First they came for my winter, and I said nothing . . .

Turkenstein the Magnificent reclines in the sun-splashed grass, blissfully unaware that yet another spring snowstorm is en route to keep his giant white ass indoors.
Turkenstein the Magnificent reclines in the sun-splashed grass, blissfully unaware that yet another spring snowstorm is en route to keep his giant white ass indoors.

Damn’ Democrats. Soon’s they get into office, winter becomes spring and spring becomes winter. Whoops, same thing with the last guy. Never mind.

The Front Strange is hunkering down for its third spring snowstorm in less than three weeks, so after squeaking in a quick run I took the cats outdoors for a bit of vitamin D before the deal goes down.

Turkish gets out all the time, without close supervision, though he likes some days better than others (sun and dirt is good, wind and snow, not so much).

Mia Sopaipilla only gets out on a harness-leash combo, which greatly cramps her style but reassures her two-legged staffers (the neighborhood is lousy with foxes, feral cats and loose mutts).

Where the hell is that ding-a-ling noise coming from?
Where the hell is that ding-a-ling noise coming from?

As a consequence, Turk’ is jaded. Ho hum, another day outdoors, big whup. Been there, done that, got the furball.

For Mia, on the other hand, every outing is a fresh adventure. Bugs! Trees! Wind chimes! Wow! Why don’t we have all this cool stuff indoors where we can enjoy it at a moment’s notice, unfettered by leather, nylon and primate paranoia?

Indeed. The indoors would be much more interesting if it were more like the outdoors. More sunshine, less radiation from computer monitors. More grass, less carpet. Fewer walls, more possibilities.

Unless we’re talking about the next couple days, anyway. According to the National Weather Service, the indoors is going to be a good deal warmer and drier, and therefore, albeit briefly, the smarter choice.

Oh, help me, please doctor, I’m damaged

So I’m engaged in another little office cleanup project, getting a deal on a new APC Back-UPS surge protector/battery backup in return for recycling the old one, and when I haul the previous edition to the UPS Store to ship it off, the manager is tending to an elderly gent who is having some class of episode.

He’s sprawled out in an office chair, not particularly responsive, and has lost control of his bladder. The manager is taking his pulse and talking quietly to him, one hand with a damp cloth on the back of his neck, as her assistant speaks with 911. We can hear the sirens, and as the fire truck and an ambulance pull up outside, he mumbles that he doesn’t want any ambulance ride because it will cost him $50. The small shop fills up quickly with firefighters, paramedics and their gear.

Eighty-eight years old, fades out in a UPS store and can’t afford a $50 ambulance ride. Sports a POW-MIA  cap. A son, maybe? Who knows? I conduct my little bit of business and roll out the door.

On the way home I hit the radio and Terry Gross is chatting with doctor, bioethicist and author Robert Martensen about the U.S. health-care system. They agree it has a couple of hitches in its gitalong. No fucking shit. Y’think?

I come home to a voice mail from our accountant. Seems we owe Uncle Sugar a couple thou’ to keep Wall Street from taking an infarction. Thank God the money isn’t going for any of that socialized medicine this new crowd in Washington, D.C., is on about. I’d sure hate to see The State tinker with a private enterprise that’s ticking along so smoothly.

When marketeers attack

In a continuation of its on-going strategy to become the global innovation leader in the bicycle-comedy market, Mad Dog Media (BIT: EM, E) today announced that its Biting the Hand That Feeds Us/Inside Jokes segment has launched a multi-faceted Worldwide Centers of Obfuscation program.

“Our vision is to create the most innovative and admired company in the bicycle-comedy marketplace, and to become a global leader, which is why the Mad Dog Media segment was established in the first place,” said Patrick O’Grady, Chief Cur and Head Hound of MDM’s Relentlessly Lampooning MarketSpeak® segment. “The strategy for transforming that vision into reality requires a unified, collaborative, and highly engaged workforce, relentlessly committed to innovation and supported by management in rapidly advancing the quality of the products and services we deliver.”

Toward that end, O’Grady said, he would be laying himself off effectively immediately and offshoring all cycling cartoons and commentary to a one-eyed goatherder with a closed head injury in Waxedstringandatincaninstan.

