Category Archives: Blog

Good Old Virginia Politics

Greetings from post-election Virginia, the state commonwealth where gerrymandering isn’t merely a despicable political ploy, but a lifestyle. But then, when you’re home to the longest continuously running political fiasco legislative body, what do you expect?

Some of us wonder if the English who disappeared from the lost colony of Roanoke did so on purpose. They likely moved in with the Croatoan nation when they found out that these Native Americans did not engage in political campaigns. It can’t be proven, but no one has ever seen a Croatoan political poster, billboard, or campaign button.

I’ve enjoyed several days of not having to listen to negative campaign ads–Alleluia! The weird part is that all of these ads seem to be recorded using the same female announcer. Is she just so angry at the world that her voice is perfect for negative ads? Maybe she’s pissed off because negative political ads are the only type of gigs her agent can get for her? Maybe she’s angry at the world because she wanted to be an actress, but instead, the best she can do is to record negative campaign ads.

I think her friends ought to take her out for a few drinks and help her sort through her feelings; of course, that presumes she has friends, which, given her demeanor, may not be true. Now that I think of it, it may not be a good idea to take her drinking, anyway. She might be even more obnoxious after a couple of skinny margaritas.

In any case, the negative ads are over until the campaigns for the 2018 elections start cranking up.

In a week or two.

In the meantime, the worst I’ll have to listen to are those ads that run every three minutes for the personal injury lawyers as they promise to get the victim every dollar possible from the insurance companies. Less their cut, of course, and after tax, title, fees, and the dealer preparation charge.

Maybe that’s why I listen to so little radio and watch even less television. Give me a book; if I don’t like it, I can take it right back to the library—neither the book nor I any the worse for wear.

(Yes, I know the picture is of Huey Long from Louisiana–but he just so perfectly embodies the spirit of politics, yesterday and today.)

Fixing Healthcare – Part Three

Physician’s Assistants (PAs) and Advanced Registered Nurse  (ARNPs) are helping lower costs and increase access. While some nurse practitioners, can operate relatively independently; other nurse practitioners and most physicians’ assistants, cannot. Why?

Physicians are adamant that they maintain a high degree of control over these and other healthcare workers. This is a throwback to the nineteenth century—which is kind of interesting in a weird sort of way. The story, and I cannot vouch for its accuracy, although all my research seems to support it, is that the country was besotted with traveling medicine shows hawking patent medicines (You’ve seen it in the movies—“One for a man, two for a horse”). The physician industry supposedly promised to get things under control if they were put in charge of medical practitioners, i.e., physicians and surgeons (MD). It, at best, minimized, if not blackballed, osteopathic physicians (DO), chiropractors (DC) and chiropodists, now known as podiatrists (DPM).

A physician, at the time, could authorize any hireling under his license to perform any duty under the concept that the doctor was “the captain of the ship” and was responsible for everything. Therefore, he had authority to authorize any employee to do anything—hopefully, but not necessarily, after some training.

Today, many non-physician healthcare workers are licensed in their own right; in most states this includes nurses (of all levels), therapists (of all varieties), and technologists (ditto). These people are trained and possess technical skills that physicians do not. Generally speaking, only television doctors leave their practice in order to operating high technology devices. It’s good theater but bad economics.

Many of the other healthcare careers such as nurse practitioners, physicians’ assistants, etc., have made significant advances Unfortunately, old attitudes die hard, and there are too many physicians who try to maintain an inordinate control over everything, including these other professionals. Nurse anesthetists and physicians’ assistance must be “supervised” by a physician, although such supervision does not require actual observation or even the presence of the supervising physician.

Efforts to keep others under control have led to some bizarre arrangements. In radiology, for example I’m told that the technologists are now required to periodically retake the examination that initially proved their competence even though there has been continuing education requirements for 40 years. If true, I believe this is a unique requirement, but a warning to all others. Of all the physicians’ assistants, only those specializing in radiology are not permitted to interpret x-ray or other diagnostic images.

