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Topics - Doktor Howl

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The problems started immediately, with a 2 leg flight from Tucson to Portland.  Both aircraft were delayed by mechanical problems, resulting in 45 minutes of sitting on the tarmac per incident (and no AC cart for you bloody peasants).  Both aircraft had been "upgraded" as well.  What this means is that they took out the regular seats from economy, and put in hard plastic seats with minimal cushioning.  The first class section got to keep the old seats; in short, you can pay double to get the same comfort you used to get for the regular price.  And United wonders why they're losing money.

Then, PDX airport.  Mike the Engineer opts to use his own GPS, but it doesn't work.  In typical Mike fashion, he refuses to get one from the kiosk at the car rental place, saying "I have this under control"...Which I foolishly took to mean that he knew where he was going, or that he had a smart phone. 

At first his confidence seemed justified.  We made it to Salem, Oregon in short order, and found the hotel on the first try.  But then we decided to go get some dinner.  It took 45 minutes to find a McDonalds (all the real restaurants were closed), which I find to be distinctly un-American.  Then, thanks to Mike's carrier pigeon-esque navigation skills, we drove all over the fucking state looking for our hotel, at one point finding outselves Southwest of Eola, Oregon...And all the while, I had to deal with Mike's breath, which smelled like death.

Enough said.  At some point, we finally got to our rooms and got a couple of hours of sleep.

The next day, it was time to yell at the vendor.  Before we arrive, I remind Mike that he is here as a technical consultant.  He is to take no part in the negotiations.  Mike sulks; I know what is going to happen.

Once in the conference room with the vendor's representatives, their production manager begins a Power Point presentation on why our machine is going to be over-budget and well past deadline.  I allow him to finish his schpiel, and as I'm opening my mouth to respond to his conclusions, Mike bleats, "Yeah, that sounds reasonable".

"Shut up.  Go sit in the car."

Mike begins to turn red.  I glare at him.  He suddenly remembers my new status.  He gets up and stomps out.  I spend a few minutes explaining the definition of "penalty clause" to their production scheduler.  I also explain that while I am willing to extend the deadline by a reasonable amount, we certainly won't be paying more because they couldn't hold up their end of the bargain.  I am told this is unacceptable.  I smile at them the Nigel Way, and repeat my position. 

An hour passes this way...He tells me what I will put up with, I tell him what the consequences of his position are.  He babbles, I watch their plant cats (rodent control; this is an accepted and rather pleasant feature in many plants) play in the conference room.  Eventually, his babbling winds down.  I tell him he now has half the grace period he had, and no, there will be no additional funds. I also tell him that if it is not delivered by the new date I have assigned, and he is still employed there, then I will be dropping the full & terrible weight of the penalty clauses on his company.  Then I leave, because it's time to meet up with Nigel.

At the hotel:  I foolishly assume that mapquest will be able to accurately give me directions through a portion of the city that has not changed in over a hundred years.  Hahaha.

In the car:  I am to make a left onto Fremont from Prescott, according to my directions.  But Fremont runs parallel to Prescott.  So I follow Prescott for 72 blocks, which does in fact lead me to Nigel's house.  Nigel greets me warmly, and introduces me to Suprise Kid and Little Orange.  For what it's worth, Little Orange is a sweet child who would never get up to the shenanigans that Nigel has described.  I also get to see Nigel's studio, which is larger and more impressive than I had imagined.  I did not, however, get to see the top of the bottom, because I forgot to ask.

Then Nigel and I get in the car, and she gives me garbled directions (Nigel is apparently dyslexic when it comes to "left" and "right" and "stay in this lane NO THAT LANE NO WAIT THE FIRST ONE") which eventually lead us downtown.  Our plan was to eat at a restaurant called "Departures" in the "To the Nines" hotel.  It's a rooftop restaurant, and it opens at 4 PM.  The elevator, however, will not allow us to go up.  In fact, the elevator would not allow a guest that was sharing our elevator to get to HIS floor.

But I am a maintenance geek, and my voodoo is strong.  Eventually, we are able to coax the elevator to go to the 15th floor (by which I mean, eventually it actually was 4 PM, and the button became enabled).

Not much to say about Departures, other than it has stainless steel urinals in the bathroom, and a pretty-yet-obnoxious waitress who hovered.  Despite this, we enjoyed an excellent meal and I grossly overtipped as an insult to the waitress, though I am sure the insult went over her head.

