Backscatter

The year can now come to a close. The final technological miracle has been hatched.

Airport screening was a hot-button issue in 2006. Long lines, screaming kids and xrays that rendered male sperm inert were the biggest complaints to the well-funded federal security force. Since they hired Chuck Norris on as a consultant, things have just been turning up roses, as one would expect.

Chuck brought with him the full body xray screening, which can see even your privates, removing the last cavities where terrorists were hiding the weapons. OK, I made up the Chuck Noorris part, but the screening is real.

The x-ray vision tool provided the bored TSA agents with endless entertainment, making jokes about the anatomy of flyers and critiquing their choice of undergarments. The patrons, however, felt this was an invasion of privacy, and didn't like hearing the staff snickering over their Sponge-Bob boxers.

Now they can both be happy. A new technology, called backscatter X-ray, shoots low-intensity X-ray beams that penetrate clothing and bounce off a person's skin, or scatter backward. Sensors detect backscatter X-rays to create an image of the person's body and items being carried, such as watches, keys and weapons.

From the article:

The TSA, however, says the images are cartoonlike sketches that show only outlines of each passenger and are never stored. "There's a privacy-security balance," spokeswoman Ellen Howe said. "We can see what we need to see without seeing what we don't need to see."

Cartoonlike, eh? With my luck, I'll go thru and look like Ziggy.


This is the part that really burned me:

The Transportation Security Administration (TSA) will start testing such a device next month in Phoenix.

I can hear Chuck shaking his head at this reveal. Don't TELL us where you're using it!! The best defense is secrecy. I mean, c'mon.

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Snowballed

We're having a white xmas here in NY.

This is unusal, as is the warmer than usual weather we have been enjoying for the past 2 months. Skiers are pissed off, snowblower sales blow, and the kids are haplessly building snowmen from dead leaves and glass clippings. I'm not saying Global Warming has anything to do with it, because the President has assured us that it is a myth started by scientists that don't believe in God. Un-American is what they are.

So this is the only way I can get in a snowball fight right now.

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Mythbusters

How did you learn the brutal truth about Santa Clause?

I was 8 when late on Christmas eve and walked upstairs to the living room to see my Mom wrapping gifts for our family of 8. "Need help?" I asked. She said, "So you know?" I said, "I recognized your handwriting last year, but didn't say anything."

After that I became an elf, wrapping and laying out the presents every year for my younger brother and sisters. Our Christmas booty was modest by most standards, just a few gifts per person but with eight people it still took a while to wrap and lay out.

My brother Pat mentioned last night that he wasn't clued in to the whole Santa secret until he was 12. As the youngest, we had kept the myth alive far longer than the rest of us had believed. We crafted elaborate elf-sightings and fake phone calls from Santa which kept him on the hook long after his other friends knew. In our defense, we thought we were doing him a favor.

My little girl is 8, so I wonder how much longer she's going to believe in the man in the red suit. Already kids on the school bus have been shaking her beliefs by saying that he's not real, it's the parents, etc, but we've been able to deflect these accusations saying that they are coming from kids who are on Santa's Really Bad Kid List.

I've been on that list, and it ain't fun.

Cheers everybody,
Shamus

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Good Fruitcake

I hate fruitcake, but love the Fruitcake Lady. I know, it's crazy.

Marie Rudisill, AKA the Fruitcake Lady, died this year at the age of 95. She was one of the only funny things about the Tonight Show.

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Memories of the Company Xmas Party

So our company xmas party was last Saturday night. Being a relatively small company, the fun gets just a bit crazy. A decent portion of employees stay right at the hotel, so the party continues after the main party ends.

What happens at the Xmas party stays at the xmas party, except for one thing I need to vent about.

It's always interesting to see coworkers drunk. You can learn quite a lot about their real personality, inner thoughts and dancing abilities when they are effed up beyond recognition. This year was no different, as a few fellow employees let themselves go during the 7-hour party. There was only one person who truly stood out above the rest - literally. Well, audibly, at least.

Let's call him Yeller. Yeller started the evening looking cool and in control, but it soon became apparent that he was gaining momentum by the moves he was busting on the dance floor. At one point I swear he was flirting with some moves of the Lambada (the forbidden dance). But dancing is not where he distinguished himself.

When the party broke up at 1am, many of us rolled upstairs to continue the fun. Our company had almost the entire 6th floor to ourselves, though some folks had gone to bed at a more reasonable hour. After a quick change into "comfortable" clothes, we were headed to a friend's room when the elevator opened and Yeller spilled out with a small posse.

He proceeded to scream a welcome to me and to another guy who was 400 yards down the corridor behind me. It was freakin loud for 6pm, let alone 1am. His posse looked a bit embarrassed but didn't muzzle him.

