Coffee For Tough Guys

This is a story about the New Guy. We still refer to him as New Guy (NG) even though he's been here 6 months now, and can I say he's fitting in rather well? Some might say almost too well.

Back when he was in his first weeks here, NG's yearning for a cup of coffee took him to the cafeteria where his thirst for the bean caffinated went unquenched. The in-house joe was weak and bland and certainly not up to NG's standards, let alone those of Juan Valdez. Our building is short donkey ride to both Starbucks and DunkinDonuts, but being new guy he didn't know the area and being a guy he didn't ask anyone for directions to them.

His adventurous spirit led him to try the coffee machine outside of the cafeteria, which I believe they installed mainly for the overnight and weekend folks. NG deposited his silver into the slot and listened as the machine ground some beans, poured the grinds onto a filter, ran hot water
over it and disgorged the result in a Styrofoam cup. Since he had asked for cream and sugar on the selection panel, some powdered milk and sugar gains spilled down before the machine gave a beep of completion.

As he was about to sip the contents, he noticed something strange about the coffee. Some rouge coffee grounds had made it past the filter and were floating on top of his drink. Upon closer inspection he noticed the coffee grounds were, in fact, swimming. They had multiple sets of legs and were flailing in the scalding beverage. This was a new one on him, and he had drank coffee in the military.

Ever curious, NG dipped a digit in the murky drink and examined the little swimmer. It was not a coffee ground, but a black ant. One of many that were succumbing to the torturous undercurrents of the java drink. Not only is NG a good programmer, but he has a social conscious as well, and informed the cafe management that they had an invasion of some kind in their automated coffee machine. Thinking that NG was just looking to scam them with the old
"ant in the coffee cup" trick, the skeptical staff member opened the housing of the device to investigate and saw the sugar compartment had been indeed compromised and housed a small but rather content colony of black ants.

NG now knows where the Starbucks and DD are located. Oh yeah he does.

Sulu Dance

Well, I'm floored.



I've been a fan of George from the Star Trek show and movies, but more so from his recent fame on the radio.

It happened a few years ago when a DJ called Kidd Chris got George's unlisted cell number. He called George posing as Ricardo Montalban (an actor who starred in "The Wrath of Kahn" with George) and proceeds to carry on a 10 minute conversation with him. They talk about George's dog (La Rien Blanche), his upcoming trip on a Star Trek Cruise ("leaving from San Peeeeedro....") and other fascinating details of the actors life. I'm still trying to track down a copy of this call, I'll post a link when I get it.

From that one prank phone call a legend was born. People used that interview and cut up the sound to extract George's voice, then snipped them together and make new prank phone calls to other people, posing as George Takei.

Soon other folks got ahold of an audio version of George's autobiography and cut that up in the same way, which produced even more raucous and bizarre crank calls. Nothing is funnier than hearing someone having a conversation with a recorded version of some celebrity. Pure genius. Here's an example of one of those calls.

It culminated in a new song. It's called the Sulu Dance and listening to it always makes me feel like busting a move.

You go, George.

Uniforms For Everybody

I'm no fashion mogul, but I know vertical stripes and plaid checkers are not a swift combination. It's amazing to me what some people walk out of the house wearing these days, like they got dressed in the pitch black by sense of touch. That would explain the mohair shirt.

There's an easy solution to this. Uniforms! I wore a uniform to school from Kindergarten through high school. I always knew what I was putting on in the morning, and no fashion pressure.


Think of all the great uniforms out there. Professionals of all sorts have a garb reserved for their own designation



So I propose the EVERY job gets assigned a uniform. That way, we can tell what we all do just by looking at each other. Imagine how much easier life would be?

If I could br so bold as to suggest a programmer uniform, this would be it:

Elegant, yet functional.

Dressed like this, I could go to Price Chopper and shop in peace, without people asking me which isle the canned peas are in. Do I look like I work here? Eff you, mister.

Isle 5, by the way. Jeez.

Cough and Snicker

There's an awesome Monty Python skit from "The Meaning of Life". A bunch of bankers become Wall Street Pirates, and they "sail" their building along side competition, bombard them then swing over and take them over by force. It's all about how modern life often resembles the more barbaric history of man.

This scene came to me as I sat in a meeting today discussing the creation of yet more layers of structure and security for our development platform, mainly to protect data that even people who have access to don't care to read.

In my mind I imagined one of the participants with a parrot on his shoulder, jabbing at the whiteboard with a sword declaring, "Arrrr! Lets just make them walk the plank!"

I'm the master at covering a burst of laughter to look like it's a coughing fit.

