my jaundiced eye

the absurdities of life

Month: October, 2015

blimps away!

blimps away!

That wacky bunch of knuckleheads over at the defense department have gone and pulled another boner.  This time a huge spy blimp they had floating over Maryland managed to go AWOL. I had no idea that our entire eastern seaboard was protected from incoming missiles by a big balloon tied to the ground by a long piece of string. This bit of high technology was created by the mind trust over at Raytheon. I thought they just made AA batteries. Boy has MJE been asleep at the switch. This is how they tout (or “trout,” in the vernacular) their spyware on their website:

Mission: Seize the Spectrum!

Turn the lights out on your enemy. Operate unimpeded in the modern threat environment. To do that, you need to control the electromagnetic spectrum.

Huh? Sieze the spectrum? How about you seize your bloody blimp, which by all accounts was indeed “operating unimpeded in the modern threat environment.” And in case you weren’t aware of it readers, Pennsylvania is our enemy because the limp blimp, just as advertised, managed to pull down power lines on its descent and it was lights out for a couple of hundred thousand of those people. Raytheon rules the electromagnetc spectrum, for damn sure, at least in Pennsylvania.

Batteries anyone?


a trip to the big city

MJE finally broke out of the gas tank and hot footed it up to the big city to visit Bandoleira-Saturnalia for a few days. Always good to monitor one’s investments. This one is apparently sound but not yet yielding any monetary returns. I suppose I should take the long view which is what my broker always says when I have just invested a chunk of change and the market drops 300 points. I don’t worry because I can apparently create currency out of thin air, like Bitcoin, which I completely do not understand but if it allows me to buy a nice piece of bling and pay for it with monopoly money then sign me up.

But I digress, B-S and I had a grand time. I stayed at a highly overpriced hotel specializing in rooms so small you have to store your suitcase under the bed (which they thoughtfully made high enough off the floor to accommodate a good sized suitcase). They describe the meager size of the rooms as being “Parisian.” Excusez moi, Monsieur Hotelier, square footage is square footage whether you’re in Paris or Peoria. Plus housekeeping never made it to the room one day despite its being empty from 9am until 5:30pm. When I called the front desk to complain they asked if I’d like someone to come right now, WTF??? I’d been hoofing it all over gotham city for hours, why would I want some overworked and underpaid filipino changing the sheets while I stand in the shower stall. Then the “manager” of the hotel called and haughtily asked if I had specifically requested that the room be cleaned earlier…huh, no, I assumed that it would be done within the 9 hour span of time I was not in it. Guess he thought I just fell off the turnip truck, maybe so but I did manage to ask that the bill be adjusted for my inconvenience before I hit the dirt.

Anyway, it was a glorious fall weekend, we walked the high line, swooned in Chelsea Market and went to lots of museums. FYI, if someone can paint a 4” by 4” piece of wood white and sell it to MOMA then my future in the art world is rock solid. And Jackson Pollock, don’t even get me started, I can hear him smirking from the grave. There was a massive Picasso retrospective, but frankly a little bit goes a long way. I haven’t seen that much deconstruction since the OB&C, in a fit of pique took a chain saw to the yew trees in the front yard and we ended up with three 5’ totem poles and a mountain of dismembered limbs.

I was sadly underwhelmed with the big city food, which, coming from New Orleans is a chronic condition. However I have to give the server at one joint props for menu item description. They featured fluke, which I thought was either a parasitic worm or a whale’s tale, neither of which seemed especially appetizing. But according to said server a fluke is “a flat, low energy fish.” MJE has zero interest in the relative energy level of anything I am planning to consume as long as it’s inactive when served, but I would at least like to know what it is. Turns out the featured fluke is a summer flounder. For god’s sake call a spade a spade and bring the me the paper on which is written descriptions and prices of available fermented grape beverages, pronto.

how can’t I kill thee, let me count the ways

ten ways not to kill someone

Disclaimer: MJE is writing the following simply as an observation of the current screwed-up state of affairs in the execution biz. So cool your jets.

I just read an article about states having trouble figuring out how to execute people. Really? Schedule a field trip to the hood in any city and you’ll get a pretty quick tutorial. It’s not that hard, the douchebags you are trying to dispatch managed to get it right, and probably more than once.

