakespeare ... "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet ... "
Back then, it applied. Now days ... Not so much.
A name can have an extremely positive, or negative impact on the wearer of it. I was born, Floyd William Flanigan. In 1927, Floyd was a popular and usual first name. In 1979, not so much. Granted, I was named after my maternal grandfather who was a wonderful man. He had no sons, so I was offered up as his namesake. But ... as I grew up, believe it or not, I had girls who wanted to go out with me but didn't because they just couldn't handle the name. There was a guy in my high school named Billy Heck. Talk about a cool name. And the girls flocked to this guy. When I started going by a shortened version of my middle name, which is Billy as well, the girls were much more easy ... to come by ... yes, much more easy to come by. It was kind of like a social experiment. If I introduced myself as Floyd, I was received a certain way. If I introduced myself as Billy, it went much better. But ... I'm not the only one. My name-related woes were short-lived and not really that bad. But let's take a look at some others:
Dick Trickle ... Race car driver.
Parker Schnovel ... Gold Prospector.
Coco Crisp ... Baseball player.
Dick Pole ... No kidding. He played for the Red Sox.
Matt Schmuck ... He was in my study hall, freshman year.
Fair Hooker ... Player for the Cleveland Browns.
Ben Dover
Harry Butts
Richard Head (Dick for short)
Rusty Ford
Penny Nickles
The list just seems to go on and on. What were the parents of these people thinking when they named them? Talk about cruelty to children! Imagine roll call each morning in the sixth grade for Mike Hunt. Imagine what third grade was like for Jeff Artz.
Anyway ... I'm keeping this one short.
PLEASE ad to the list of screwed up names if you know of any. And if you are an expectant parent, read the list and think hard before naming your new addition to the family!
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Back then, it applied. Now days ... Not so much.
A name can have an extremely positive, or negative impact on the wearer of it. I was born, Floyd William Flanigan. In 1927, Floyd was a popular and usual first name. In 1979, not so much. Granted, I was named after my maternal grandfather who was a wonderful man. He had no sons, so I was offered up as his namesake. But ... as I grew up, believe it or not, I had girls who wanted to go out with me but didn't because they just couldn't handle the name. There was a guy in my high school named Billy Heck. Talk about a cool name. And the girls flocked to this guy. When I started going by a shortened version of my middle name, which is Billy as well, the girls were much more easy ... to come by ... yes, much more easy to come by. It was kind of like a social experiment. If I introduced myself as Floyd, I was received a certain way. If I introduced myself as Billy, it went much better. But ... I'm not the only one. My name-related woes were short-lived and not really that bad. But let's take a look at some others:
Dick Trickle ... Race car driver.
Parker Schnovel ... Gold Prospector.
Coco Crisp ... Baseball player.
Dick Pole ... No kidding. He played for the Red Sox.
Matt Schmuck ... He was in my study hall, freshman year.
Fair Hooker ... Player for the Cleveland Browns.
Ben Dover
Harry Butts
Richard Head (Dick for short)
Rusty Ford
Penny Nickles
The list just seems to go on and on. What were the parents of these people thinking when they named them? Talk about cruelty to children! Imagine roll call each morning in the sixth grade for Mike Hunt. Imagine what third grade was like for Jeff Artz.
Anyway ... I'm keeping this one short.
PLEASE ad to the list of screwed up names if you know of any. And if you are an expectant parent, read the list and think hard before naming your new addition to the family!
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Monday, December 19, 2011
Cry Freedom
Yesterday, the last of the American troops left Iraq. Coincidentally, the "Beloved" dictator of North Korea died in his sleep about the same time of a massive heart attack. Seems the proverbial dogs of war, or at least their scent, is around us in some form all of the time. The opinions on war and violence in general are vast and varied. Over the past nine years I have heard any number of said opinions on our country's involvement in conflicts around the globe, brought on mostly by our involvement in the whole Iraq business. But one in particular stuck with me. In fact, it stuck in my craw:
Some time ago, I found myself in a quaint coffee shop in a college town. I sat at my booth and worked on my latest novel, "Dark Gardener" while sipping away on a frozen, coffee drink. My hair wasn't nearly as long as it is now, but I guess I still had the stereotypical appearance of an intellectual. Enough so to attract the attention of a John Lennon-esk man in his early twenties. He came over, asked if he could sit and, after being given the requested permission via me nodding to the affirmative, did so. A conversation slowly grew between us. First weather. Then the book I was working on. Then politics ... Which led to personal ideology. That's where things took a turn for the worse.
"War is just wrong, man. I mean ... Violence just brings on more violence. It's like ... a vicious cycle, man. Me ... I'm a pacifist. Never been in a fist fight. Never had to. There's always a way to resolve things without violence man ... You know what I mean?"
Guess which one of us said that.
If you guessed me ... I'm sorry. That was the incorrect answer. Game over. But we have some lovely parting gifts for you. Roddy! ... Tell him what he's going home with!
No ... It was, in fact, the frail little chuckle-monkey across the table from me. His hands were slight and fragile. His brow was smooth and free of furrow. He wore one of those silly bracelets, woven from hemp with beads in the mix. The urge to smack the shit out of him crept closer to the surface of my calm exterior with each word he spoke. You get the picture.
But ... I let him finish. He regurgitated some philosophical crap he'd read and tried his best to sound like an authority on the issue ... As if to educate me on the finer points of the subject. It was measured ... practiced. I imagined he'd coughed up the same schpeal any number of times to the delight of doe-eyed schoolgirls and adoring throngs of stoned buddies. And just when he was about to slip into his closing statement ... I gave him "the look" ... The same look I'd given many a dipshit just prior to letting them have it. At first he looked confused as he fell silent. Then I think a twinge of fear might have hit him ... You know ... That feeling you get when you realize you leaned too far back in a chair and you have to catch yourself. That being the desired result, I let fly:
"Let me tell you something about war. Let me tell you something about violence. The only reason you have the freedom to sit here in this place and prattle on about this shit, is because someone, somewhere, kicked the shit out of someone, to buy you that freedom. The only reason this is America, is because someone was willing to kick some else's ass to purchase our freedom to become our own country. The only reason this is still America is because countless men and women went out and kicked people's asses who would have otherwise taken away your freedom and mine and that of everyone else who lives here. The only reason some scumbag doesn't walk in your house and take your belongings and impose their will on you and anyone else who lives there, is because they don't want to get their ass kicked, either by you or the police or some monster named Bubba in the prison they'll end up in if they get caught. The very fact that you are able to live your life as a pacifist is thanks to ass-kicking in some way, shape or form, performed by someone, somewhere, at some time in the past, to enforce the rules that protect your freedom. Hell ... I don't even think they should call it freedom. It comes at such a high price, they should come up with a more fitting name for it ..." There was more. But you get the point. I railed on him for a good three minutes straight.
At that point, I stopped speaking long enough to realize the frail, little man across the table, was on the verge of tears. He looked as though he'd have much rather been under the table ... perhaps curled into the fetal position in a puddle of his own urine ... He said nothing. He just stared at me in disbelief. It occurred to me to give him another piece of my mind. But, being a father and knowing the ignorance of youth, I relented. I simply snatched up my frozen drink and left him there, speechless.
In the parking lot, pity set in for a moment. I thought perhaps I'd been too harsh. After all, he was a pacifist and my tone had more than likely given him cause to fear I might visit violence upon him. With me being easily twice his size, I could only imagine his horror at the thought of the outcome of a physical confrontation with me. I hate bullies and in that moment, I felt like one.
But then ... I thought of my grandfather who'd been an Army sniper in WW2 then come home with a twisted mind and murdered my grandmother and then taken his own life. That was the price he paid for our collective freedom ... My cousin Jay who'd done a few tours in Vietnam and later died from the ravages of Agent Orange exposure ... My uncles and friends who'd done their respective time in foxholes and rice paddies and deserts ... And how afraid they must have been, knowing the potential price of their defense of my freedom and that of every American. And with that, my desire to apologize ... My concern for the fear I might have instilled in that little man ... subsided and gave way to indifference to his plight.
I thought, in short ... 'Fuck him'.
There are far too many people out there in other countries who go to bed every night, cowering in fear from the things they endured through the day for lack of freedom. I imagine they pray for someone to kick someone's ass on their behalf. Fear is a horrible thing. It strips people of their ability to suppose themselves anything more than animals at the mercy of their government or enemies or foreign aggression ... Freedom, bought with the currency of violence ... blood and sacrifice is the only thing that allows people to live without fear. George Orwell once said, "People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." A simple phrase that says so much.
Well ... Enough from me. Let me know how you feel on the subject.
And, as usual:
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Some time ago, I found myself in a quaint coffee shop in a college town. I sat at my booth and worked on my latest novel, "Dark Gardener" while sipping away on a frozen, coffee drink. My hair wasn't nearly as long as it is now, but I guess I still had the stereotypical appearance of an intellectual. Enough so to attract the attention of a John Lennon-esk man in his early twenties. He came over, asked if he could sit and, after being given the requested permission via me nodding to the affirmative, did so. A conversation slowly grew between us. First weather. Then the book I was working on. Then politics ... Which led to personal ideology. That's where things took a turn for the worse.