The it was time to go to the bar.  We met Charley (One of Nigel's friends and a FB friend of mine) at Prost, which serves good German beer and doesn't allow vaping (there are no ordinances about it, the owners are just dicks).  Nigel said something about molecular biology the next day, so only a couple of beers.  Ha.  Hahaha.  I had a tab running with my card, and I kept making suggestions on beer.  Nigel didn't get drunk, but she got fairly brave.

Then it was on to some other bar, one that had a weird name and didn't take my card.  We met her roommate and his girlfriend there...They were already pretty lit, and were hysterically funny when they weren't necking.  Hell, that was funny, too.  Her roommate has announced his intent to steal my fu manchu mustache on my trip back up there on December 9th.

I also met NoLeDeMiel (From this board) who was screamingly funny...But it was at this point that we were ambushed by an insanely drunken Kenyan (thanks, Obama) who kept babbling at me about love bullets and how nobody is from anywhere, not really.  My heart filled with hate, but I wasn't going to misbehave in front of Nigel (NoLeDeMiel later told me he felt the exact same way in every particular), so I put up with it.  Nigel is a better person than NoLeDeMiel or myself, though, and was fascinated by the man's incoherent jabbering.  It occurred to me that I am turning into ECH.  And I wasn't even intoxicated; I had stuck with coffee.

I also noted that nothing works in Portland, especially toilets in dive bars.  At least not now.  Heh heh heh.

This is why I hate bars.  I'd rather just hang out and drink in the hotel room or at someone's house.  It NEVER FAILS that if you're having FUN in a bar, a silly drunk bastard will attach him/herself to your group and babble gibberish at you for amazing lengths of time. 

A few hours later, a rather drunk Nigel (she was upright and not wobbling, but definitely jolly) and her two smashed roomies got a ride home in the rental car (which I had been parking illegally most of the evening...It was in Mike's name), and I followed HER directions to the airport, which got me there with no problems. 

So, yes.  Not much excitement this trip, just a very, very pleasant evening out.  But that will change, as I return on December 9th for a week on business.  And there will be booze and no reason to drive.  And Nigel will be done with finals (though she will probably STILL have midterms).  And she and I, and her roomie and his GF, and NoLeDeMiel...Well, we shall walk on a road of bones, as the ocean turns to acid and Portland is ground under the approaching glaciers.  It's what we were designed to do.

Okay (for a couple of weeks),


...And nobody came to my PD party.   :cry:

The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Sermon #1 on 21C Fun
« on: November 17, 2014, 04:04:55 pm »
Everyone gets their monkey on in different ways.  On the East coast, they have THE GAY BAR and all the other shit that comes with proper cities.  Here in Tucson, we have "driving badly" and "irresponsible firearms use" and various plants that make you think you live in the RIGHT universe for a while.  Portland, well, nobody's really sure, but it seems to involve art gallery openings and scooter/hockey stick mayhem of the sort that can only be done right by middle-aged single mothers with teenaged kids driving them batshit.

The point is, if we're gonna have Wrongfun™, we all have to do it our own way, if you know what I mean.  And I think you do.

But there are those who feel that "fun" should be regulated and controled, so that only Rightfun™ is obtainable.  These are the forces of NO, of STOP, of CALM YOUR TITS.  They are the people who feel that prohibition is a great idea.  They are the people who post "shock" articles on Facebook and howl weird shit about what should be done to Those People depicted in the articles. 

History is full of these assholes, whether they be Stasi or NSA or just the HOA Rules Nazi down the block.  They are against unregulated FUN, and for everyone settling down and being Good Americans™.

I am against these people, brothers and sisters, and I hope you are too.  I hate them and they hate me and that's how everyone likes it.  If they liked me, or even found me amusing from a distance, I would seriously have to reexamine the way I live my life.  They walk around all day with their disapproval stamped to their ugly, pinched faces, screaming at anyone who will listen (and most of those who won't) that "IT'S NOT FUNNY" and "THIS ISN'T A SUBJECT FOR HUMOR".

Yes it is.  I don't care if they're talking about terrorism, the free market, or whatever social justice zealotry they have shackled themselves with...And don't get me wrong, I'm all about egalitarianism, but I was just informed that "fart rape" is a thing, and it doesn't actually matter if that turned out to be a hoax, because if it IS, it hit too close to the bullseye.  No, as the late and unlamented Good Reverend Roger said, "Everything is funny when it happens to someone else...and it's usually still funny when it happens to YOU."