Why?

Some blame the American Medical Association, a very powerful organization with effective lobbyists. However, it apparently speaks for a self-selected group of physicians. Out of 923,308 practicing physicians, the most recent numbers available indicates that only 228,000 belonged to the AMA. If you don’t round, that’s just less than 25 percent.

Nobel Laureate Milton Friedman and his wife, who wrote the book Free to Choose, asserted that the AMA functions more like a guild with the goal of increasing physicians’ wages and fees by limiting both the supply of physicians and the competition from non-physician groups.

This is yet another issue that must be addressed if we are truly interested in fixing healthcare.

To Err Is Human—To Really F*** Up, You Really Need a Computer

I admit that life demands a place over blogging. I admit that faith, family, friends, work, and keeping up with laundry, mowing, etc. get in the way, too. However, over the past few weeks, I have actually written a few blogs, but my computer would not let me post them, and then they disappeared.

Eventually, I realized the truth.

Whenever I arrive home—early, late, whatever—Louis (our dog) expects to eat. Whenever Adam, my son is gone, his cat demands attention from me—lots of attention—just so long as I don’t try to actually pick her up and hold her.

OMG*, my computers have developed similar traits. If I don’t pay them adequate attention, they act out—obvious passive aggressive actions.

First, it’s a slowing of all functions followed by lost files. Something like:

Me: “Open blog May 2, 2017”

Computer: “                                                                                        Huh?

Okay.”

Then the computer moves to:

“I can’t locate the file.

What application do you want to use to open the file?

The file is corrupted and cannot be opened.

Ooops! The dog ate my files—I mean file not located.”

I’ve been busy looking at new computers online—using the offending computer—but it has such an inflated opinion of itself, it doesn’t seem to care. It just might be in for a big surprise. Feel free to castigate my offensive hardware.

 

 

*Others May Question (my sanity)

 

Complain, Complain, Complain!

I haven’t written much lately, or at least not much for the blog. (I have been working on a story, though. For some reason, writing fiction has become more satisfying than writing about reality).  I try, when I write, to focus on the silver lining rather than the cloud. Lately, this has become most difficult.

We’ve already discussed how the news media obsesses on all things negative—or meaningless (What’s wrong with Richard Simmons? Will Johnny Depp survive the breakup? Will Caitlin decide to become Bruce once again?). Every trend dies sooner or later, except, apparently for this one. I suppose it’s because they pick the stories that sell the most erectile dysfunction prescriptions, thereby financially benefiting the media, your physician, Big Pharma, venture capitalists, and investment firms.

I propose that we start anew. First, let’s hold a memorial service for journalism. It had a short and tragic life. The first American newspapers were all opinion pieces, but there was one brief shining moment—a century or so—when factual reporting became the gold standard. Many were thrilled at its demise.

My favorite magazines—National Geographic, Wired, and Smithsonian, and National Public Radio have begun to beat me over the head with more doom and gloom. I don’t care who just wrote a book to announce that they’ve come out as gay; I’m sorry that peasants hack down the rain forests because they need to plant food; I regret that there’s a controversy in reintroducing wild wolves into areas where cattle are raised; and I find it unfortunate that while developed countries used coal in the nineteenth century, we balk at twenty-first century countries using such antiquated (but economically viable) methods.  The difference is that rising sea levels today threaten ninety percent of the world’s population because they live near the coast.

In the 1960s we had a saying, “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem.” Complaining, even if you’re a well-known television newsperson, accomplishes nothing. How do you plan to solve the problem? Like the ghost of Freddie Prinz the response seems to be, “Not my problem, man!”

So?

Schizophrenia as an Aid to Writing

Writers of fiction need to be a bit schizophrenic; they live partially in this world and partially in the world that doesn’t exist except as printed words. It’s the characters that are to blame. As I’ve mentioned before, when I’m writing, if I know my character—and for clarity’s sake, let’s stick to just a single character—when that character is placed in a certain situation, it’s easy to write, because I know what that character would do. I can even anticipate when that character is going to do the opposite of what would it would normally do.