"War is just wrong, man. I mean ... Violence just brings on more violence. It's like ... a vicious cycle, man. Me ... I'm a pacifist. Never been in a fist fight. Never had to. There's always a way to resolve things without violence man ... You know what I mean?"
Guess which one of us said that.
If you guessed me ... I'm sorry. That was the incorrect answer. Game over. But we have some lovely parting gifts for you. Roddy! ... Tell him what he's going home with!
No ... It was, in fact, the frail little chuckle-monkey across the table from me. His hands were slight and fragile. His brow was smooth and free of furrow. He wore one of those silly bracelets, woven from hemp with beads in the mix. The urge to smack the shit out of him crept closer to the surface of my calm exterior with each word he spoke. You get the picture.
But ... I let him finish. He regurgitated some philosophical crap he'd read and tried his best to sound like an authority on the issue ... As if to educate me on the finer points of the subject. It was measured ... practiced. I imagined he'd coughed up the same schpeal any number of times to the delight of doe-eyed schoolgirls and adoring throngs of stoned buddies. And just when he was about to slip into his closing statement ... I gave him "the look" ... The same look I'd given many a dipshit just prior to letting them have it. At first he looked confused as he fell silent. Then I think a twinge of fear might have hit him ... You know ... That feeling you get when you realize you leaned too far back in a chair and you have to catch yourself. That being the desired result, I let fly:
"Let me tell you something about war. Let me tell you something about violence. The only reason you have the freedom to sit here in this place and prattle on about this shit, is because someone, somewhere, kicked the shit out of someone, to buy you that freedom. The only reason this is America, is because someone was willing to kick some else's ass to purchase our freedom to become our own country. The only reason this is still America is because countless men and women went out and kicked people's asses who would have otherwise taken away your freedom and mine and that of everyone else who lives here. The only reason some scumbag doesn't walk in your house and take your belongings and impose their will on you and anyone else who lives there, is because they don't want to get their ass kicked, either by you or the police or some monster named Bubba in the prison they'll end up in if they get caught. The very fact that you are able to live your life as a pacifist is thanks to ass-kicking in some way, shape or form, performed by someone, somewhere, at some time in the past, to enforce the rules that protect your freedom. Hell ... I don't even think they should call it freedom. It comes at such a high price, they should come up with a more fitting name for it ..." There was more. But you get the point. I railed on him for a good three minutes straight.
At that point, I stopped speaking long enough to realize the frail, little man across the table, was on the verge of tears. He looked as though he'd have much rather been under the table ... perhaps curled into the fetal position in a puddle of his own urine ... He said nothing. He just stared at me in disbelief. It occurred to me to give him another piece of my mind. But, being a father and knowing the ignorance of youth, I relented. I simply snatched up my frozen drink and left him there, speechless.
In the parking lot, pity set in for a moment. I thought perhaps I'd been too harsh. After all, he was a pacifist and my tone had more than likely given him cause to fear I might visit violence upon him. With me being easily twice his size, I could only imagine his horror at the thought of the outcome of a physical confrontation with me. I hate bullies and in that moment, I felt like one.
But then ... I thought of my grandfather who'd been an Army sniper in WW2 then come home with a twisted mind and murdered my grandmother and then taken his own life. That was the price he paid for our collective freedom ... My cousin Jay who'd done a few tours in Vietnam and later died from the ravages of Agent Orange exposure ... My uncles and friends who'd done their respective time in foxholes and rice paddies and deserts ... And how afraid they must have been, knowing the potential price of their defense of my freedom and that of every American. And with that, my desire to apologize ... My concern for the fear I might have instilled in that little man ... subsided and gave way to indifference to his plight.
I thought, in short ... 'Fuck him'.
There are far too many people out there in other countries who go to bed every night, cowering in fear from the things they endured through the day for lack of freedom. I imagine they pray for someone to kick someone's ass on their behalf. Fear is a horrible thing. It strips people of their ability to suppose themselves anything more than animals at the mercy of their government or enemies or foreign aggression ... Freedom, bought with the currency of violence ... blood and sacrifice is the only thing that allows people to live without fear. George Orwell once said, "People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." A simple phrase that says so much.
Well ... Enough from me. Let me know how you feel on the subject.
And, as usual:
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Welfare in America
I was forwarded this rant in an email from a friend and I thought it needed more exposure. So I'm borrowing it and including it here. While some may find some of the things this young woman writes harsh, I believe they have merit:
Now ... Don't get me wrong. The welfare system has an important purpose in our country. It is there to help those who need a hand up ... Not a hand out. People can use the system to get the things they need to survive while they work to improve their respective lot. Success is out there. Anyone can have it. But it requires hard work and sacrifice. If welfare were strictly utilized for that purpose (with the obvious exception of those who genuinely CAN'T work due to disability etc.) it would be a far more respectable proposition. But when it is viewed as a lifestyle and those using it consider it a life-long situation, the mark has been sorely missed.
Anyway ...
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
"The problems we face today are
there because the people who work
For a living are outnumbered by those
Who vote for a living"
This was written by a 21 yr old female who gets it. It's her future she’s worried about and this is how she feels about the social welfare big government state that she’s being forced to live in! These solutions are just common sense in her opinion.
__,_._,___
|
Now ... Don't get me wrong. The welfare system has an important purpose in our country. It is there to help those who need a hand up ... Not a hand out. People can use the system to get the things they need to survive while they work to improve their respective lot. Success is out there. Anyone can have it. But it requires hard work and sacrifice. If welfare were strictly utilized for that purpose (with the obvious exception of those who genuinely CAN'T work due to disability etc.) it would be a far more respectable proposition. But when it is viewed as a lifestyle and those using it consider it a life-long situation, the mark has been sorely missed.
Anyway ...
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Friday, December 9, 2011
Is There Anybody Out There?
No ... I'm not quoting a Pink Floyd song. It's all about the Aliens this go 'round. Recently there was a video posted on the web that appears to show a "cloaked" alien spacecraft, hiding in orbit behind the planet Mercury. A solar flash or something like that shoots out from the Sun and illuminates this thing. It's friggen HUGE. It remains stationary as the energy blast pours over it, exposing it to the view of a military satellite camera. I watched it several times and it is quite convincing. But in an age where computers can do pretty much anything to digital film footage, it's hard to put much stock in anything we see via video.
But, let's take a look at this from a purely scientific slant. What are the odds, out of all of the billions of trillions of stars out there and all the gazillions of planets ... What are the odds that Earth is the only planet with intelligent life on it? The odds are crap compared to the pure statistical probability that we are NOT the only ones. Even if you put God into the formula ... Why would He create the entire Universe and decide to only put life on our tiny, little spec of a planet? If this is the only place where anything like that is going on, what the heck is all that other stuff out there for?
Granted ... It is a psychological tendency of humans in general, to confine their thoughts to the environment in which we live. Thinking outside that is something we have to stretch our minds to do. We also have a psychological predisposition to think of ourselves as special ... Like the Universe was built around US ... Like we are the only ones. But in order to truly examine the probability of other-worldly life, we need to put those limitations aside for a bit. Yup ... There isn't any obvious mention of other planets being populated in the Bible. There is no mention of computers either ... or race cars ... or fruit rollups ... or Red Bull ... The Bible was written a very long time ago. The things in it are things that were known to mankind at that time. The world was flat. Stars were pinholes, punched in the curtain of night. Volcanoes had angry demons living in them. If we are to assume God gave us the Bible, we also have to assume He only gave us what we could handle at the time. Telling us about outer space and nuclear fission would have been a waste of time back then. I'm obviously not trying to say I KNOW any of this. I'm just running down a chain of logic.
So ... What if there ARE aliens? Who's to say they are even slightly interested in us? Who's to say they live close enough to visit? Believing there is intelligent life elsewhere does not predicate belief in alien visitors to our planet. But let's say they ARE interested in us ... and they DO live close enough to visit ... One might ask, "Then why haven't they landed on the White House lawn and asked to be taken to our proverbial leader?" Well ... If you flew to Italy for a vacation, would you jump off the plane and ask to be taken to their leader? I know I wouldn't. I'd just go around looking at stuff and enjoying my visit. We assume that any alien visitors are either from their military or their scientific community when in all likelihood, they could well be tourists! I mean ... They always seem to interact with common folk ... They seem to like abducting people who are out in the middle of nowhere (They probably think they are hitchhikers), they have a penchant for cows and landmarks ... They sound like tourists to me.
Anyway ... I've prattled on long enough. Depending on what kind of comments I get on this post, I might write more later.
In the meantime:
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
But, let's take a look at this from a purely scientific slant. What are the odds, out of all of the billions of trillions of stars out there and all the gazillions of planets ... What are the odds that Earth is the only planet with intelligent life on it? The odds are crap compared to the pure statistical probability that we are NOT the only ones. Even if you put God into the formula ... Why would He create the entire Universe and decide to only put life on our tiny, little spec of a planet? If this is the only place where anything like that is going on, what the heck is all that other stuff out there for?