The fact is, you can judge a society on how much it laughs.  The Germans laugh all day, and nobody ever laughs in North Korea.  You decide.  And here in America, 43% of the population is democratic and 43% is republican, leaving only 14% of us laughing.  So we'd better LAUGH UNTIL OUR GUTS BLEED, or accept the fact that this nation is 86% North Korean.

What's really odd about that is that I remember a time when at least the democrats were laughing.  Not the politicians, of course, but the regular person in the street.  But let me ask you:  When was the last time you heard Joe or Jane Sixpack laugh?  I bet it's been a long time.  In fact, I bet they look at you funny when YOU laugh...Like you'd done something inappropriate.  And maybe you had, but that doesn't mean a laugh is a sign of bad manners or bad taste.

And why is this?  Because our society has lost its nerve.  Because our society is BUTTHURT, because being butthurt is both easier and SAFER.  Nobody gets black-bagged for NOT having a good time.  Nobody arrests people for Angry Townhall Face.  Nobody loses their job for sitting utterly rigid in their cube, staring at their monitor...Or joylessly eating their lunch in the breakroom, talking about SAFE subjects like the football game or how well their kids are fitting into the Jello-mould of society.

Is THAT what you want?  It isn't what I want.  I laughed at The Bomb and I laughed at Al Qaeda and now I laugh at the NSA and the republican senate.  And if rumors are true, I'll LAUGH MY ASS OFF when Sarah Palin puts her name on the presidential ballot in 2016. I laugh at preachers doomsaying on account of Gay marriage, and I laugh hysterically while icebergs the size of New Hampshire fall off of Antarctica.

Yes, I laugh at all of these things, all of these things and more.  I bray spittle and laughter in the faces of those who disapprove of my laughing at awful shit most people won't even bring up, because THAT'S WHAT A YETI DOES.  Leave the glum miseryguts bullshit for the Calvinists.  They LIKE that shit.  Because they're NUTS.

Okay for now,


Okay, we're looking for a new "The More You Know" emote.  It should be horrible, but should not involve porn, gore, or some guy's hand holding a fish.

Post pics in this thread.  Winner gets a hate rant from yours truly.



...And the subject of the abuse of the homeless in Florida came up.

Her comment:

"Well, when those people are around, it ruins the quality of life for everyone else."

Yeeeeah.  I LIKE my new neighborhood.  It's like God LOVES me and he sends me people to torment.

The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / NIGEL
« on: November 11, 2014, 05:52:32 pm »

100 years ago, we looked over at Europe descending into madness, and we thought to ourselves, "That looks like a GREAT idea".  So, within 2 years, we were filling up trenches in Europe with dead kids right alongside all the Europeans.  We generated Mud, which is a hostile deity of some sort, as anyone who's ever had to march in it knows, and we fed the REAL winners of the war (corpse-eating rats) with some high-quality cuts of gassed and exploded bodies.

We weren't the first idiots to do this.  You can go all the way back to the Hittites and see the exact same thing.

The Greeks, though, were the ones that did it with style.  They had HEROES, giants that we remember by name, long after we've forgotten who they fought and why.  Of course, being a "hero" involved some WEIRD SHIT, like fucking your own mother, putting out your own eyes, and dying miserably in exile.  So the Romans didn't go for that as much.  We remember their generals, to a degree, but only the ones that wrote books.

In more modern times, you had some "front cover heroes" like Sergeant York and Audie Murphy, but even thought they had balls like brass cantalopes, hardly anyone remembers what they DID, and to WHOM.  I guess they skipped the "fucking your own mom" part of the equation.

So what you have is masses of young men, nameless & faceless except to their families and their squads, helping build giant stacks of bones (their own and other people) which is somehow tied to "freedom", despite the fact that all but one of our wars as Americans (the War of 1812) was fought in other lands, and almost always in the interests of beating up brown people and taking their shit, as well as insuring that the rich get richer while the middle class gets poorer and the working class goes into outright destitution.

So, to recap:  Mud, corpse eating rats, stacks of bones, no heroes, and people all torqued up with war fever while the real principals lick their lips and chuckle.

And that's what Veteran's Day celebrates. 

You're welcome.

If I have to hear ONE MORE BASTARD breathlessly inform me that Christmas is stolen from the Celts or the Greeks or the fucking Norse or whatever like it's NEWS or like I should CARE, I will use that person as a field-expedient colostomy bag.

Shut up.  I don't care where Christmas came from, I hate it.

The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / HOWL 2016
« on: November 03, 2014, 04:51:25 pm »
I can use some graphics for this, if anyone feels like WOMPing.


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