As a writer I unconsciously develop the character’s back story. In the story I’m working on now, I’ve got a pretty good understanding of what the protagonist’s life has been like up till now. I may not have thought through details, but since I have the overview, the events that led to a particular trait reveal themselves fairly easily when I need them.

I wrote one column for nearly twenty years, and I knew one character intimately. On the other hand, these stories included a narrator—think Dr. Watson to Sherlock Holmes. The difference was that I never really knew who this narrator was. Was it me? Was the narrator male? Female? Caucasian? Ethnic? To this day, almost 33 years after I first began to write that story, I can’t tell you.

Why? I don’t know. Perhaps it encouraged everyone to identify with the narrator. It might have been that as a character, the narrator was merely a mechanism—like the plucky comic relief character in a movie. The narrator might have been the human version of Alfred Hitchcock’s McGuffin. Hitchcock explained that a McGuffin was something like the microfilm that all the characters tried to get; what is on the microfilm is unimportant.

For that matter, the narrator back then might even have been named McGuffin. Who knows?

Mayonnaise

As promised, in order to be completely politically correct, this blog is devoted to mayonnaise. Perhaps devoted is too strong a word, but it will be about mayonnaise—I don’t want anyone thinking I have some kind of mayonnaise fetish.

Wikipedia says that mayonnaise is, “a thick, creamy dressing often used as a condiment. It is a stable emulsion of oil, egg yolk, and either vinegar or lemon juice, with many options for embellishment with other herbs and spices.”

I say that mayonnaise is politically correct, non-controversial and slightly bland.

Many of us grew up being told that the most dangerous thing at a picnic was not the poison ivy, the fire ants, or even hungry bears. We were warned to avoid any potato salad that had been out of the refrigerator for more than ten seconds because it would spoil, cause food poisoning,  and we’d die a slow, painful death. Some years later I heard on the radio that because mayonnaise contains vinegar and/or lemon juice—both acting as preservatives—this was unlikely. Of course the guy on the radio might have actually intended to be a mass murderer and slaughter thousands of gullible listeners,wielding spoiled potato salad like a deadly weapon.

There’s phony mayo, labeled either “Salad Dressing” or “Phony Mayo.” Considering that a dab gets added to a sandwich filled with several kinds of meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickles, and jalapenos, I’m sure most people couldn’t tell which dab had been added to  the sandwich they were eating.

Spices are often added because mayonnaise is slightly bland. You must be careful, though since adding things to mayonnaise, changes it. Add mustard to mayo and you have remoulade. Add chopped cooked potatoes, eggs and celery and you have deadly potato salad.

I hope you have enjoyed today’s politically correct, non-controversial, and slightly bland blog. Please do not leave this blog outside in the summer sun as it may spoil and kill you.

Choosing a Subject

Today, let’s discuss politics

Some bathrooms are designed

With having my blog, I’ve considered my own server

I like to play music because the relaxation may help me live longer. Look at professional musicians

It’s spring! Let’s enjoy the sunshine, except for the risk of melanoma and climate change

I’ve always enjoyed Pink Floyd, especially their greatest album, The Wall

Has political correctness gone too far?

We just had our local elections

 

It’s not that I’ve had writer’s block, it’s just that most topics have just gotten, for lack of a better word, too icky. So, I’m working on a serious piece, and still working on that story I mentioned earlier. Today I put together a number documents that might be helpful to the radio operators in the event of a hurricane—after all we’ve had about four years of relative peace and quiet. So, alas, I have not been parked in front of the television being mindlessly entertained.

On the other hand, I read lots of fascinating things: National Geographic’s take on life and death; Popular Science’s interview with President Obama, which I thoroughly enjoyed; Wired’s coverage of computer security—which I would have enjoyed, but they take a fascinating article and print it in weird fonts, low contrast inks and hinky graphics. That takes all the fun out of it.