Granted ... It is a psychological tendency of humans in general, to confine their thoughts to the environment in which we live. Thinking outside that is something we have to stretch our minds to do. We also have a psychological predisposition to think of ourselves as special ... Like the Universe was built around US ... Like we are the only ones. But in order to truly examine the probability of other-worldly life, we need to put those limitations aside for a bit. Yup ... There isn't any obvious mention of other planets being populated in the Bible. There is no mention of computers either ... or race cars ... or fruit rollups ... or Red Bull ... The Bible was written a very long time ago. The things in it are things that were known to mankind at that time. The world was flat. Stars were pinholes, punched in the curtain of night. Volcanoes had angry demons living in them. If we are to assume God gave us the Bible, we also have to assume He only gave us what we could handle at the time. Telling us about outer space and nuclear fission would have been a waste of time back then. I'm obviously not trying to say I KNOW any of this. I'm just running down a chain of logic.
So ... What if there ARE aliens? Who's to say they are even slightly interested in us? Who's to say they live close enough to visit? Believing there is intelligent life elsewhere does not predicate belief in alien visitors to our planet. But let's say they ARE interested in us ... and they DO live close enough to visit ... One might ask, "Then why haven't they landed on the White House lawn and asked to be taken to our proverbial leader?" Well ... If you flew to Italy for a vacation, would you jump off the plane and ask to be taken to their leader? I know I wouldn't. I'd just go around looking at stuff and enjoying my visit. We assume that any alien visitors are either from their military or their scientific community when in all likelihood, they could well be tourists! I mean ... They always seem to interact with common folk ... They seem to like abducting people who are out in the middle of nowhere (They probably think they are hitchhikers), they have a penchant for cows and landmarks ... They sound like tourists to me.
Anyway ... I've prattled on long enough. Depending on what kind of comments I get on this post, I might write more later.
In the meantime:
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Monday, December 5, 2011
Oh Christmas Tree
So ... Yesterday was Sunday, December 4th. I needed to pick up a few things in town, so off to Riverhead I went. Traffic on the way there was normal for a Sunday. A bit congested, but nothing out of the ordinary. I bought groceries and a few necessary odds and ends. Then ... The drive home ...
I live in Cutchogue, New York. To get from Riverhead to Cutchogue, one must drive through an area that is peppered with vineyards, wineries, farm stands and ... wait for it ... Christmas Trees Farms! The area is peaceful ... serene ... People are courteous. They drive on their side of the road. They slow down and allow others to enter traffic. They go when the light turns green. They stop when it turns red. They drive somewhere near the speed limit. The yards are large and well kept. It is a lovely place to live. BUT ...
As I drove, it became obvious to Kat and I (Kat is my fiance') that the Christmas Tree crowd had once again descended upon our little slice of paradise. The roof of every third vehicle or so had at least one Christmas tree strapped to it. People were swerving and crossing the center line that separates east and west-bound traffic. People were cutting each other off. When stop lights turned green, it seemed that whoever was at the front of the line of cars had better things to do than press the accelerator. Cars from the crossing thoroughfares ran red lights and practically dared each other to hit one another. It was the invasion of the Citiots! (Pronounced sittiots. The word is a hybridization of city dwellers and idiots. We on the East End use it to describe those who venture here from New York City)
Now ... Don't get me wrong. There are many businesses in our neck of the woods that derive a great deal of their business from Citiots. It's amazing what they will pay for a home baked apple pie ($16) or a bottle of locally produced wine ($36) or farm fresh produce. They show up and gobble the stuff up. They'll pay $12 for a pint of raspberries at a farm stand when they could go to the local grocery store and buy the same raspberries, grown in the same field, for $3. It's amazing. All Summer, it's the farm stands. In Fall it's pumpkin pickers and people buying decorative corn stalks. And now, in December, it's the Christmas Tree crowd. They bring much needed revenue to our area. Unfortunately, that's not all they bring. They bring the driving habits of the New York City sect. It makes life for those of us who just want to get home from work or run errands, absolute hell. I've had to sit in stop and go traffic down stretches of road that are normally free flowing traffic. I've spent two hours making a drive home from work that normally takes 45 minutes. I've had people bring their vehicle to a dead stop in the middle of the road while they point out a really cool looking house to their passengers. I've been stuck behind people doing 31 miles an hour in a 55 mile an hour zone for miles. They act more like they are driving through a friggen safari park than a neighborhood. It is down right maddening.
Sooooo ... Just in case any Citiots are reading this, here's something of a plea from those of us who fall victim to your visits to our little slice: While you're out here, take a look around. Try to remember that you are no longer in the Big Apple. There is no hustle. There is no bustle. If you see something cool, pull the hell over and THEN take some time to look at it. USE YOUR FRIGGEN GPS. If you don't have one, BUY one. PLAN out your trip a little before you leave home. Use your turn signal. Drive somewhere NEAR the speed limit. Be courteous to your fellow motorist. If you see a farm stand up ahead that you want to visit, start slowing down BEFORE you decide to turn in. Slamming on your breaks in a 50 mile an hour zone and making a break-neck turn is a bad idea. Enjoy yourself, but try not to do so by pissing off EVERYONE else you get near.
Okay ... Sorry ... Had to get that off my chest.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
I live in Cutchogue, New York. To get from Riverhead to Cutchogue, one must drive through an area that is peppered with vineyards, wineries, farm stands and ... wait for it ... Christmas Trees Farms! The area is peaceful ... serene ... People are courteous. They drive on their side of the road. They slow down and allow others to enter traffic. They go when the light turns green. They stop when it turns red. They drive somewhere near the speed limit. The yards are large and well kept. It is a lovely place to live. BUT ...
As I drove, it became obvious to Kat and I (Kat is my fiance') that the Christmas Tree crowd had once again descended upon our little slice of paradise. The roof of every third vehicle or so had at least one Christmas tree strapped to it. People were swerving and crossing the center line that separates east and west-bound traffic. People were cutting each other off. When stop lights turned green, it seemed that whoever was at the front of the line of cars had better things to do than press the accelerator. Cars from the crossing thoroughfares ran red lights and practically dared each other to hit one another. It was the invasion of the Citiots! (Pronounced sittiots. The word is a hybridization of city dwellers and idiots. We on the East End use it to describe those who venture here from New York City)
Now ... Don't get me wrong. There are many businesses in our neck of the woods that derive a great deal of their business from Citiots. It's amazing what they will pay for a home baked apple pie ($16) or a bottle of locally produced wine ($36) or farm fresh produce. They show up and gobble the stuff up. They'll pay $12 for a pint of raspberries at a farm stand when they could go to the local grocery store and buy the same raspberries, grown in the same field, for $3. It's amazing. All Summer, it's the farm stands. In Fall it's pumpkin pickers and people buying decorative corn stalks. And now, in December, it's the Christmas Tree crowd. They bring much needed revenue to our area. Unfortunately, that's not all they bring. They bring the driving habits of the New York City sect. It makes life for those of us who just want to get home from work or run errands, absolute hell. I've had to sit in stop and go traffic down stretches of road that are normally free flowing traffic. I've spent two hours making a drive home from work that normally takes 45 minutes. I've had people bring their vehicle to a dead stop in the middle of the road while they point out a really cool looking house to their passengers. I've been stuck behind people doing 31 miles an hour in a 55 mile an hour zone for miles. They act more like they are driving through a friggen safari park than a neighborhood. It is down right maddening.
Sooooo ... Just in case any Citiots are reading this, here's something of a plea from those of us who fall victim to your visits to our little slice: While you're out here, take a look around. Try to remember that you are no longer in the Big Apple. There is no hustle. There is no bustle. If you see something cool, pull the hell over and THEN take some time to look at it. USE YOUR FRIGGEN GPS. If you don't have one, BUY one. PLAN out your trip a little before you leave home. Use your turn signal. Drive somewhere NEAR the speed limit. Be courteous to your fellow motorist. If you see a farm stand up ahead that you want to visit, start slowing down BEFORE you decide to turn in. Slamming on your breaks in a 50 mile an hour zone and making a break-neck turn is a bad idea. Enjoy yourself, but try not to do so by pissing off EVERYONE else you get near.
Okay ... Sorry ... Had to get that off my chest.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Technology In My Lifetime
When I was in high school, I remember the computer geeks and how they had this secret room off the main hall where they made up punch cards and studied COBOL and FORTRAN ... The computer in that room was the size of a Buick. There were all kinds of tape reels and electrical panels. Multi-colored electrical spaghetti ran through trays from this box to that ... It looked amazing. It was top of the line.
Now ... I have a cell phone that has more than a thousand times the computing capacity of that thing. I carry around a dual core 1 gig processor with 16 gigs of memory ... in my pocket! I can stand in a corn field and call someone in Guam if the mood strikes me. I can log onto the Internet, check my email and then text my BFF in an instant. When I was in high school, the only guy with anything close to that was Captain James T. Kirk! What's next?!
I remember how odd it seemed to me that my grandmother was so thrilled when an airliner flew over her house. She'd stand on the patio and stare, marvelling at the thing. I'm beginning to know what she was going through.
There's a tiny box in my truck that TALKS TO ME and gives me directions to wherever I want to go. It even warns me of traffic jams and proposes an alternate route. If I make a wrong turn or miss an exit, it recalculates my route and gets me back on the right track. My DVR records my favorite TV shows when I'm not home, then plays them back for me, without the commercials if I tell it to. My watch sets its self by communicating with a satellite in Colorado ... I live in New York. The doors at my lab sense when I am near and unlock themselves so I can walk through without turning the door knob. I CAN SHOOT A MOVIE WITH MY PHONE!!!!!
