Saturday, May 09, 2009

2390 Bullies 2

Saturday, May 9, 2009

I'm beginning to worry about my memory.

I wrote the previous post right after reading the "Shoebox" snipe at Hasselhoff. What I had forgotten was something I had come across earlier in the day, that set me up to be in no mood for that kind of nastiness.

Someone somewhere on the internet had mentioned some guy, Chris, who posts incredibly TMI video clips on YouTube. I picked up that tag end of yarn, and followed it, and ended up thoroughly disgusted - not with the poor fool himself, but with the wolves who have descended on him and are torturing him. In my opinion it's completely out of hand, and if it's not illegal, it should be.

Chris is mentally disabled in some way. He's a 27-year-old virgin who lives with his parents, and collects disability. He is fascinated by Star Trek, and draws an online comic strip with characters that are a blend of Sonic Hedgehog and Pokemon. He is in search of a boyfriend-free girl (all the women he meets already have boyfriends) to be his girlfriend, so maybe they can lose their virginities together.

Somehow a group of trolls have discovered him, and have set out to make him miserable. They get their jollies by setting him up and encouraging him to make a fool of himself.

They have fed him online girlfriends, who then encourage him to do debasing things and "show me" stuff - which he happily does, and posts on YouTube. They record telephone conversations with the bogus girlfriend, in which, of course, he is encouraged to say outrageous things, and then they post transcripts of his side of the conversations.

That might be illegal.

When he discovers he's been set up, where most of us would keep a low profile for a while, Chris videos his outrage, and posts it on YouTube, which is to his tormentors like the scent of blood. (Actually, the picture in my head is of them masturbating to it. They are probably every bit as unsuccessful in love and life as Chris is. Otherwise, you'd think they had better things to do.)

They are more immature than he is. I'd like to castrate the whole bunch of them.

That's definitely illegal.

I've tried to track them down, and can't. Unlike the openness and honesty of their victim, they hide and snipe from deep cover. I did find out where their internet personnas hang out, at, a disgusting website devoted to that kind of activity. Which doesn't seem to allow outraged non-members to comment.

I'd like to form a citizen's posse to give them some justice, or drag them to justice, whichever works. But I don't think I or anyone I know is mean and nasty and cruel enough to do a good job of it.

Friday, May 08, 2009

2389 Bullying?

Friday, May 8, 2009

I came across this: "David Hasselhoff posted a dangerously high blood-alcohol level in what authorities are calling a dramatic attempt to forget he’s David Hasselhoff" in the Newsdroppings section of Shoebox.

That strikes me as unnecessarily nasty, to blame his drinking on his being him, like he can't stand himself. Um, maybe you bullies are his problem?

I don't know how stuff like that gets started. Other examples of people being picked on or sneered at for no real reason are Jerry Lewis, John Tesh, Richard Simmons, Paula Abdul, and believe it or not, people are starting to sneer at Susan Boyle.

All they've done is be themselves. They've done nothing that the sneerers or their neighbors or family members haven't done. They're just people, doing their thing. If you want to comment on their drinking, or drugging, or annoying enthusiasm, fine. That's a external, an action. But it's incredibly mean to blast them simply because they are who they are.

Sometimes I think some people get picked on more than others because they are weak, they don't defend themselves very well. That doesn't speak well of the picker-oners. Like they do it because they can. They don't even have the excuse of preserving strong genes that birds have when they oust the weakest nest mate.

Take the quote in the first paragraph, and substitute your own name (and for the failing, some weakness of your own). How much does that hurt? And how much more does it hurt that other people think it's funny?

This is the nastiest of bullying, and I don't like it!

What scares me most is that there are people who wouldn't understand what my objection is. Maybe even most people. We have become a nation of bullies.

2388 T&F, Visually

Friday, May 8, 2009

This is Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor for organ, visually rendered by Stephen Malinowski, and presented as Kim Komando's video of the day. Amazing.


I read through several screens of the YouTube comments, and was amazed that so many of the younger commenters had never heard it before (and insist on referring to it as a song). Music education seems to have been a victim of budget cuts and curriculum expansion.