This is from the "Meetings Suck" file

Death From Above

You can't go 10 minutes without someone in the media whining about the looming bird flu epidemic. So far, the strain has hit flocks in a wide area in Asia and Europe, including China and Russia.

The Chinese government reported that some 2,600 birds have been found dead of the H5N1 strain of bird flu in northern China's grasslands, according to The Associated Press.

People are freaking out. Will bird flu be the black plague of the decade? The Greeks think so. I saw this picture of Greeks stomping turkeys in some bazuki-ritual dance. Souvlaki anyone?


Turkey stomping is dirty business.

I think it's all a scam. All this hype right before one of the biggest bird holidays of the year? You can bet we'll be paying a hundred bucks per turkey come Thanksgiving, and most people won't even notice. We already pay $3.50 for a gallon gas and $1.00 for 12 ounces of water without blinking. You think the retailers, corporations and politicians aren't noticing that the average person is a moron?


Blood Swallows have been seen swarming playgrounds
in Prague, with some flocks carrying off small children.

I have a callous view of the whole thing. I think this may be one of those Darwinian moments, when a factor is introduced to the population and some are just not going to make it by way of natural selection. Those that die from the flul may even morph into a zombie-like state and rise up, searching the countryside for healthy human brains to feast on, like in Dawn of the Dead, or 28 Days. And with Halloween coming up, the zombies will blend right in, joining the parading trick or treaters as cover. Then taking their candy and eating their brains.


This hapless citizen in Vienna tries to swat away a flock of
swarming blood-thirsty foul. She has not been seen since.

Go ahead, kill all the birds. I'm locking myself in the house with a freezer full of Schwanns frozen pizza and a keg of Guiness. You can call me paranoid, but every day I beat my own previous record for number of consecutive days I have stayed alive.

This Station is going to close

There is a local radio station in Albany, WAMC. It's a public radio station which means it is run by a guy with several PHD's and they never say "crap" or "effin" or talk about chicks. They try not to be elitist snobs, but they don't try too hard and fail in any case.

For the most part, the station is bland as chewing on a wet paper bag. The news is unbiased, the commentaries unemotional, and no liberal or conservative rants in sight, and the weather forecast is 10 minutes long. You know you're an intellectual if you can wade through several minutes of inane weather facts to find out if it's going to rain tomorrow.

Four times a year they launch into a pledge drive. The normally restrained and mild station becomes infused with enthusiasm and shock-jockery all of a sudden, anything to get the calls coming in. The lead huckster, Alan Chartock (aka Professor Microphone) is a master at creating a false sense of urgency. For years he has had the same pitch, delivered the same way;

"The station is going to be closed if you don't call in the next 10 minutes."

Well, 10 minutes comes and goes and Prof. Microphone is still creating a false sense of urgency. If you were from out of town and just tuning in, you'd think the radio station was collapsing around him, with police officers banging on the door trying to extricate him from the carnage.

If they want to get people calling in, they oughtta try upgrading the gifts they offer. Which would rather have, a 4-CD set of Prof Microphone and former Governor Mario Cuomo chatting about politics or a few passes to Wheezer at the Pepsi Arena? Something about a tofu platter just doesn't get the phones ringing.

Many years ago I "harassed" the local PBS telethon, or so they said. They ran re-runs of the old series "Monty Python's Flying Circus" at 11pm, and I never missed it. One evening, instead of hearing, "It's..." followed by the musical opening of JP Sousa's march "The Liberty Bell" which was the Python show theme song, I saw two domeheads all worked up about talking about pledging. "We need $2,000 before we can start Monty Python!" one was yelling with fake enthusiasm.

"C'mon, give!" yelled the other, trying to be "in-your-face". So I grabbed the phone and dialed the pledge number. In the best snooty drawl I could put on (it's better than my sad attempt at an Irish brogue), I pledged two grand and had them bill me at an address, one which I didn't actually live at.

Moments later, the domeheads on TV were jubilant, maybe even surprised. "Hey, we got a pledge for the entire amount! Thank you Mr.Jeff Thorne of Albany! He's a big fan of Monty Python and says, 'You've got your money so please start the show now.' Thanks Jeff - let's start the show!"

Problem solved.

I've had it with the dots

I put off tinkering with the design for as long as I could, but all the dot finally got to me.

Nothing major, just a little bit more of Shamus, little less of those dots.

Who Are You

This little test gives you a graphical representation of your personality type.

It hurts a little, but only a little.

Mine was extremely accurate. And disturbing.

Don't Look Now

No, really.

I'm usually a big fan of nudity. But not this.

David Hasselhoff - American Legend

If I had to own up to a few consistent topics or themes on this blog, one would be David Hasselhoff.