So I’ll try to come up with something that is intellectually stimulating, but not controversial, that respects diversity, individual preferences, and is, of course, politically correct. Therefore, you can look forward to my exciting coverage on

– – – – – –

WAIT FOR IT

– – – – – – – – – – –

Mayonnaise.

 

Data-ish Stuff

Data (datt’ a) used to be the plural of datum [ˈdādəm, ˈdadəm] NOUN

  1. a piece of information..
    • an assumption or premise from which inferences may be drawn. See sense datum.
  2. a fixed starting point of a scale or operation.

ORIGIN

mid 18th cent.: from Latin, literally ‘something given,’ neuter past participle of dare ‘give.’*

Somewhere along the line, data became both singular AND plural, although the singular often was used as an adjective, such as “a data point.” Recently I’ve begun to see data used as the singular and datas as the plural. That’s the problem with a living language—it keeps changing.

On the other hand, Data (day’ ta), the android on Star Trek, the Next Generation, will apparently always remain Data.

Or is that just too many datums for you?

* Powered by Oxford Dictionaries · © Oxford University Press

Content vs. Quantity

brown

 

There’s a famous quotation attributed to various people, but the supposed authoritative sources credit to Blaise Pascal:

I’m sorry I wrote you such a long letter; I didn’t have time to write a short one.

When I first started writing this blog I thought that my goal should be to write and post something every day. Of course, at the time, I had plenty of ideas—some worth sharing, some not. Good, bad, or indifferent, I posted them. Like the codfish, I laid 10,000 eggs hoping a few would hatch. Now, I try to limit myself to thoughts worth sharing. Iay—or may not—be succeeding.

I’m a science junkie. If it were 1955 or 1985 (or for that matter, 1895) I could have been Doc Brown in Back to the Future. The biggest difference is that he had a family fortune to support him while he experimented, while I’ve got a steady job (just as valuable, but less conducive to experimentation). Nevertheless, as kindred spirits, he in fiction and I in reality, we try to see what the next step might be. Which brings me to today’s issue.

Today there is a huge emphasis on STEM—science, technology, engineering, and math in the education biz, today—but there is no real commitment. It’s a lot of talk, but no real action. I’m not blaming the educators. God knows that I understand that there’s only so much you can do in guiding a teenager. However, among today’s teenagers, any interest in science is ridiculed. A student interested in STEM requires the commitment of the Maquis (that was the French Resistance in World War II); one must be willing to maintain a low—if not invisible—profile, only confide in a few trusted souls, and be willing to die a thousand deaths (of embarrassment) if discovered.

Kids today don’t realize that the person they call “nerd” today, will probably be called “boss” tomorrow.

In our effort to be politically correct and not impact anyone’s self-esteem we dare not put scientists, engineers, or mathematicians above athletes, gangstas, or “celebrities” who are famous for being famous. Personally, if I’m going to get my brain scrambled, I’d rather it happen in an experimental space craft rather than having repeated concussions playing football or via cocaine, meth, or whatever is the celebrity drug du jour.

Whatever happened to science fairs? High school science clubs? Achievement awards? When did it become shameful to be interested in science beyond the specific items included on the standardized test?

Think about it. To paraphrase Doc Brown, “Our future depends upon it.”

All Right! I Confess!

I admit it. I’ve been trying to write blogs lately, but:

  • There was Christmas.
  • My son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren drove 12 hours to visit.
  • My daughter, who has started reading my blog, says all my blogs are the same.
  • I keep coming up with ideas that are incomplete—which got me thinking.

Some of the Beatles songs, including much of Abbey Road were actually the parts of songs that had never fully developed. Therefore I tried to piece together ideas:

My New Year’s resolutions. After “I will never be a staffer for Donald Trump,” I got stuck.