Oh, well. The youngsters seem to have been impressed, which is good (although they call it metal" and think they can do a creditable job by ear on a guitar). Any appreciation, in any terms, is good.

(BTW - the different colors indicate different stops on the organ. I was amused that some of the youngsters [OMG! Pretty soon I'll be saying things like "in my day"] thought it indicated different instruments. Their auditory discrimination needs training.)

2387 Bits

Friday, May 8, 2009

Forgive me if I get confused. It's a little after midnight and I haven't been to bed yet, so my tendency is to refer to ten hours ago as "this afternoon". The Man would insist that it should be "yesterday afternoon". When I bat that around in my head, it rolls under the refrigerator and I forget what I was thinking.

Confusion is exacerbated by the fact that I didn't post yesterday, uh, Wednesday. Or yesterday, uh, Thursday, either, if today/tonight is Friday. You know, what I should do is just go down there to the "Post Options" at the bottom of this screen and change the date and time to before midnight. Then I could pretend today is yesterday. Now excuse me while I go look under the refrigerator.

I had the bone density test last week, and it turns out I've lost some since the last one, six years ago. I already take 1600 whatsises of calcium per day, and she wants me to increase that, and do some weight-bearing exercise. Back to walking, I guess.

I had blood drawn Wednesday (standard physical), and the doctor's office called with the results Thursday afternoon.

My blood sugar is high (expected), so I have to watch the sugar intake. I'm insulin resistant. I knew I was headed that way, but I've been ignoring it, hoping losing some weight would fix it.

She called the cholesterol level "good", which surprised me, because it's 202, which most doctors consider a tad too high. But my HDL to LDL ratio is very high, so that makes it ok.

But there's something wrong with the thyroid and the white cell count. I didn't ask for details because they want to redo the test next week. When I go in then I'll get a copy of the report, and ask questions.

Well, see? I hadn't seen a doctor in six years, during which I was perfectly healthy. Then I saw a doctor, and now everything's going wrong. Harumph!

Well, maybe between the walking for bones, the avoiding sugar, and the thyroid thing, either having it or fixing it, whatever it is, maybe I'll lose some weight, which will make me happy, or gain it, which will make The Man happy.

I had lunch Wednesday with Piper, and then Wednesday afternoon The Man and I were discussing getting together for Thursday evening (like, tonight) - but within minutes of that conversation he was assigned to another hot project, and poof, he couldn't take time off. The weekend is gone to his Mother's Day trip south, so I won't see him for at least another week.

Ah phooey. I'm going to bed.

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

2386 Dinner

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

What does a little lady who lives alone, hates washing dishes, and dislikes cooking do for dinner? When she doesn't have a date, that is.
  1. Put two hot dogs** on a paper plate.
  2. Cover with a paper towel and microwave until they sizzle.
  3. Squirt ketchup on one side of the plate.
  4. Spoon sweet pickle relish on the other side.
  5. Cut it all up and mix it together.
  6. Eat while watching TV.
Meat (sort of), grain (in the hot dogs), green vegetables (pickles), and fruit (ketchup) = balanced meal (sort of).

**Living in New York, I should know that without buns, they're not hot dogs. They're just weiners.

2385 Aaaagh! (Again)

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

From Dom DeLuise's obituary at an ABC website:
Meanwhile, actor Gene Wilder gave the pudgy funster rolls in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' Smarter Brother (1975) and The World's Greatest Lover (1978). And Mel Brooks' wife, Anne Bancroft, finally gave DeLuise his own roll in 1980's Fatso.
The first "roll" could be a typo. The second makes it a stupid mistake. From a writer who got paid. My eyes roll.

(No, I don't accept that it's a pun on his weight.)

Monday, May 04, 2009

2384 Gone Phishing

Monday, May 4, 2009

Ever since I upgraded my eBay and PayPal accounts, I've seen a large increase in phishing email claiming to be from eBay and PayPal, which leaves me wondering how these people get my email id. Because of the increase since I upgraded, I no longer think it's just random. They're getting the info somehow from eBay and PayPal.