So ... I'll be 46 years old soon. Odds are, I'll live another 40. What will I see in that time? Things that were science fiction in my youth can be bought at Walmart.
I am amazed and excited to see what will come around the bend next.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Now ... I have a cell phone that has more than a thousand times the computing capacity of that thing. I carry around a dual core 1 gig processor with 16 gigs of memory ... in my pocket! I can stand in a corn field and call someone in Guam if the mood strikes me. I can log onto the Internet, check my email and then text my BFF in an instant. When I was in high school, the only guy with anything close to that was Captain James T. Kirk! What's next?!
I remember how odd it seemed to me that my grandmother was so thrilled when an airliner flew over her house. She'd stand on the patio and stare, marvelling at the thing. I'm beginning to know what she was going through.
There's a tiny box in my truck that TALKS TO ME and gives me directions to wherever I want to go. It even warns me of traffic jams and proposes an alternate route. If I make a wrong turn or miss an exit, it recalculates my route and gets me back on the right track. My DVR records my favorite TV shows when I'm not home, then plays them back for me, without the commercials if I tell it to. My watch sets its self by communicating with a satellite in Colorado ... I live in New York. The doors at my lab sense when I am near and unlock themselves so I can walk through without turning the door knob. I CAN SHOOT A MOVIE WITH MY PHONE!!!!!
So ... I'll be 46 years old soon. Odds are, I'll live another 40. What will I see in that time? Things that were science fiction in my youth can be bought at Walmart.
I am amazed and excited to see what will come around the bend next.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Monday, November 28, 2011
How To Post Your Own Rant On This Blog
Hi All. I've had many requests for readers to post their own rants etc. on this blog. It too a littlel time, but I have the process nailed down finally. You have to give me your email at flanigan.billy@yahoo.com Then I have to ad your email to the list of "Authors" authorized to post on the blog. You will then get an email for confirmation from blogspot, if I'm not mistaken, and that will give you authorization to post to your heart's content. Once this is done, please don't rake me over the coals too badly with your posts. They have content rules etc. and I don;t want to get into trouble with them. They've been good enough to give me this opportunity to get this thing up and going and I don't want to give them a reason to stop supporting this forum. I believe it has real value.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Pro Athletes On Strike?
Remember about a week ago, how people who were fed up with the most wealthy 1%? The whole "Occupy" movement? It seems to have lost a lot of steam in my neck of the woods. Not sure how it's doing over the rest of the USA. But, did we forget about one demographic that makes up that top 1% of the wealthy?
I'm not going to name names. I'm not going to post salary figures. But most of us know what kind of money these folks make ... to play a game.
BUT ... Professional athletes are heroes ... They aren't thought of as the evil rich as are bank CEO's and Stock Brokers. And arguably, they deserve the compensation the receive in many cases. But when someone is paying you 10 million dollars a season to play a game, and you go on strike because you want MORE money, that sticks in my craw. I grew up playing sports ... Basketball, Football, Wrestling and Kickboxing were my favorites to participate in ... And I was given in return the fitness that comes from years of participation, a great sense of sportsmanship and fair play, teammates who became friends for life and a few scars and war stories. I was never good enough to go pro. Most aren't. The few who are, however, need to remember that they are being paid to play a game they obviously loved enough to become really good at and eventually go pro at.
Key words ... game ... loved ... Before it became a job.
When I was a kid, I could get a box seat behind the home dugout at a Cubs game for $8.
And I doubt ANYONE in the Cubs Organization made 1 million dollars a year, let alone 10.
And Mike Jordan was in grade school.
And a whole family could go to a football game together on a Sunday afternoon without taking out a second mortgage on the house.
And the only guys who punched each other were the Hockey players.
And your heroes didn't get arrested on gun charges or rape charges or drug charges.
Basketball stars told kids to drink milk, not where they could get cool sneakers.
Sports Stars were looked to as pillars of good sportsmanship and community leaders.
You guys were heroes ... not rock stars.
But now ...
Look ... I'm not trying to paint with such a broad brush that I malign players who still believe in the game. I applaud them. They are that which I believe all the rest should aspire to become.
I don't know for sure who is to blame. Greedy Owners? Greedy Agents? Greedy Players? Greed in general?
Again ... I don't know. But I do know the vast majority of professional athletes make more than enough already. Going on strike just detracts from everything they are supposed to represent.
'Nuff said.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
I'm not going to name names. I'm not going to post salary figures. But most of us know what kind of money these folks make ... to play a game.
BUT ... Professional athletes are heroes ... They aren't thought of as the evil rich as are bank CEO's and Stock Brokers. And arguably, they deserve the compensation the receive in many cases. But when someone is paying you 10 million dollars a season to play a game, and you go on strike because you want MORE money, that sticks in my craw. I grew up playing sports ... Basketball, Football, Wrestling and Kickboxing were my favorites to participate in ... And I was given in return the fitness that comes from years of participation, a great sense of sportsmanship and fair play, teammates who became friends for life and a few scars and war stories. I was never good enough to go pro. Most aren't. The few who are, however, need to remember that they are being paid to play a game they obviously loved enough to become really good at and eventually go pro at.
Key words ... game ... loved ... Before it became a job.
When I was a kid, I could get a box seat behind the home dugout at a Cubs game for $8.
And I doubt ANYONE in the Cubs Organization made 1 million dollars a year, let alone 10.
And Mike Jordan was in grade school.
And a whole family could go to a football game together on a Sunday afternoon without taking out a second mortgage on the house.
And the only guys who punched each other were the Hockey players.
And your heroes didn't get arrested on gun charges or rape charges or drug charges.
Basketball stars told kids to drink milk, not where they could get cool sneakers.
Sports Stars were looked to as pillars of good sportsmanship and community leaders.
You guys were heroes ... not rock stars.
But now ...
Look ... I'm not trying to paint with such a broad brush that I malign players who still believe in the game. I applaud them. They are that which I believe all the rest should aspire to become.
I don't know for sure who is to blame. Greedy Owners? Greedy Agents? Greedy Players? Greed in general?
Again ... I don't know. But I do know the vast majority of professional athletes make more than enough already. Going on strike just detracts from everything they are supposed to represent.
'Nuff said.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Friday, November 25, 2011
Human Trials/Using human subjects for testing drugs/products etc.
Okay ... PETA ... ACLU ... and any number of other organizations, whose job it is to protect animals and humans from ... humans I guess ... This one's for you.
FIRST ... PETA. Okay guys. I get it. Don't be cruel to animals. But ... This crap of throwing blood/red paint on people wearing fur has to stop. You are destroying someone's personal property to make your point. That's illegal. I don't own a fur coat, but I assure you, if I did, and you threw paint on it, you'd have a serious ass-kicking coming. I would more than likely strip those leather Nike's from your feet and beat the shit out of you with them. You think the millions of cows who die annually so you can wear leather shoes, leather belts and leather gloves, committed suicide? They came from the same slaughterhouse that produced the meat for that friggen Big Mac you had for lunch yesterday. And that goose down comforter on your bed ... You can pretty much count on the fact that the goose involved in its production was not a volunteer, nor did it survive the production process. I don't know what the statistics are on what percentage of Americans are vegetarians. Frankly, I don't care enough to spend my time looking that up. But I can tell you this much ... They are not the majority. This is made evident by the plethora of businesses in our country who sell animal based products and do very well ... McDonald's ... Wilson's Leather ... Nike ... Wendy's ... Burger King ... Ashley Furniture ... Burgers, shoes, jackets, leather sofas ... The list is endless. You guys wanna protect animals from chemical testing etc.? To an extent, you have a point. Animals don't get a choice. BUT ... You tell me ... and be honest ... If you had a three-year-old son, dying from a horrible affliction, and the doctors said the only way to save his life and the lives of thousands of children just like him, was to hit a million Koala Bears in the head with an aluminum bat ... Would you or would you not turn into the world's greatest Bat-Whacker of Koalas? If I was in that position, there wouldn't be a safe place on the planet for a Koala to hide.
But ... If we did away with animal testing ... Okay ... Time to pick on the people against HUMAN testing....
There are people out there ... Grown ass people who are over 18, who WANT to be test subjects for anything and everything from makeup to experimental surgery to new drugs ... especially new drugs ... And you won't LET THEM?! Some of these people simply want to do their part. Some just want a chance at a cure for some affliction they have. Some are desperate for money. In all cases, I say LET THEM. Nothing wrong with people wanting to do their part. 'nuff said on that one. Experimental treatment on diseases, especially for those who have the disease and are up for anything that has a chance at improving their lot ... No brainer. It's their life and possibly the only chance they have of living disease free or in some cases live at all. For those desperate for money ... If they are willing to let you hook them up to a car battery in the name of science for a few bucks, what ELSE do you think they would do for money? ... Rob a bank? Mug you? Deal drugs? Sooooo ... Medical trials on these people might be just the thing that keeps them from resorting to a life of crime.