I tried to write about the era of Downton Abbey and how people were once born into wealth and/or married into it, and how that is rare today.

Then I thought of:

  • The Bushes
  • The Clintons
  • Miley Cyrus
  • Jaden Smith
  • Colin Hanks
  • Drew Barrymore
  • Prince Charles

Which brought me back to square one, so, attempting to steal from the Beatles, using the tune from “She Came in through the Bathroom Window”:

My son and daughter trashed the bathroom,
I think they lost my silver spoon,
So I sat there and I pondered,
I should not get mad so soon.

My kids have always been expensive,
Cost me more than I could know,
But I wouldn’t change a minute,
So now I have these joys to show

Is it any wonder?

Let me close this year with my thanks to God for my NORMAL family (the emphasis is there to remind me that despite the condition of their bedrooms and bathroom, my kids are normal; on the other hand, given their outstanding academic, athletic, and musical accomplishments, I owe it to them to differentiate between normal and average).

For you, may 2015 be the year that was just before when everything became wonderful.

Topic du Jour

David Steinberg & Tommy Smothers thedavidsteinberg.com

David Steinberg & Tommy Smothers
thedavidsteinberg.com

One reason that I do not write as often as I should is because after four years, I run out of topics. I’m sure I’ve repeated more than a few. Then again, I’m sure I’ve repeated more than a few. Or perhaps, I’m sure I’ve repeated more than a few.

I’m reminded of a comedy bit that David Steinberg did many years ago. He was talking about his high school marching band, which like most marching bands performed a different routine each week, and most were a tribute. He mentioned that his high school band did a tribute to mayonnaise because that’s all that was left.

I won’t boor you with an article about mayonnaise–unless absolutely necessary!

Wow!

NCIS (But you knew that!)

NCIS
(But you knew that!)

Life is funny, and it sure gets in the way.

I’ve been so busy with my day job, my kids…

My kids—two are already grown up and the other two are suddenly almost there. My younger son just got his acceptance letter from his first choice college—and an early admission at that. Now, it’s kind of hard to chastise him for not taking out the recycling.

My daughter is a few years younger, but also a great student (My grades were never that god), musician (I was never first chair bassoon), and athlete (let’s not even go there). However, after her last birthday she seems to believe it’s necessary to remind me every 15 minutes or so that in in a few months she’ll start driving.

Naturally I’m proud of both of them, but I wonder, if I hadn’t blinked would they have grown up so fast?

Thankfully I have a Sherpa guide who has looked out for the kids and advised me. I’m speaking of my wife, of course. This is a challenge for her, I’m sure. She hasn’t had to resort to the Gibb’s slap on the back of DiNozzo’s head yet (for the benefit of NCIS fans) but it’s not because I don’t need a >HINT< from time to time.

So, thanks to her, even though I’m sports impaired, I’ve been a soccer dad, in spite of myself, which makes a world of difference to my kids.

However, in all fairness, I’ve done just fine as the science, music and school project parent.

If I haven’t been blogging as much as I should, lately, it’s because life has gotten in the way, and the people who are special to me—well, you know.

Does It Ever Get Easier?

It’s funny, or maybe just a sign of the times that a number of people—including myself—have asked this very question. You work hard, you try to play by the rules, and you try to treat others fairly, but it just doesn’t seem to get any easier. Why?

What would easier be like, anyway? I suppose my job could be easier—like the guys working on an assembly line fifty years ago; there’d be no need to think, just repeat the same motions over and over. Boooring!

Maybe easier means that I’d make more money and could afford to buy the boat I’ve always wanted. But is there ever enough money? I read about the billionaires do all kinds of outrageous things to make even more or to pay less taxes. Even when you have billions, it still isn’t enough.

Maybe easier means that I’d have more free time in the evening and on weekends so I could—what? I’m not the type to sit still and watch a lot of television. Maybe I would putter around with my various projects, like when my dad retired. He puttered around the house, eventually got everything just the way he wanted, then he and mom would sell the house and move so he could start over. I don’t like to putter that much.