Screaming in the hall of a hotel in the wee hours of the morning is just not cool. It wasn't cool at the senior prom, and it still isn't cool now. For one thing, a few (not many, but there were some) that are trying to sleep. Second, actions like that result in a call to the front desk, and then security HAS to step in, even if they don't want to. So thanks to Yeller's inability to control yourself after a few beers, we have to deal with a large man at the door of our room a few minutes later. The heat let up after a while, the big dude went away and Yeller either passed out or calmed down. He was in another room at that point and not our problem.

I can only imagine what he would have acted like if we had let him have a few jello shots.

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Plate him, Dano.

The Web has delivered some great things over the years, and some of it isn't even porn.

Nothing ruins a commute like an asshole driver cutting you off, or riding your ass when you are already over the speed limit. In the past your options are limited, you can either go postal on their ass or just curse them out, which gives very little satisfaction.

Enter Platewire...



You can go to Platewire.com and put the a-holes plate number up and describe the a-hole thing they did. It's even sorted by state, so you can read about the a-holes in other states. Ohio seems to have a lot.

It's not all bad. You can post plates and give them awards for nice driving, or if you see a hottie and want to send them a little message. That part kind of seems like stalking.

Excuse me, I have a plate to add for a Bronco that was filling my rearview mirror this morning. Welcome to platewire, asshole.

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How's This For Spirit?

I just know Alice is going to hate it.

My company does a nice thing where they ask residents of a local nursing home to write down a present they would like for Christmas, and then employees select a resident and their wish and buy the item for them.

In an attempt to get into the spirit of the season, I signed up. I reviewed the board of requests and some were pretty funny. One guy "Joe" asked for a carton of Marlboro cigarettes, (no, seriously) but I felt like I would facilitating his demise by purchasing cancer sticks for the guy. I just had this image of an old guy in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank attached and the clear-tubes running into his nose, opening the present and then putting the cancer kazoo up to his throat and saying "Oh boy! Just what I wanted!". Plus giving cigs for Jesus's birthday just seems wrong, unless of course you're in jail. Then it's like giving money.

After perusing the list I took the card of a woman called Alice R who asked for a "fleece housecoat, size 40, light color". It sounded like an easy gift to find, and probably wouldn't kill her. A win-win situation, if you ask me. Yeah, right.

Turns out there is no "size 40" in women's house coats! The XXL is only a size 26, so either this person needed to have two XXL housecoats sewn together or Alice had the size wrong. Second problem, I was unable to locate a housecoat made of fleece. It seems like something that would be available anywhere, but most were a soft ploy blend or something called "muskrat down". There was a sweet cotton number in the Victoria Secret catalog with "Juicy" on the back, but I figured that would be crossing the boundary of good taste. And it made me throw up a little in my mouth.

Since I was going to miss the mark of this present on both size and material, I thought why not go for the tri-fecta and get a lousy color as well? Well, I couldn't eff that up, as housecoats only seem to come in pale blue or pink. The final purchase was pink, poly blend size XXL. Sorry Alice, but it's the thought that counts, right?

If she really hates it, I'm sure Joe will trade her his cigs for it, since he won't get exactly what he wanted either. I can already hear old Joe using his kazoo to say, "Hey a-hole, if I had wanted Marlboro WITH filters I would have asked for them!"

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Cold

I was reading the transcript of the recently-convicted killer Chris Porco interview with Police investigators today. He was a local boy gone bad who assaulted his parents one night in their bed and ended up killing his dad. In the end, it turned out it was all about money.

The investigators quickly picked up that Chris was detached and unfeeling as they talked with him in the interview room in the police station right after being at the hospital where his mom lay brutaly beaten, his father dead. His unfettered manner is evident in the conversation, as he discusses a wide range of topics with ease, no shock or emotions being shown. Even when accused of committing the heinous acts he keeps his cool. Cool as ice.

Porco talked for 6 hours, weaving a tale that the investigators soon began to poke holes in. Where he was that weekend, who he had seen, his relationship with his folks.

None of it ended up being admissible in court due to the fact that he had not been given access to a lawyer when he asked for one. This did not end up being a case-breaker for the prosecution, and he was convicted of his father's murder in short order.

The transcript is long, but it is interesting to read how the investigators led the conversations, dropping questions in and testing him here and there.

Still makes you wonder a person could disconnect themselves enough to commit an act of violence against an innocent person, let alone his own parents. Damn.

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The Gift That Would Keep On Giving

Got $1,764,000 that's burning a hole in your pocket? Why not take a few friends on a ride they won't soon forget?

Richard Branson's Virgin Galactic Charter To Space is now taking reservations for parties of six in 2009.

Yes, Branson is a nut case (as his tv show clearly demonstrated) but the guy knows how to run an airline. And he bought into the project created by Burt Rutan called "SpaceShipOne" that won the X Prize in 2004, so I have faith that I wouldn't end up looking like a charcoal briquette on this space trip.

Memo to self: find a friend with $1,764,000, or better yet, here's another reason to win that damn lottery. Like I needed another reason.