Okay ... Enough for now.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
FIRST ... PETA. Okay guys. I get it. Don't be cruel to animals. But ... This crap of throwing blood/red paint on people wearing fur has to stop. You are destroying someone's personal property to make your point. That's illegal. I don't own a fur coat, but I assure you, if I did, and you threw paint on it, you'd have a serious ass-kicking coming. I would more than likely strip those leather Nike's from your feet and beat the shit out of you with them. You think the millions of cows who die annually so you can wear leather shoes, leather belts and leather gloves, committed suicide? They came from the same slaughterhouse that produced the meat for that friggen Big Mac you had for lunch yesterday. And that goose down comforter on your bed ... You can pretty much count on the fact that the goose involved in its production was not a volunteer, nor did it survive the production process. I don't know what the statistics are on what percentage of Americans are vegetarians. Frankly, I don't care enough to spend my time looking that up. But I can tell you this much ... They are not the majority. This is made evident by the plethora of businesses in our country who sell animal based products and do very well ... McDonald's ... Wilson's Leather ... Nike ... Wendy's ... Burger King ... Ashley Furniture ... Burgers, shoes, jackets, leather sofas ... The list is endless. You guys wanna protect animals from chemical testing etc.? To an extent, you have a point. Animals don't get a choice. BUT ... You tell me ... and be honest ... If you had a three-year-old son, dying from a horrible affliction, and the doctors said the only way to save his life and the lives of thousands of children just like him, was to hit a million Koala Bears in the head with an aluminum bat ... Would you or would you not turn into the world's greatest Bat-Whacker of Koalas? If I was in that position, there wouldn't be a safe place on the planet for a Koala to hide.
But ... If we did away with animal testing ... Okay ... Time to pick on the people against HUMAN testing....
There are people out there ... Grown ass people who are over 18, who WANT to be test subjects for anything and everything from makeup to experimental surgery to new drugs ... especially new drugs ... And you won't LET THEM?! Some of these people simply want to do their part. Some just want a chance at a cure for some affliction they have. Some are desperate for money. In all cases, I say LET THEM. Nothing wrong with people wanting to do their part. 'nuff said on that one. Experimental treatment on diseases, especially for those who have the disease and are up for anything that has a chance at improving their lot ... No brainer. It's their life and possibly the only chance they have of living disease free or in some cases live at all. For those desperate for money ... If they are willing to let you hook them up to a car battery in the name of science for a few bucks, what ELSE do you think they would do for money? ... Rob a bank? Mug you? Deal drugs? Sooooo ... Medical trials on these people might be just the thing that keeps them from resorting to a life of crime.
Okay ... Enough for now.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Happy Thanksgiving!!!
Well ... Here it is folks. The last Thursday in November. And we all know what that means ... Turkey ... Football ... Family ... Pumpkin Pie ... Incredible food in grand helpings, heaped on every plate. It is one of my favorite holidays for so many reasons.
How many of you remember what they told us about Thanksgiving when we were children in school?
I was told that the Pilgrims invited the Indians to their village to celebrate the bounty of the season and to make friends. As we all grew up, we learned differently. The beginnings of this holiday are not so nice. But I am going to forego that rant for a time more appropriate. For now, let us just observe the holiday for what its name suggests ... All of the things and people and events etc. that we have to be grateful for. Look around you and know that in some way, you are fortunate.
For those who logged into my blog today looking forward to the usual ranting ... I apologize. I promise to be twice the smartass tomorrow to make up for it.
Again ... Happy Thanksgiving!
And ... Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
How many of you remember what they told us about Thanksgiving when we were children in school?
I was told that the Pilgrims invited the Indians to their village to celebrate the bounty of the season and to make friends. As we all grew up, we learned differently. The beginnings of this holiday are not so nice. But I am going to forego that rant for a time more appropriate. For now, let us just observe the holiday for what its name suggests ... All of the things and people and events etc. that we have to be grateful for. Look around you and know that in some way, you are fortunate.
For those who logged into my blog today looking forward to the usual ranting ... I apologize. I promise to be twice the smartass tomorrow to make up for it.
Again ... Happy Thanksgiving!
And ... Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Penny Auctions
Not long ago, a new craze hit the Internet ...Penny Auctions. It came on the evening news ... "Can you really win an iPad for a penny? Yes ... You can. And we'll tell you how, right after this commercial ..."
So ... I watched the commercial like a good little consumer and then they told us all about the wonderful world of Penny Auctions. And within the next hour or so, I'd logged on, busted out the credit card and leapt into this new and wondrous world. I made the minimum investment ... about $15 if I remember correctly ... and I was on my way.
Now ... A while back, some people had me take a bunch of tests and they came away from it with the impression that my I.Q. was in the neighborhood of 174. I understand that is rather high. And, in the case of penny auctions, turns out, that comes in really handy. I started off with 25 bids. You buy bids, 25 for $15 in my case. Then you can use those bids to compete with other bidders to win ... more bids. Each time a new bid is placed, the price of the auction item (in this case a bid voucher for 100 bids) goes up 1 cent. So ... I decided to just watch the bidding and learn ... identify trends ... track the tendencies of the most active and successful bidders ... For two days I watched and learned. It was the weekend ... Sunday evening came after a Friday night and a good part of a rainy Saturday afternoon had been invested in gathering the data I needed. I actually built a spreadsheet to sort and interpret the data. I knew the average winning bid for any and all of the items I had an interest in acquiring along with who the bidders were who would rather lose their ass than lose an auction ... The mad dogs and the wimps ... push-overs and bullies ... bluffers and psychos ... I'd identified most of the major players and had their screen names on a list by category. And then ... I jumped in. And within a few hours, I'd accumulated about 500 bids worth of bid vouchers. I was kicking ass and taking names. I knew exactly when to swoop in on an auction ... when the bidders were just about ready to throw in the towel ... Which bidders would back off when bluffed ... etc....etc...etc.
The following evening I took my 500+ bids and went to war for some tangible goodies ... I got a set of walkie-talkies that worked over a 7 mile range, with a counter top charger and belt clips ... I got a color night vision monocular with carrying case and shoulder strap ... I got a Lenovo Mini Laptop Computer that converted into a friggen touch screen tablet PC! And just when I was ready to kick ass on an auction for this amazing digital camera ... I got a message saying I had reached my limit ... my winning limit ... I hadn't read the terms and conditions. Really ... Does anybody actually read those things? Anyway, they have a limit set for how much stuff any one bidder can win in a set period of time/days/weeks, etc. It pissed me off at first. I was on a ROLL after all. But, after a moment of thought, it made sense. It was ... fair. It was a way to limit the influence those more learned and experienced could have in the auctions. After a certain time, the big winners dropped off and the lesser bidders got a chance to win some stuff as well. It actually did a good job of leveling the playing field.
So there I was ... Lots of cool stuff in the mail being rushed to my front door ... I still had a few bids left in my bank and I'd still only invested $15. My experience with penny auctions had been remarkable ... awesome ... fun! And now that they had applied the figurative brakes on my race down the auction king highway, I had time to sit back and watch some more auctions ... Gather more data ...
A 25 bid voucher went for $1 ..... A 50 bid voucher went for $3 .... A 250 bid voucher went for $17!!!! Holy crap! How were these guys that ran the site making any money!?!?! Well ... Do the math. Each time the price of an item goes up a penny (All auctions start at a penny) that means someone expended a bid. A bid costs roughly 55 to 65 cents. Average=60 cents ... 0.6 dollars ... times 100=$60 ... for a 25 bid voucher. A 50 bid voucher for $3 translates to $180 worth of bids expended ... Follow the logic.
BUT ... I also saw ... in the wee hours of the morning ... 25 bid vouchers going for 8 cents. iPads going for two dollars and seventeen cents ... There are REAL opportunities to get incredible deals. But you have to do it the right way. The people who jump in too early on an auction will most likely run out of bids long before the auction ends, most of the time.
In the end, if you are a winner in penny auctions, you can win HUGE. If you don't know what you're doing, you can lose your ass and have nothing to show for it. I personally had an awesome experience. But I also bore witness to a ton of people being crushed and left by the wayside. Their experience was obviously not as enjoyable as mine.
My advice? Give it a try. But keep your initial investment in bid credits low until you know if you suck at it or not. Do your research. Be patient. Watch out for the bullies and psychos and mad dogs and most of all, do it for FUN. If you get a bunch of stuff, great. If not, chalk your $15 up as an entertainment expense and move on.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
So ... I watched the commercial like a good little consumer and then they told us all about the wonderful world of Penny Auctions. And within the next hour or so, I'd logged on, busted out the credit card and leapt into this new and wondrous world. I made the minimum investment ... about $15 if I remember correctly ... and I was on my way.
Now ... A while back, some people had me take a bunch of tests and they came away from it with the impression that my I.Q. was in the neighborhood of 174. I understand that is rather high. And, in the case of penny auctions, turns out, that comes in really handy. I started off with 25 bids. You buy bids, 25 for $15 in my case. Then you can use those bids to compete with other bidders to win ... more bids. Each time a new bid is placed, the price of the auction item (in this case a bid voucher for 100 bids) goes up 1 cent. So ... I decided to just watch the bidding and learn ... identify trends ... track the tendencies of the most active and successful bidders ... For two days I watched and learned. It was the weekend ... Sunday evening came after a Friday night and a good part of a rainy Saturday afternoon had been invested in gathering the data I needed. I actually built a spreadsheet to sort and interpret the data. I knew the average winning bid for any and all of the items I had an interest in acquiring along with who the bidders were who would rather lose their ass than lose an auction ... The mad dogs and the wimps ... push-overs and bullies ... bluffers and psychos ... I'd identified most of the major players and had their screen names on a list by category. And then ... I jumped in. And within a few hours, I'd accumulated about 500 bids worth of bid vouchers. I was kicking ass and taking names. I knew exactly when to swoop in on an auction ... when the bidders were just about ready to throw in the towel ... Which bidders would back off when bluffed ... etc....etc...etc.