“I mean, hell, why not?” added O’Grady. “I’m too expensive. I need a whole bunch of shiny stuff and a roof to keep the rain off it, three hots and a cot, and top-shelf liquor. Plus I’ve spent the past three decades trying to learn how to write, but I just can’t make this sort of shit up — not sober, anyway. Maybe Abu bin Popeye can.”

Vidiocy

An oldie but a goodie.
An oldie but a goodie.

The news is too depressing to merit comment, so I shut down the MacBox briefly to install a new-used AGP video card to deliver the evil tidings faster, and on two monitors at once. I will never be smart.

Truth to tell, this is part of the reason I’m reluctant to pull the trigger on a new Mac — this old G4 450MHz “Sawtooth” Power Mac is absurdly easy and cheap to expand. I scored it for the cost of shipping from the offices of Bicycle Retailer & Industry News in California some years back, and since have added a 1.1GHz processor upgrade, a DVD burner, an Airport wireless card, a second internal hard drive, a four-port USB 2.0 card, 2GB of RAM and an ATI Radeon 9000 Pro video card, which replaces an ATI Rage 128 Pro and thus brings my video capabilities up to, oh, 2002 or thereabouts.

The old beast even has a Zip drive, in case I need to tap some of my archived wisdom from the previous millennium, and a brand-new 250GB external HD for saving the latest and greatest brain droppings — including the entire boot volume, which gets copied over every week using SuperDuper!

Maybe tinkering with this dinosaur is my penance for being a complete retard in junior-high shop, where I couldn’t even forge a suitable cold chisel. Or for skipping auto shop in high school. Or for buying that 1978 Toyota Chinook pop-top camper, which had all the positive qualities of being trapped in an elevator with Glenn Beck.

The Turk' and I both got outside briefly today. Neither of us liked it.
The Turk' and I both got outside briefly today. Neither of us liked it.

Whatever. All I know is this hot-rodded Sawtooth from 1999 is still running on the original drive, unlike a certain newish MacBook I could mention. A guy could get a hernia fetching the 10-ton sonofabitch around from coffee shop to Internet café, but as Boris the Bullet Dodger once noted in the Guy Ritchie film “Snatch”: “Heavy is good, heavy is reliable. If it doesn’t work you can always hit them with it.”

Late update: Good God, it’s snowing again. I am so moving to Arizona. Maybe I can get a gig chauffeuring Big Jonny from barstool to law school.

Unhappy motoring

The Aztec sun god Tonatiuh, a life-taker and heart-breaker.
The Aztec sun god Tonatiuh, a life-taker and heart-breaker.

More snow. Feh. The sun god Tonatiuh is angry. Let us feed him the hearts of American auto industry executives and beg his forgiveness in order that spring may return.

I’m not quite certain what to think about the feds getting all medieval on Detroit. I don’t have any sympathy for The Big 3’s management — my second and last American auto was a 1996 Ford F-150 that was possessed by evil spirits, and it’s been nothing but Subarus and Toyotas around here since — but you have to feel for the grunts who actually made things over the years instead of shuffling worthless pieces of paper around. As usual, the shit will roll downhill, and the working stiffs will be inhabiting a dank and smelly valley.

Over at The Washington Monthly, Paul Glastris sees some useful lessons from previous federal interventions in the railroad industry, a tale told by Phillip Longman of the New America Foundation. Meanwhile, dday and Josh Marshall wonder why it’s all hugs and kisses for bank execs but cold shoulder for the auto bosses.

Myself, I’d like to know when the crucial cycling-humor industry will be getting its fingers off the keyboard and into Uncle Sam’s bottomless pockets. I need a new snow shovel, and I’ll be happy to surrender my private jet if that’s what it takes.

Late update: Also at Washington Monthly, Hilzoy opines on “cramdowns,” or allowing bankruptcy judges to reduce homeowners’ mortgage principle, noting that “it’s no good trying, for instance, to save GM if we don’t have customers who are able and willing to buy cars. As any number of commenters have said, we need to shore up the not just businesses’ balance sheets, but consumers’, since if they are not able and willing to spend, then even the best-run businesses will fail.” Well said.