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Walt's Frozen Head

You've all heard that Walt Disney had his head cryogenically frozen after his death in the late 60's, right?

Yeah, well that was a rumor, or at least so the liberal media (aka The Man) claims. The whole thing said that Walt Disney's body had been frozen and laid in a specially designed chamber underneath the Pirates of the Caribbean ride in Disney Land, awaiting a future time when medical science could breath new life into his cancer-ridden body and he could get back to the business of running his empire.

I was reading an excellent site called "1001 things to do with Liquid Nitrogen" (how can you not love that title?) and came across the claim that frogs are able to be frozen and then unfrozen and brought back to life with no ill-effects.

"A Siberian frog frozen in liquid nitrogen shall come to life again if you throw it back into the water. (Prof. Alois Loidl, who never tried it in public, but used a wind-up frog of his children instead, for demonstration)"

I doubted this claim at first, so I scanned the trusty Internet last night only to discover it's true! These frogs were first discovered in the balmy Siberian tundra, and they can completely freeze in the winter and then return to life during the thaw of the spring.

Makes me jealous of that frog. He gets to bypass all the holiday crap and wake up in time for the summer movie blockbusters. Lucky bastard.

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If I were God

Another blogger raised this interesting topic, and my own answer popped into my head immediately.

I know there's limitations. You can't mess with freewill and you can't reach your giant godly hand down to Earth and pluck televangelists off the air and drop them into a pit of underfed alligators. Even so, if I were God, I would send lightning bolts down upon any aholes that parked in a handicapped parking spot when they didn't need it.

Having a handicapped tag on the car will not save you from my bolts of justice. I know all about the scams people pull to get handicapped signs for their car when they a temporary medical condition, then keep using them after they are better. Or they borrow a car with the handicapped tags and use the parking spot, and see that as a green light to take one of those spaces.

For those of you who are thinking I'm too harsh, the lightning bolts would be set to "singe", so it's not like I'm looking to kill anybody. Just teach them a little God lesson.

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So bad but so gooooood

Like every great superhero, I have an Achilles heal. Mine is pasta carbonara.

There, I've said it.

I came across this dish in college. If you make it from scratch, it takes time and ingredients that preclude it from being a "quickie" meal. Always a fan of shortcuts, I discovered a few that turned it into a 20-minute meal.

If you don't know the dish, it is basically pasta with Alfredo sauce that has more Parmesan cheese added and either bacon or prosciutto ham (or both!). Healthy? You bet! That's why pasta Alfredo is called "heart attack on a plate".

Soon I was eating it 3 times a week. After a typical meal I could actually feel my heart slowing down. When my doc said my cholesterol was over 150 I thought "wha hoo!" then he said that it wasn't like an IQ number. High is bad. Bummer.

Cutting back was tough as the meal had become such a regular staple in my diet. After a time I whittled my intake down to only a few special times a year. Pasta Carb is my ultimate comfort food, so anytime I'm sick I end up having it once or twice. Like this past weekend, I was under the weather and had it twice. Today, I'm feeling better. Coincidence? I'm not so sure.

Here's my recipe for Pasta Carbonara, which takes about 20 minutes. That's 10 minutes faster than Rachael Ray can cook it, btw.

1 packet McCormick's Alfredo sauce (this is cheating, but it still tastes great)
1/2 lb bacon
3/4 cup Parm cheese
1 6oz can of Coca-Cola
About 1/2 box of Spaghetti

Cook bacon (in microwave ,4 mins)
Start the pasta water cooking. Drop in pasta when the water is ready.
While water is heating up, prepare packet of sauce per instructions. When sauce is thickening, stir in parm cheese and cooked bacon.
Combine finished sauce and drained pasta.
Pour Coke over ice and enjoy. Substitute a glass of Cavit wine if no Coke is available)

Jinx

I'm not a believer in the "knock-on-wood" saying, but I do it anyways. You know what I mean, somebody asks how something is going and you respond positively and add that phrase on the end.

"Hey Shamus, how's that goiter coming along?"
"Receeding, knock-on-wood."

Last Monday I was in the locker room and somehow elbow pads came up. My buddy D mentioned that his elbow has been sore for a month since he landed on it during a game. I reminded him of my injury seven years ago when I hit the ice after my lousy elbow pad had shifted. The bone must have chipped, because even the slightest contact on that joint shot a searing pain through me for 2 years after that. Some body parts just take along time to heal.

"But ever since I got these elbow pads," I said stupidly, "no problems!"

Notice I forgot the "knock-on-wood" part. So can you guess what happened? I ran into D in front of our net during a penalty kill. I landed on the bad elbow after the pad was pulled to the side by the collision. The pain was familiar, and intense. D looked down and said, "get up! get up!" snapping me back to reality, which was a defensive shitstorm.

We killed the penalty off without allowing a goal, but the elbow has been throbbing since.

Sometimes you just have to know when to shut the hell up.

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