The problem is that easier doesn’t really exist. Things change but we never see it as easier. When we were young we couldn’t wait to be adults, because we knew life would be better. It wasn’t, in fact, we’re paralleling the much of what we experienced back then.

THEN: The school project that is coming due that I haven’t done or really even gotten started.

NOW: Income tax time

THEN: Agonizing over acne and waiting for that growth spurt that will make me tall and thin.

NOW: Agonizing over wrinkles and grey hair, and hoping I don’t gain any more weight or lose any more height.

THEN: Being overly concerned about how the other kids treat me.

NOW: Being overly concerned about how my own kids treat me.

Easy? No. Different? Yes. Better or worse? Whichever I choose.

Pastwords

Is this a game or is this real? Wargames

Is this a game or is this real?
Wargames

Psst! Over here! Under the desk!

Yeah, it’s me.

With all the hackers, worms, Trojans, spam, and who knows what, I have to protect myself.

I’ve got the latest virus protection and firewall. I never click on hyperlinks. I’m suspicious of every e-mail, CNN, Fox News, and talk show.

But, still, every time I turn around, I’m told to change my password. Most of the time it’s because I changed my password the last time around and forgot to write it down. Of course, you’re not supposed to write passwords down, but then I have more passwords that Greece owes Euros.

Honest—I have passwords that are just to protect my passwords. Which I am going to change as soon as I finish this blog.

So, from now on, I guess I should write everything on parchment with a quill pen and have it hand delivered for security’s sake.

Which makes blogging very, very difficult.

The Plight of a Blogger

For several years now, I’ve been writing this blog. My original intent was to stir up debate—to encourage people to think and respond. Sometimes, I’d write strictly to get a reaction, because I LOVE critical thinkers. Somewhere, deep inside me is a teacher, but one who unfortunately lacks patience with young people.

However, even though I speak of great thinkers, I confess, if I could, I’d be the next Dave Barry, except that he and I are almost the same age. I love his ability to look at any normal situation and point out how it’s actually insane. Well, maybe not insane, but nevertheless, totally funny.

So, after careful analysis, I’ve concluded that real people—like you and I—are too tired at the end of the day to engage in meaningful Sophratic intercourse, because we’ve used our last pathetic brain cells to tell our children why they must (X) or cannot (Y).

So, the best I can offer is that after work today, both my teenagers came out and helped me repair my ham radio antenna, which had been downed by a very large dead branch. I tried out the radio and lo and behold, everything worked! Neither is fond of ham radio, but neither complained about helping.

My antenna. Can't see it in the trees? How about that!

My antenna. Can’t see it in the trees? How about that!

Life is not usually about the grand victories, just little, precious, and important ones.

So—thanks, kids. You made my day.

(If you were expecting great thoughts—re-read the above. Kids helping parents is a great and wonderful thing.)

Excused Absence

Please excuse Steve from his recent failure to regularly write blogs as he has been suffering from TCD (time and creativity deficiency). This is not a well-known condition because no celebrity has taken ownership, even though it is obvious from today’s movies, television, and music that the entire entertainment industry suffers severely from the same malady.

Some physicians and the CDC claim this condition does not exist, along with chronic Lyme disease, Gulf War Syndrome, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and health problems due to Agent Orange, but I assure you that it does.

As a lifelong voracious reader, I promise that I will work with Steve to help him start writing more regularly.

(signed)

Steve’s Mom

P.S. I apologize for the fact that I couldn’t physically sign this myself due to the fact that I’m currently deceased.

John Scalzi, Andy Weir, et al

There are certain authors whose works deliver me from the responsibilities of my reality to another plane, after which, batteries recharged, I can return and work more effectively than before.

Then there are people who create hate and discontent.

Okay, let’s figure it out. On one hand we have people who make me enjoy life.