The following evening I took my 500+ bids and went to war for some tangible goodies ... I got a set of walkie-talkies that worked over a 7 mile range, with a counter top charger and belt clips ... I got a color night vision monocular with carrying case and shoulder strap ... I got a Lenovo Mini Laptop Computer that converted into a friggen touch screen tablet PC! And just when I was ready to kick ass on an auction for this amazing digital camera ... I got a message saying I had reached my limit ... my winning limit ... I hadn't read the terms and conditions. Really ... Does anybody actually read those things? Anyway, they have a limit set for how much stuff any one bidder can win in a set period of time/days/weeks, etc. It pissed me off at first. I was on a ROLL after all. But, after a moment of thought, it made sense. It was ... fair. It was a way to limit the influence those more learned and experienced could have in the auctions. After a certain time, the big winners dropped off and the lesser bidders got a chance to win some stuff as well. It actually did a good job of leveling the playing field.
So there I was ... Lots of cool stuff in the mail being rushed to my front door ... I still had a few bids left in my bank and I'd still only invested $15. My experience with penny auctions had been remarkable ... awesome ... fun! And now that they had applied the figurative brakes on my race down the auction king highway, I had time to sit back and watch some more auctions ... Gather more data ...
A 25 bid voucher went for $1 ..... A 50 bid voucher went for $3 .... A 250 bid voucher went for $17!!!! Holy crap! How were these guys that ran the site making any money!?!?! Well ... Do the math. Each time the price of an item goes up a penny (All auctions start at a penny) that means someone expended a bid. A bid costs roughly 55 to 65 cents. Average=60 cents ... 0.6 dollars ... times 100=$60 ... for a 25 bid voucher. A 50 bid voucher for $3 translates to $180 worth of bids expended ... Follow the logic.
BUT ... I also saw ... in the wee hours of the morning ... 25 bid vouchers going for 8 cents. iPads going for two dollars and seventeen cents ... There are REAL opportunities to get incredible deals. But you have to do it the right way. The people who jump in too early on an auction will most likely run out of bids long before the auction ends, most of the time.
In the end, if you are a winner in penny auctions, you can win HUGE. If you don't know what you're doing, you can lose your ass and have nothing to show for it. I personally had an awesome experience. But I also bore witness to a ton of people being crushed and left by the wayside. Their experience was obviously not as enjoyable as mine.
My advice? Give it a try. But keep your initial investment in bid credits low until you know if you suck at it or not. Do your research. Be patient. Watch out for the bullies and psychos and mad dogs and most of all, do it for FUN. If you get a bunch of stuff, great. If not, chalk your $15 up as an entertainment expense and move on.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Immigration and the Bus Stop
This morning, as I drove to work, I got a healthy dose of humility at a bus stop, of all places ...
It was overcast and in the upper 40's as I walked from my 5 bedroom, 4 full bath, 5000 square foot home, to the truck to begin my commute to work. You might ask why I felt compelled to offer up so much information about where I live. Read on. It definitely has plenty to do with this. And keep in mind, I live there with my Fiance', Kat and a few pets ...
So ... As luck would have it, about 2 miles west of Riverhead, I found myself behind a school bus. You know the drill ... Stopping every few hundred yards and waiting while children board the bus and find their respective seats ... Slightly annoying but nothing new. THEN ... I see the yellow flashers on the bus turning to red as it stops in front of a house ... A small house ... Two bedroom tops ... Dirt driveway ... 6 vehicles parked in a very orderly fashion in a semi-circle near the front of the house ... and EIGHT children making their way quickly down the drive to board the bus ... EIGHT. They are obviously of Hispanic descent. Clean ... Modestly clothed ... Ball caps and little jackets ... Hair neatly combed ... Orderly ... They moved with the grace that comes with youth and exuberance ... And at that moment, I was ashamed of my 5 bedroom house ... I was suddenly ashamed of every friend I've ever heard making an off-hand derogatory comment about immigration and/or immigrants ...
When I rose this morning, I complained inwardly ... silently ... about the distance I had to walk to the kitchen to get my first cup of coffee ... It's a haul from my bedroom to the kitchen at my house. That will never happen again. Even if I take a conservative tack and say each family in that two bedroom house had two cars ... That's still at least four families living there. And I'm willing to bet they ALL work. And I'm willing to bet they don't get paid anything CLOSE to what I make. But I'm also willing to bet, they don't complain about what they have. I'm willing to bet they don't have bad things to say about America. I'm willing to bet they work their respective butts off for every dime they are paid. I'm willing to bet they pack their lunches and take less than half an hour to eat them before returning to work ...
I'm willing to bet they believe in The American Dream with more reverence than 90% of the people I know ... Myself included.
And we ... as Americans ... Have toyed with the idea of building a wall. We actually employ people with guns and badges and uniforms to patrol the border between "us" and "them" ...
Yah ... I know the logistics ... They're taking our jobs ... They steal ... They don't speak the language ... Blah blah blah blah ... BULLSHIT! They believe in a dream most of us let go of within 10 years of graduating high school. And they're willing to work their keasters off in pursuit of that dream. Remember when "we" were like that? Remember how great America was when "we" all believed?
Maybe we should invite every last one of "them" in. Maybe they could dilute some of the jaded masses with their tireless optimism and belief.
I'm just sayin' ... I'm just sayin'.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
It was overcast and in the upper 40's as I walked from my 5 bedroom, 4 full bath, 5000 square foot home, to the truck to begin my commute to work. You might ask why I felt compelled to offer up so much information about where I live. Read on. It definitely has plenty to do with this. And keep in mind, I live there with my Fiance', Kat and a few pets ...
So ... As luck would have it, about 2 miles west of Riverhead, I found myself behind a school bus. You know the drill ... Stopping every few hundred yards and waiting while children board the bus and find their respective seats ... Slightly annoying but nothing new. THEN ... I see the yellow flashers on the bus turning to red as it stops in front of a house ... A small house ... Two bedroom tops ... Dirt driveway ... 6 vehicles parked in a very orderly fashion in a semi-circle near the front of the house ... and EIGHT children making their way quickly down the drive to board the bus ... EIGHT. They are obviously of Hispanic descent. Clean ... Modestly clothed ... Ball caps and little jackets ... Hair neatly combed ... Orderly ... They moved with the grace that comes with youth and exuberance ... And at that moment, I was ashamed of my 5 bedroom house ... I was suddenly ashamed of every friend I've ever heard making an off-hand derogatory comment about immigration and/or immigrants ...
When I rose this morning, I complained inwardly ... silently ... about the distance I had to walk to the kitchen to get my first cup of coffee ... It's a haul from my bedroom to the kitchen at my house. That will never happen again. Even if I take a conservative tack and say each family in that two bedroom house had two cars ... That's still at least four families living there. And I'm willing to bet they ALL work. And I'm willing to bet they don't get paid anything CLOSE to what I make. But I'm also willing to bet, they don't complain about what they have. I'm willing to bet they don't have bad things to say about America. I'm willing to bet they work their respective butts off for every dime they are paid. I'm willing to bet they pack their lunches and take less than half an hour to eat them before returning to work ...
I'm willing to bet they believe in The American Dream with more reverence than 90% of the people I know ... Myself included.
And we ... as Americans ... Have toyed with the idea of building a wall. We actually employ people with guns and badges and uniforms to patrol the border between "us" and "them" ...
Yah ... I know the logistics ... They're taking our jobs ... They steal ... They don't speak the language ... Blah blah blah blah ... BULLSHIT! They believe in a dream most of us let go of within 10 years of graduating high school. And they're willing to work their keasters off in pursuit of that dream. Remember when "we" were like that? Remember how great America was when "we" all believed?
Maybe we should invite every last one of "them" in. Maybe they could dilute some of the jaded masses with their tireless optimism and belief.
I'm just sayin' ... I'm just sayin'.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Monday, November 21, 2011
The L.I.E.