They're easy to spot - bad grammar, poor formatting, and since I'm now listed as a seller, they are coming from people who claim to have bought an item from me (I haven't sold anything yet), and have a question. They want me to log in to eBay or PayPal to see the transaction, and have the link right there. What they don't know is that my email host allows me to hover over the link, and it shows what the REAL link is. It might look like, but hovering exposes it to actually be, and if I click on it, they'll present a screen that looks just like the real thing, and they'll steal my password.

I always forward them to or, who send me "thank you"s, but I wonder if they do anything else with the information. I see the same ripoff sites over and over.

Today I got one announcing that my PayPal account had been suspended for suspicious activity, and that I had to log in immediately to verify the activity. It was very well done, good graphics and everything, and then I saw this sentence (emphasis mine):
"If you are traveling and made these login attempts yourself or borrowed your PayPal account to someone else, please log in below."
"Borrowed to"?

I sent it immediately to Spoof.


Well, I did try the temporary hair color again, this time for the full 40 minutes. It looked ok that evening - less beige and more light golden brown than I wanted, but still ok. The next day I looked in the mirror and saw pink. Pink in the section over and in front of my ears. Ack!

I know mirrors can lie, especially where color is concerned, so when I went to the village I stopped in Piper's office. He immediately said he liked my hair. Piper is a poltician. He'll always say he likes anything he notices is new, so I discounted that and specifically asked him if it was pink. He said no, no pink.

Saturday I ran into a friend, and she said, all in one breath, "Oh how nice to see you I haven't seen you in ages your hair is pink!"

Damn Piper.

He called this morning to set up lunch for Wednesday, and I took him to task over the pink. He reminded me he's colorblind. Damn. I knew that. I'd forgotten. He can't see reds or greens, or some blues, oranges, and purples. Everything is shades of sepia to him.

So I guess I'll have pink hair for a few months.

Sunday, May 03, 2009

2383 Bubbles

Sunday, May 3, 2009

I accidentally burst The Man's bubble last week.

I'm on the Shakespeare at Boscobel e-newsletter list. Two weeks ago I got the schedule for this summer, and late last week I got the notice that the box office was now open. Gotta move fast - the best seats for every performance go quickly. After thinking about it for a day, I fired off an email note to The Man asking if he'd like to go again this summer, and if so, which play.

His response was that I was about 18 hours late. He'd already purchased tickets for opening night. (And he didn't realize it, but he chose the play that I'd hoped he'd choose.) He had wanted to surprise me with it.

Sweet of him. I felt bad about taking the surprise out of it. The surprise is gone, but the smiles remain.


I went to Spring Caravan yesterday. I met a fellow blogger for lunch, and then we went to the center, where we examined the glittery wares for sale and watched the dancers. She left at about dinner time (and wouldn't you know it, there were several really entertaining performances after she left, including an ATS improv).

A friend was vending yoga pants and wrap tops, and I babysat her booth while she rehearsed and danced - praying the whole time that nobody wanted to buy anything. There were a few inquiries, but they wanted size smalls, which had already sold out (Wow! Sold out!), so I handed out a few business cards and told them that items could be made to order.


I stayed at the Marriott up the street from the center last night, and fell asleep on the couch watching TV. Got to bed about 3 am. The clock radio was obviously new, and absolutely NOT intuitive (why was there no button that said "Set Alarm"? Or anything close to it? On a hotel alarm clock?), but I somehow accidentally succeeded in setting the alarm for 7:30 am.

When the alarm went off, I decided to reset it for 9:30.

That stupid clock almost got thrown against the wall! Not only could I not figure out how to change the alarm to 9:30, I couldn't figure out how to turn it off! Snooze, yes. Off, no.

So it kept going off every 10 minutes until I finally unplugged it, gave up, and got up. I didn't throw it, but I wanted to. It's a good thing the screen wouldn't come out of the window. Yes, I did check. I'd have gladly paid damages just for the satisfaction of seeing it hit the pavement from the fifth floor.

I had planned to see Daughter this afternoon, but she was driving back from south Jersey. It was pouring rain. Traffic would be slow, and spray would make it difficult to see, so I called her and canceled. I didn't want to be responsible for her thinking she had to adhere to a schedule.