He and I are linked in a very deep and personal way. For one thing, we've both had run-in's with my pal Stinky. But that's a long story and may has some legal issues, so I'll save it for later. Secondly, we both love sunsets in English Bay. That's right, and you can catch him there in his
black leather jacket and a song in his heart on many a summer night.

For the record, David is a not your usual Hollywood attention-whore. The man has a Foundation, for gods sake.


Anyway, I was delighted to find this highly entertaining and remarkably accurate career synopsis of this entertainment giant. It is a complete Hassel-history of the hardest-working man in showbiz. Well, aside from Fred Savage.

Operation Smurf-Out

Unicef is concerned that people are just not getting the message that war is hell. What better way to drive the point home than with those loveable Smurfs?

The recent advertising campaign by Unicef in Europe, both in print and on television, is intended to teach schoolchildren about the horrors of war. It is described this way:

"It opens with the Smurfs dancing, hand in hand, around a campfire and singing the Smurf song.



Bluebirds flutter past and rabbits gambol around their familiar village of mushroom-shaped houses until, without warning, bombs begin to rain from the sky.

The Smurfs scatter and run in vain from the whistling bombs, before being felled by blast waves and fiery explosions. The final scene shows a scorched and tattered Baby Smurf sobbing inconsolably, surrounded by prone Smurfs."



I'm not sure about you, but the image of a bombed Smurf village isn't going to motivate me to abhor war any more than I already do. I never liked Smurfs to begin with.

They kind of creep me out.

I'm Going To Tell A Lie

Happy Thanksgiving to my Canadian family & friends. It's my favorite holiday, and I get to celebrate it twice a year. Canadians honor the day a month (and a bit) earlier than we do down here in the US, and the story behind the holiday is slightly different.

Instead of Pilgrims with weird hats and Mohawk Indians, they had French fur traders and Metis. Where we have turkey, they feast on the national animal - beaver. Hmmm, pass the gravy.

On a totally different topic, I can across this site and it's fantastic. Full of funny, sad and just plain strange postcards containing people's secrets. Here's on of my favorites.

I am going to be send a few in, because I got some great secrets.

P.S. I lied about the beaver.

Rattle in the Head

I love it when an act of pure stupidity turns into one of good fortune.

Several weeks ago I was out golfing with my neighbor. After the first 9 holes, he decided to bail so he could be home for the kickoff of the football game. I don't get it, leaving an awesome morning on the golf course just so you can plop your ass in front of the tv and catch the first moments of the game? If it was the Superbowl then MAYBE, but a game in September? Pfffffft.

So he left and I continued onto the back 9. I started playing two balls, using one as practice. The course was nearly empty so I wasn't holding anybody up by hitting some extra shots. On a particularly long par 5, I pulled out my trusty Callaway Steelhead driver and pounded a nice drive. Then I decided to hit another, though this time using a "Happy Gilmor" wind up. You know the one I mean? He stands back from the ball and runs up while winding up then WHACK! Very unorthodox, but I've had success in the past knocking a drive 290+ with that swing, but the results are way too unpredictable to use regularly, or in dignified company.

I ran up and swung mightily at the ball, which hooked hard off into the woods. Ah well.

At the next tee, I pulled out my #1 and set up only to notice the club looked a bit weird. Upon closer inspection, the shaft was bent right at the head. My Happy Gilmor antics had busted my favorite club. "You effin idiot!" I cursed myself, then teed off with my 3 wood. Very unsatisfying. The round proceeded but I wasn't having fun thinking about my stupidity. Friggin moron!

Then I started to blame my neighbor for it all, since I would have never been messing around with the Gilmor swing if he had still been there!

But no, I let that go, realizing I couldn't give the stupidity credit away. It was mine.

At home, I sadly looked the damage over. There was no way of repairing it. The shaft was crimped and if I tried to straighten it, it would snap right off.

My sister Anney used to work for Callaway of Canada, which is why my family all have their clubs and hats and shirts and all kinds of Callaway stuff. So I called her up. I wished her happy birthday first, (I think) then asked her how I should go about returning my club. She used to work customer service so I knew she had heard it all before and might know a "trick" to getting the club fixed. Sure enough, she gave me the script to say to the customer service folks. Although they don't have a lifetime warranty on the clubs, she told me if you call and handle it the right way, sometimes you can work something out. This was how the call went:

"May I help you?"

"Hi. I have a driver I bought from you guys, actually my sister used to work for Callaway and she got it for me. Anyway, after using it the other day it has a rattle in the head of the club."

"Rattle in the head, huh?"

"Yes, a rattle in the head."

"Ok, sir. What's your address...."