But no, the bureaucratic cretins in the prison system insist on making it so complicated that they can’s figure out their own protocols and as a result can’t manage to off anyone. The following is from a recent article in the New York Times:

Oklahoma last week halted the execution of Richard E. Glossip, who was part of the challenge the Supreme Court had turned down, after officials realized two hours before it was to take place that the state’s supplier had sent prison officials the wrong drug. The error, which led to a stay of all executions, had occurred at least once before. Oklahoma executed an inmate in January using that wrong drug — potassium acetate instead of the potassium chloride that is required under the state’s protocol

But it gets even better, now the prisons can’t get their hands on the drugs they think they need because US suppliers don’t want to have anything to do with the dimwits. As a result, they are are ordering their snuff stuff from abroad, which the FDA says is illegal. Seriously, even MJE couldn’t make this crap up.

The final piece in this tableau of idiocy is the question of sedation and duration. How hard is that. Michael Jackson sedated himself to smithereens, get what he used! And duration, really? Dying takes time, just like birth, and MJE don’t hear anybody angsting over how long it takes for a pain-wracked woman to dilate and deliver.

If you are in the business of performing capitol punishment then follow Nike’s advice and “Just Do It.” Or call a veterinarian.


telebration time, come on!!!!

telebration time

MJE and the OB&C have an anniversary coming up this weekend and have mutually agreed to telebrate the occasion, meaning celebrate long distance via telephone. It’s just like the billboard ads for the ambulance chasing attorneys that say “one call that’s all,” or two if you really want to knock yourself out. Next to ignoring them altogether, holidays are best observed via telebration. Imagine Thanksgiving without the kitchen drudgery and acid reflux, xmas without the expense and guilt or St. Paddy’s day without the hangover.

Telebrations of anniversaries are the best of the best. Despite years of marriage these landmarks are still freighted with outmoded expectations: romantic gestures, tokens of love, civility. Telebrations allow you to limit all of those tedious exercises to a few minutes, ten max, and even MJE can manage that. I do like to have the telebratory call or calls timed to coincide with my first bloody mary in the morning and or my second or third cocktail in the evening, or afternoon, depending. I find that I am much more amiable when my blood alcohol level is elevated.

It is MJE’s considered opinion that if couples did more telebration and less copulation most would stay together a whole lot longer. I know that sounds harsh but just think about it…telebration never results in unintended consequences like performance anxiety, or explanations of where that chlamydia came from, or worst case, offspring. It’s most unpleasant result might be a crick in your neck if the telebration runs too long and an ice pack can take care of that.

Happy anniversary OB&C! Let the telebration begin!

follicles R us


MJE never thought she would welcome the sight of postmenopausal facial hair but by gosh by golly she does now! Yesterday I looked in my 10X mag mirror/heart breaker and saw the makings of my old soul patch below my lower lip. Hopefully that means that my skull will be following suit. Must say that achieving a state of hairlessness is about the best thing about chemotherapy that I’ve found. Yeh, it kills cancer cells but let’s be realistic sisters, bare armpits and legs are a pretty appealing outward indication of interior destruction.

MJE can cover her bald pate with a variety of things that scream “there’s no hair under here” but eyebrows are another problem altogether. So a couple of weeks ago, I ordered a crapload of generic (Kirkland brand from Costo) rogaine, aka minoxidil. Unfortunately, as is so often the case with internet impulse buying, I didn’t bother to read either the return policy or the list of contraindications of use. FYI: The answer is no to the first and plenty to the second.

I have to admit that the fairly prominent warning that under no circumstances should the product be used by women did give me pause. But not for long. MJE did what any right minded person would do and headed straight for the internet, the ultimate source for detours around all inconvenient truths. The Mayo Clinic site said you go girl! MD Anderson said go full strength or go home! Who is MJE to argue with these eminent bastions of medicine?

Having willingly disregarded the penultimate dictate, MJE decided that perhaps a more thorough review of the tiny print couldn’t hurt. The caution not to apply it where you don’t want to grow hair seemed somewhat self-evident. Then there was the caveat not to use it when you are pregnant or breastfeeding. Well, since they already told us women are not to use it, no way no how, I guess that means that they assume women will ignore that bit. Finally they strongly advised not to use minoxidil on babies or children. So, what, now in addition to thinking women either can’t or won’t pay attention to or abide by their rules they think we’re monsters?

Consumer Alert: If your feelings or the feelings of your loved ones of the female gender have been hurt by the condescending misogynistic product warnings of Minoxidil call Weenie N. Wringer, Attorney at Law.

One call, it’s small.