Nope ... This post isn't about someone being untruthful. It's not about some horrible, lingering secret ... It's about a highway ... Or to be more exact, an Expressway. The Long Island Expressway. For those who have never driven this 90 some-odd-mile stretch of paradise, it's just another highway. For those who have, it is a legendary strip of road ... Sometimes eight lanes ... sometimes six ... There is an HOV Lane for a section of it (HOV stands for High Occupancy Vehicle ... In regular American Speak ... The Carpool Lane) which dwindles and ceases to exist the further East you drive away from New York City. At the beginning of the L.I.E. headed back West from Riverhead, New York (New Yorkers say the L.I.E. ends at Riverhead. We East Enders say it begins there and goes to New York City), the speed limit is 50mph. At some point before exit 72 ... the first or second to last exit depending on your point of origin,... the speed limit climbs to 55 mph, and NEVER goes up from there. BUT ... You will be hard-pressed to find anyone driving at anywhere near that rate of speed. I generally take the middle lane and set my cruise control around 63-65 mph, affording those who wish to go faster the far left lane for passing me while leaving the far right lane open for those merging onto the expressway. When travelling at such a speed ... 63-65 mph ... in the middle lane ... it is advisable NOT to leave the the drivers side window rolled down. If you do so, not only will the contents of your vehicle be sucked out the window from the jet-wash of passing vehicles, but you will actually be able to hear the curses being flung at you by passing motorists. People fly past me at rates of speed in excess of 95 mph regularly. Police cruisers are visible in the median as well as along side the road here and there, but they must grow tired from stopping speeders at such a constant rate because about half the time I see them, they are sitting motionless while vehicles fly past at break-neck speed. It is amazing to experience such a driving extravaganza. I get to do it every work-day.
I know ... Those not in the know are reading this and thinking ... 'So what. So they drive fast. Big deal. Stop whining.'
If only they were only driving 95 miles an hour ... But along with ignoring the signs which state the speed limit is 55, they also ignore the signs forbidding cellphone use while driving. Most fun of all is when they ignore those pretty lines painted all over the place that mark the separation between lanes ... while travelling 95 miles an hour while steering with their knee ... while texting their BFF and sipping coffee from a to go cup large enough to completely block their view of the road. And when they swerve into your lane and cause you to yank the wheel hard enough to all but raise your car onto it's side, on two wheels, like a stunt driver from The Dukes Of Hazard ... If you should so much as beep your horn ever so briefly, they look at you like 'What the hell is your problem?'
So ... You know the saying ... When life gives you lemons .... yahda, yahda, yahda ... Soooo ... I'm thinking there has to be a way to turn all of this into something positive ... Something useful. Then it hit me:
Build a HUGE set of bleachers along either side of the L.I.E. and charge admission ... Sell beer and tee shirts and ball caps. Hell ... Sell tee shirts with beer logos on them and ball caps with beer holders and crazy straws built into them. Sell big, foam hands but instead of the classic "We're #1" with the index finger extended, make them say "What the f@#k is your problem!?" and have a different finger extended. Make the median into "The Infield" and charge extra to park RVs there. Paint big ass numbers on the cars and call it what it really is ... NASCAR for The Northeast. The money New York State would make would more than likely knock out any budget deficit the state has ... perhaps even enough to put a dent in the National Deficit ... Who knows.
Anyway ... That's it for now.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
I know ... Those not in the know are reading this and thinking ... 'So what. So they drive fast. Big deal. Stop whining.'
If only they were only driving 95 miles an hour ... But along with ignoring the signs which state the speed limit is 55, they also ignore the signs forbidding cellphone use while driving. Most fun of all is when they ignore those pretty lines painted all over the place that mark the separation between lanes ... while travelling 95 miles an hour while steering with their knee ... while texting their BFF and sipping coffee from a to go cup large enough to completely block their view of the road. And when they swerve into your lane and cause you to yank the wheel hard enough to all but raise your car onto it's side, on two wheels, like a stunt driver from The Dukes Of Hazard ... If you should so much as beep your horn ever so briefly, they look at you like 'What the hell is your problem?'
So ... You know the saying ... When life gives you lemons .... yahda, yahda, yahda ... Soooo ... I'm thinking there has to be a way to turn all of this into something positive ... Something useful. Then it hit me:
Build a HUGE set of bleachers along either side of the L.I.E. and charge admission ... Sell beer and tee shirts and ball caps. Hell ... Sell tee shirts with beer logos on them and ball caps with beer holders and crazy straws built into them. Sell big, foam hands but instead of the classic "We're #1" with the index finger extended, make them say "What the f@#k is your problem!?" and have a different finger extended. Make the median into "The Infield" and charge extra to park RVs there. Paint big ass numbers on the cars and call it what it really is ... NASCAR for The Northeast. The money New York State would make would more than likely knock out any budget deficit the state has ... perhaps even enough to put a dent in the National Deficit ... Who knows.
Anyway ... That's it for now.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Stormy Weather
So ... I'm driving in to work this morning ... listening to a local radio station ... Strains of Clapton, After Midnight fade as they ease into the weather report .... "The high for today will be 48 degrees ..." I look up at the temperature display in my truck ... Digital ... Extremely accurate ... 52 degrees ... Passing the bank, I check their outdoor display of the current time and temperature ... 52 degrees ... "...Clouds early ... chance of rain ... clearing and partly sunny in the afternoon ..." It's raining as those words escape the weather person's mouth ... It's been raining since before I woke up, an hour and a half ago.
I know ... I know ... This guy's a DJ, not a real weather man. But for cryin'out loud ... The radio station is pretty close to where I was while listening to the report. Maybe the guy could ... I don't know ... Go take a look outside? Go to weather.com and punch in the station's zip code and get something reasonably close to at least the current conditions and perhaps use that as a baseline?
Oh well ...
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
I know ... I know ... This guy's a DJ, not a real weather man. But for cryin'out loud ... The radio station is pretty close to where I was while listening to the report. Maybe the guy could ... I don't know ... Go take a look outside? Go to weather.com and punch in the station's zip code and get something reasonably close to at least the current conditions and perhaps use that as a baseline?
Oh well ...
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Occupy Wallstreet? ... Horse Puckie!!!!
Okay ... I live on Long Island ... Way out on the East End of the North Fork, about 90 miles from New York City. And I can't turn on the news without seeing more of this garbage about a bunch of people "occupying" Wall Street.
First off ... They aren't occupying Wall Street. They've been occupying a near by park. Until very recently, they occupied said park by sitting on their asses in tents, wrapped in warm blankets, sipping 8 dollar mocha lattes and watching Youtube videos on their iPads or playing video games. They made it impossible for any of the families that live in the area to enjoy the park. Children couldn't go there to play anymore. Couples couldn't take a stroll together anymore. Reataraunt workers were finding bags of human excrement tossed behind their workplaces. BUT ... I've heard nothing about a single CEO or bank president having to endure any hardship due to this "occupation". Not one stock broker has been prevented from getting to work. Not one millionaire or billionaire has suffered the least bit at the hands of this protest ... AIMED AT CAUSING CEO'S AND BANK PRESIDENTS, STOCK BROKERS AND BILLIONAIRES as much discomfort as possible. NOW, these chuckle-heads are planning to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge ... Thousands of them ... On the main road ... At the height of traffic for the commmon working schmuck to get home to their middle class homes and have dinner with their middle class families. Really?!
This is ridiculous! It's the equivalent of punching your next door neighbor in the mouth because the weather man was wrong. These bums ... Yup ... I said it ... BUMS ... are skipping out of work (Those of them who actually DID work at some point) and hanging around NYC being a nuisance to everyone EXCEPT the people they claim to be trying to have an effect on. They are unorganized, ineffective bratts who want to whine about things rather than actually do some WORK toward changing things for the better. They said on the news that these people have amassed a budget of 300 thousand dollars. How many REAL homeless people could you feed and house for 300 thousand dollars? You wanna send a message that people will sit up and listen to, THAT's how you do it. Not by sitting around on your ass demanding change. If a corporation is rife with greed, don't buy ANYTHING they produce. Get organized and get millions and millions of Americans to boycot them as well. TAKE AWAY the demand for their products and that will take the money out of their pockets. That's the only language they understand.
BUT ... Understand that if you go about things the right way, as described above, it requires YOU to actually suffer ... That's right. Bank president gets too big a bonus? ... You don't borrow money from the bank anymore. You actually WAIT til you can pay cash for the things you want. No more instant gratification. No more using your credit cards. You'll have to drink Folgers coffee instead of Starbucks to make up for the cash you have to put away to get the things you want. ALSO ... Realize how many levels of people whose income is derived either directly or indirectly from that bank, will suffer long before that bank president. He will throw as many of them as it take on the sacfificial pyre to keep from having to feel the effects of your boycot before he'll let his pockets be impacted by your efforts.
That's just a lose framework of the logistics involved in the change these slackers are demanding. It applies to pretty much all of the things they want.
BUT ... (There's that huge but again ... Where's Sir Mixalot when you need him?) there is another way. Not an easy way ... But a way. And it requires EVERYONE to participate. Go to work. Do your job. Do it the best you can. Save your money. Stop being the constant consumer. Drive a car you can afford, not one that turns heads. Take pride in the things your grandparents took pride in indatead of resting on some misplaced sense of entitlement and taking those same things for granted. Don't take anything you're offered unless you earned it. Be honest. Be fair. Love your country whether it's perfect or not in your eyes. Respect your boss, whether you LIKE them or not. They sign your paycheck. Deal with it. Take an active role in your family, your community and your government. VOTE ... and not just for the guy whose name rings a bell. Educate yourself on the issues and the stances held by those who vai for public office on those issues. Then pay attention to what the winner does once in office. If they don't keep promises, hold them accountable.
In short ... Stop blaming the wealthy for a system you helped create and perpetuate. Change starts at the bottom, not the top.