On the other hand, we have creatures who attempt to make everybody miserable (presumably because they are).

Pick a side.

Oh, and if you’re having trouble, try this….

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3659388/

Another Jobxtaposition

What if accountants managed their practices like psychotherapists?

“Are we finally ready to get my tax return filed?”

“I’m sensing a lot of anxiety. Would you care to talk about it?”

“Yes, I’m anxious, and, no I don’t want to talk about it. It’s April 13th and I’ve been here every week since January. I need to get this done.

“Now, here are all the receipts for all the repair parts I’ve purchased.”

“I see. Now how does that make you feel?”

“I feel like I’m going to go to jail or have my house seized by the IRS if we don’t get this finished! Look, just take these receipts and do your calculations so we can get this finished!”

“Hmm, I see. How do you think that his affects your relationship with your mother?”

“Well, considering that this is a family business, and my mother is the office manager, she’s going to be pissed if we don’t file our taxes on time.”

“Oh, dear. I see our time is up for this week. I say we continue next week. Shall we?”

“I’ve got a better idea. Tomorrow my mother is going to stop by and find out why our taxes aren’t done. Don’t think that not showing up at the office will help you—she’ll find you. I know. I stayed out half an hour past curfew once. ONCE! I was so scared that I hid in an abandoned quarry in a rattlesnake pit two counties away. She found me in twenty minutes.”

“I’m still sensing a lot of anxiety. Why don’t you leave all those receipts with me and I’ll see what I can do.”

[Knock on door]

“Son, is everything done and ready to file?”

“Not, quite, mom.”

At that point, my mother looked directly at the accountant.

“I’m not afraid of you,” the accountant said.

Suddenly, my mother’s sounded a little raspy, as she added, “You will be. You will be.”

yoda

The Hurdles to Blogging

Thanks to all the jerks who keep making me change my password.

Thanks to all the jerks who keep making me change my password.

I actually haven’t been ignoring my blogging duties. Life’s been busy. Then of course there’s the fact that my new laptop makes me press the space key extra hard.

The biggest problem, though, has been passwords. Every time I turn around, I have to change my password to something. Now, if I used one and only one computer, that would be manageable, albeit unpleasant. I use multiple computers, and whichever computer I am using will not have the current password.

I’m working on it and will try to work around the password problem.

Okay, Okay, So It’s a New Year

ballAs one granted a special ability to see into the future – at least the next few months, here are my predictions:

  • (10) Three million pounds of paper and the equivalent of two hundred thousand ball point pens will be wasted because people wrote “2014” instead of “2015.”
  • (9) Within ninety-six hours of 12:01 AM this morning, exactly 73.2 percent of all resolutions will have been broken.
  • (8) The National Hurricane Prediction Center will advise us to prepare for a banner year for storm activity; in the meantime, a conservative spokesman will announce from the National Hurricane Center (now thirty feet underwater) that global warming is just hype.
  • (7) Major financial institutions will lobby for federal assistance because the fluctuations in North Korean currency are having a major impact on the national economy.
  • (6) Why fluctuations in North Korean Currency? Because Kim Jong Un will be assassinated by his barber who refused to take responsibility for such a ridiculous haircut.
  • (5) The NSA will miss the events in North Korea because they’re busy monitoring a rather racy phone call between German Chancellor Angela Merkel and a Chippendale Dancer named “Hans.”
  • (4) Vladimir Putin will take decisive action to rescue the economy, and strike a macho pose sans shirt, all for “Mother Russia.”
  • (3) The International Space Station will make a surprise announcement that it is now under the control of the Cayman Islands Space Agency to shelter not only the astronauts but also all support personnel from taxes.
  • (2) Hollywood will specialize in the remake of the sequel of the sequel of the remake of the sequel.
  • (1) With social media, smartphones, tablets, etc. future historians will mark 2015 as the year in which spoken communication became a dying art.

Since I know these things, what are my plans? I’m hoping to sleep until at least 2016.