And that was it. No muss, no fuss. Those magic words "rattle in the head" had negated any concocted story, tale of woe or begging on my part. They mailed me a UPS sticker to ship the busted club to them and in 2 weeks it was back. I was giddy as a school girl as I opened the box, hoping beyond hope they had repaired my club so I could not feel like such a jackass about the whole incident. In the back of my mind, I was expecting the busted club to be in the box with a note on it saying "Sorry, there's no rattle and we can tell you were imitating a non-sanctioned golf stance which qualifies as improper use and therefor does not qualify for repair..."

I pulled the club out and found that indeed they had NOT repaired it.

They sent me a brand new club. It was the latest model of the same club, the Big Bertha Steelhead 3. It is SWEET. If it doesn't rain all weekend I'm taking it out for a test drive, most likely Sunday afternoon during football. This time minus the Happy Gilmor impersonation. I learned my lesson. Or at least, for now.

Thanks Anney! You're the best. And, by the way, Happy Birthday!

Movie Quiz

Think you know movies? Then this is a kick-ass quiz you can take.

You try to guess what movie the picture is from, but to make it difficult, they have removed the bodies from movie stills so you can only guess based on costume and the backgrounds as clues.

Some are easy, like this one


and some just make you feel like you watch wayyyy too many movies. I got this one on the first try, but it was kind of an obscure movie and a very obscure scene in that movie.


I got 34 my first pass through. It's tough when you can't see the faces of the people in the damn scene!

Attention Whore

There was a tragic accident at a lake north of where I live. The local media wet itself with excitement and converged on the situation looking for their golden career ticket - this could be their stepping stone to a bigger market, bigger disasters.

There was a reporter on the scene with stars in his eyes who I happen to know. He and I were in college together, and he was a whore for attention even back then. He's been working his way up through tiny rural tv stations and a few years ago broke into the mediocre Albany market. He covers all the big news for channel 6, you know, new pet shop openings and the big fire at the creepy old amusement park. Yeah, he was there.



I watched the TV in growing anger seeing Joe barely containing is enthusiasm as he gave the morbid details, many which were exaggerated to give the already sad event even more impact. His boyish grin was only slightly suppressed as he reeled off the details.

His head bobbed with enthusiasm at the body count, and he HAD to top the Katrina coverage somehow, so who cares if a few details get fudged a bit. Like calling 68 degree water "frigid". Sorry Joe, but you won't freeze to death when the water is 68 and the air temp id mid 70's. Yeah, it's not hot tub temperature, but try swimming in Lake George in May and the water is 48 degrees. THAT is effin frigid. I know, i did a scuba class in that lake in May and even with a wet suit we were damn cold.

One local print reporter gave some insight into events surrounding the local media and their rush to get the event on screen. He doesn't dare take them to task too badly, for fear of betraying the brotherhood to which he belongs. But I commend his attempt.

So I wish Joe all the best in his endeavor to climb out of this news-impaired locale. I only hope enough people died and he made it dramatic enough so he can get a good piece of tape to impress someone at a big show like CNN or MSNBC, where he can get his fangs into a real disaster.

You call that a sport?

Nothing pisses off people who bowl like telling them that it’s not really a sport. To me, bowling is a game. Like lawn darts, or fishing. My rule of thumb is that if you can play the game holding a beer, it’s not a sport.

When I think of a real sport, I think of football, hockey, rugby or soccer. Games where you have to be in top condition to play at the professional level. Cycling, basketball, tennis and volleyball are also events that take both skill and superior physical conditioning.

I love to play poker, but seeing it on ESPN is a bit odd. I mean, I know they have lots of time to kill, but can’t they find something athletic to show? Take a gander at the guys playing Texas Hold’em these days, they make bowlers look like Iron Man competitors.

Which brings me to baseball. Sure, it’s our nations favorite pastime, but is it a sport? It takes great hand-eye coordination, but looking at some of the guys that play that game, and they couldn’t last 10 minutes on a treadmill. Even their brawls are lame. Lots of slapping and pushing - I’ve seen better feats of strength watching Jell-O wrestling. It has a god strategic aspect to it, but when you can play a “double-header” and still not break a sweat, I have trouble thinking it’s a true sport.

Same with golf. You need some great skills, especially strong mental strength, but when you can look like John Daley and be on the pro tour, you’ll have a tough time convincing me that physical prowess is an integral part of the game. You can play from a motorized cart, for gods sake!

Speaking of driving, NASCAR is trying to push the sporting aspects to the American people, but aside from needing to sit in a hot car for hours on end and the ability to turn left, I just don’t see it as very physical contest. Except when the drivers get out and start throwing punches at other drivers.

Now THAT could be a sporting event.