And for those of you still "occupying" Wall Street tonight, I say to you, Put down your stupid, posterboard signs. Go home. Get up in the morning and go to work. If you don't have a job, try to find one. If you can't find one, keep trying. Be productive. Stop looking for the answer and BECOME the answer. Do only that which makes you proud of yourself. There are ways you can actually change the world ... Really there are. But what you've been doing tonight isn't one of them.
Thanx for reading.
I appreciate it.
Billy
First off ... They aren't occupying Wall Street. They've been occupying a near by park. Until very recently, they occupied said park by sitting on their asses in tents, wrapped in warm blankets, sipping 8 dollar mocha lattes and watching Youtube videos on their iPads or playing video games. They made it impossible for any of the families that live in the area to enjoy the park. Children couldn't go there to play anymore. Couples couldn't take a stroll together anymore. Reataraunt workers were finding bags of human excrement tossed behind their workplaces. BUT ... I've heard nothing about a single CEO or bank president having to endure any hardship due to this "occupation". Not one stock broker has been prevented from getting to work. Not one millionaire or billionaire has suffered the least bit at the hands of this protest ... AIMED AT CAUSING CEO'S AND BANK PRESIDENTS, STOCK BROKERS AND BILLIONAIRES as much discomfort as possible. NOW, these chuckle-heads are planning to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge ... Thousands of them ... On the main road ... At the height of traffic for the commmon working schmuck to get home to their middle class homes and have dinner with their middle class families. Really?!
This is ridiculous! It's the equivalent of punching your next door neighbor in the mouth because the weather man was wrong. These bums ... Yup ... I said it ... BUMS ... are skipping out of work (Those of them who actually DID work at some point) and hanging around NYC being a nuisance to everyone EXCEPT the people they claim to be trying to have an effect on. They are unorganized, ineffective bratts who want to whine about things rather than actually do some WORK toward changing things for the better. They said on the news that these people have amassed a budget of 300 thousand dollars. How many REAL homeless people could you feed and house for 300 thousand dollars? You wanna send a message that people will sit up and listen to, THAT's how you do it. Not by sitting around on your ass demanding change. If a corporation is rife with greed, don't buy ANYTHING they produce. Get organized and get millions and millions of Americans to boycot them as well. TAKE AWAY the demand for their products and that will take the money out of their pockets. That's the only language they understand.
BUT ... Understand that if you go about things the right way, as described above, it requires YOU to actually suffer ... That's right. Bank president gets too big a bonus? ... You don't borrow money from the bank anymore. You actually WAIT til you can pay cash for the things you want. No more instant gratification. No more using your credit cards. You'll have to drink Folgers coffee instead of Starbucks to make up for the cash you have to put away to get the things you want. ALSO ... Realize how many levels of people whose income is derived either directly or indirectly from that bank, will suffer long before that bank president. He will throw as many of them as it take on the sacfificial pyre to keep from having to feel the effects of your boycot before he'll let his pockets be impacted by your efforts.
That's just a lose framework of the logistics involved in the change these slackers are demanding. It applies to pretty much all of the things they want.
BUT ... (There's that huge but again ... Where's Sir Mixalot when you need him?) there is another way. Not an easy way ... But a way. And it requires EVERYONE to participate. Go to work. Do your job. Do it the best you can. Save your money. Stop being the constant consumer. Drive a car you can afford, not one that turns heads. Take pride in the things your grandparents took pride in indatead of resting on some misplaced sense of entitlement and taking those same things for granted. Don't take anything you're offered unless you earned it. Be honest. Be fair. Love your country whether it's perfect or not in your eyes. Respect your boss, whether you LIKE them or not. They sign your paycheck. Deal with it. Take an active role in your family, your community and your government. VOTE ... and not just for the guy whose name rings a bell. Educate yourself on the issues and the stances held by those who vai for public office on those issues. Then pay attention to what the winner does once in office. If they don't keep promises, hold them accountable.
In short ... Stop blaming the wealthy for a system you helped create and perpetuate. Change starts at the bottom, not the top.
And for those of you still "occupying" Wall Street tonight, I say to you, Put down your stupid, posterboard signs. Go home. Get up in the morning and go to work. If you don't have a job, try to find one. If you can't find one, keep trying. Be productive. Stop looking for the answer and BECOME the answer. Do only that which makes you proud of yourself. There are ways you can actually change the world ... Really there are. But what you've been doing tonight isn't one of them.
Thanx for reading.
I appreciate it.
Billy
SPAM!!!!
Okay ... I didn't check my email for 2 days. Then today, I find 246 new emails in my SPAM folder. Some of the stuff in there was bearable ... Work from home schemes ... Various adverts from people trying to earn my business ... But SOME of the emails I find there on a daily basis ... Well, it's just plain silly. I am a white, middle-aged, male. But for some reason, I get emails in my SPAM folder that are clearly aimed at a different demographic. "View pics of single black men in your area!" ... "Dinner at Denny's, ON US!" ... Really? Okay ... Sure ...There are white guys my age who would love to see pics of single black guys in their area ... So maybe that objection is a slight stretch. But ... there isn't a Denny's restaurant within 100 miles of my house. And in response to some of the other emails ... I CAN'T qualify for a loan from the WSBA (Women's Small Business Association). I DON'T want a Snuggie (When I was a kid, a "snuggie" consisted of having your tighty whiteys yanked up the crack of your butt by a bully). I'm not OLD enough for an AARP membership. I know for a FACT that UPS ISN'T holding a package for me! I have a friggen phone. I CALLED them! My ass doesn't itch. I don't HAVE acne. I can't possible have veteran's benefits coming to me ... I was never in the military. It's Facebook NOT F*ckbook. I don't give a SHIT what my tarot cards say and for the love of GOD do NOT send me a free sample of herbal friggen douche!!!!!
It's offensive enough getting these emails. But seeing how evident it is that NO research went into targeting any specific demographic by the senders makes it that much worse. It tells me that the advertiser at the other end places little value on their own time and even less on mine.
Aaaaaand ... It shouldn't be called SPAM.
SPAM is a delightful canned meat. As a child I enjoyed many a fried SPAM sandwich on toast with butter. Chopped and fried with eggs, potatoes and a little cheese, it makes an awesome breakfast scramble. It was the subject of an insanely funny skit on Monty Python's Flying Circus. This email crap that keeps polluting my inbox is just that ... CRAP. Same number of letters. Takes up the same amount of space ... I wonder if there is a way to re-name my SPAM folder so that is says "CRAP" instead ....
Anyway ... Thanx for reading.
I appreciate it.
Billy
It's offensive enough getting these emails. But seeing how evident it is that NO research went into targeting any specific demographic by the senders makes it that much worse. It tells me that the advertiser at the other end places little value on their own time and even less on mine.
Aaaaaand ... It shouldn't be called SPAM.
SPAM is a delightful canned meat. As a child I enjoyed many a fried SPAM sandwich on toast with butter. Chopped and fried with eggs, potatoes and a little cheese, it makes an awesome breakfast scramble. It was the subject of an insanely funny skit on Monty Python's Flying Circus. This email crap that keeps polluting my inbox is just that ... CRAP. Same number of letters. Takes up the same amount of space ... I wonder if there is a way to re-name my SPAM folder so that is says "CRAP" instead ....
Anyway ... Thanx for reading.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Welcome to my world ...
Well folks ... Here it is. The place to get it all out there ... Get it off your chest ... Air your respective dirty laundry ... But most important of all, the place where you can hear what I have to say. You are free to read anything you want and post anything you want, but be warned ahead of time ... Anything you post on here is subject to scathing remarks and ridicule. I offer advice as well as my personal rants. But don't be surprised if my take on your personal drama is something other than what you'd expect from Dear Abby or anyone of that ilk. What you'll get here is the straight dope. No pulled punches. But it will be the best advice I can muster for you.
Got a question? Post it. I'll either find you an answer or tell you where you can get one. Got a problem? I'll do my best to help. But if you're a sniveling little drama queen (gender neutral) prepare to get your ass handed to you. Pissed about something? Vent to your little heart's content.
BUT ... And this is a huge but .... No full names! If "Bob" has a dog which shits in your front yard every morning and you wanna vent about it, feel free. But I don;t want to know "Bob's" last name ... or his address or phone number or email address ... In other words, no personal information that would make the person's identity known to other readers.
Sooooo ... Post as often as you like. Post pics. Post opinions. Post life-shattering events. If you feel okay with letting the world see it, post it here. I'll be on daily to post my own rants and have a look at what you've left me, answer questions, field problems and offer up advice where it's needed.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
Got a question? Post it. I'll either find you an answer or tell you where you can get one. Got a problem? I'll do my best to help. But if you're a sniveling little drama queen (gender neutral) prepare to get your ass handed to you. Pissed about something? Vent to your little heart's content.
BUT ... And this is a huge but .... No full names! If "Bob" has a dog which shits in your front yard every morning and you wanna vent about it, feel free. But I don;t want to know "Bob's" last name ... or his address or phone number or email address ... In other words, no personal information that would make the person's identity known to other readers.
Sooooo ... Post as often as you like. Post pics. Post opinions. Post life-shattering events. If you feel okay with letting the world see it, post it here. I'll be on daily to post my own rants and have a look at what you've left me, answer questions, field problems and offer up advice where it's needed.
Thanx for spending a little time with me.
I appreciate it.
Billy
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