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June 30, 2010

Going viral

I had a terrible thing happen to me the other day. My computer at work somehow caught a virus, and it was an insidious little thing. It refused to let me start any new programs, while attempting to trick me to pay $40 for a piece of anti-virus software. Yes, the virus that masquerades as anti-virus software trick. Sorry smart guy, that one doesn't work on me. Fortunately, I think I was able to disable and then remove the thing - either that, or it is silently biding its time until it can strike again. Maybe like that ridiculous Michaelangelo virus from eons ago.

My relief at not having to tell my boss that my work computer was infected with a virus quickly evaporated when I realized that the server had locked me out of the network. My computer was essentially banned from the internet. Oh hell. Despite all kinds of tricks, I could not get my computer back up and running. I knew I'd have to face the music.

So, the next day when I casually mentioned it, I feared the worst. Luckily, he seemed mellow about it, but I still felt shame. Here's why: computers get viruses, usually, because the user of the computer is doing something silly. Surfing for porn. Downloading ringtones. Maybe even pirating software. That's the sort of place your computer gets infected - not, say, looking up Supreme Court decisions.

Now, I am not stupid enough to look at porn on a work computer (a lesson some people could learn), and I really have no idea what I did to get my computer infected. However, I know that back in my computer-fixing days, whenever somebody would call me over to show me all the spyware on their computer, I always silently judged them for looking at porn at work. (Yes, I'm judgmental, and no I don't think every one of them was doing that.)

Finding out your computer has a virus must be like the doctor telling you you have an STD. If you get STD's for putting certain things where they shouldn't be, you get computer viruses for taking your computer to places it probably shouldn't be, even if you really thought it was completely harmless and there is no way it could happen to you, and oh God what's that itching? Not that I know personally.

Posted at 02:14 PM | Comments (0)

June 28, 2010

Bleepin golden

I don't know how much play this is getting outside Illinois, but the Rod Blagojevich corruption trial is in full swing. [Actually, the fact that Rahm Emanuel was mentioned can only mean the right-wing media is on this like attack dogs, but that is neither here nor there.]

The juiciest bits, of course, are the secret recordings made it Blago's office after authorities tapped his phones. They offer up all sorts of salacious details, including Rod's comical deliberations about how he can raise the most money. Of interest to me, a fellow runner of Blago's, is his speculation about running routes should he get his high-paying ambassadorship to India. I have a feeling New Delhi, with its 100 degree days and monsoon season is not as runner-friendly as Chicago. But I digress.

The real reason I want to write about this trial is how Blago gets quoted. Like many people, including myself, Blago tends to drop his g's at the end of sentences. As in, "I'm goin runnin," "I'm walkin here," or his most famous quote regarding Barack Obama's vacated Senate seat: "it's fuckin golden."

Now, this is what I'm talking about. When he says something like that, the newspaper puts an apostrophe on the end. "It's fuckin' golden." I know it's grammatically correct, but I don't care for this. Here's why. Dropping g's at the end of words like that is born of informality. Putting that apostrophe is way too formal. It seems, quite frankly, more natural that words with dropped g's should be spelled with no apostrophes.

I once bought this songwriting magazine because it had a big article about a band I liked, and this magazine had a songwriting contest. One of the winning entries (a country song, natch) was so overloaded with walkin' and runnin' and cryin' and drinkin', it was downright distracting. Every one of those apostrophes was like a little stop mechanism in my brain. It breaks the flow of the text, like some kind of punctuation speed bump. One of the things I learned in many of my writing/composition classes over the years was that writing should flow. And although I don't always follow those rules - or, frankly, edit that much, I always find the most readable sentences have the least amount of punctuation. I try to avoid commas when I can, because I know how it breaks up thoughts. It's the same thing with these apostrophes. So, although I will risk the ire of 5th grade English teachers everywhere, I will continue to do my spellin the way I want. Now git. Or, as the esteemed former Governor of Illinois would say, I am gonna parachute me outta here.

Posted at 04:25 PM | Comments (0)

June 22, 2010

Cup time

The World Cup has been going on for close to two weeks now, and tomorrow the United States will face Algeria in an important contest: if the US wins, it will advance to the next round. If it loses, it is out. If it ties, it needs rival England to lose or possibly tie. In short, just win.

Now, in case you hadn't heard, the USA wouldn't be facing such a do-or-die situation if the referee in their last game hadn't screwed up royally. To summarize, the USA had a goal disallowed for a foul which nobody could see on the replay, and which the referee wouldn't explain to the players. Now, as a longtime soccer player and watcher, this sort of stuff happens all the time. You think you've scored a goal, but then the referee says "oh no you didn't." Or the referee calls a foul, and you have no idea what happened. Unfortunately, it's part of the game.

The alternative is instant replay, but I really have no desire to see it used in situations like that. As a matter of fact, instant replay is not used to decide if a foul occurs in any sport. In the NFL and NHL, it is used only to decide whether the ball is over the line, if it hit the ground, etc. But not for a foul. I think instant replay in soccer would be fine, if, and only if, it is used to judge whether the ball is over the line.

Now, like I said, unfortunately there's nothing that can be done about it. But that didn't stop everyone and their sister, including people who have never watched soccer before, from yammering on about it. It even made the ESPN "bottom line," right alongside whether or not Brett Favre's shoulder is better. I mean, look at that picture. Someone drew a diagram! This is getting dissected even more than that tuck rule game.

So, although I think the continuous complaining is unmerited, I'm also pleased to see the regular US sports media getting into a tizzy over this. I guess if there is one way to get everyone to care about the World Cup, it's for the USA to get screwed over. It shows the media really is starting to care. For example, at the World Cup in 2002, the USA probably should have had a penalty kick against Germany when one of their players committed a handball on the goal line, but I can't remember much reaction about it. But this - damn. They really do care!

Posted at 04:46 PM | Comments (0)

June 21, 2010

The list where nobody is a wiener

I used to live fairly close to a modest hot dog stand known as the Wiener's Circle. During the daytime, it is a fairly non-descript place with a few seats on the inside and big park benches outside. One can purchase a tasty, albeit expensive, char-grilled hot dog that is far superior to the boiled version used in standard "Chicago style." The place is so tame I even brought my parents there.

So, it might be surprising that after bar closing time on prime drinking nights, the place transforms into a raucous free-for-all where the staff swears violently at the customers, and the customers respond in kind. You wouldn't hear more foul language in a rendition of The Aristocrats. This is a popular tradition, so much so that Vince Vaughn is incorporating it in his latest Chicago-themed movie - the last time I was in the neighborhood, the restaurant was closed to the public because Vince was filming.

The ribald exchanges have some enemies, including one travel writer who gave the Wiener's Circle a dubious distinction:

May we ask you now to please turn to Page 137 of the new travel book "101 Places Not to See Before You Die," a fairly serious answer from journalist Catherine Price to that best-selling bucket list, "1,000 Places to See Before You Die."

On Page 137, Price argues that Lincoln Park's Wiener's Circle is the 56th worst place on Earth. In the book, it is sandwiched between the top of Mount Everest (No. 57), which is windy and cold and a place you'll probably die. No. 55? The Blarney Stone, outside the village of Cork in Ireland, included because it's awkwardly placed yet 400,000 visitors kiss it each year, resulting in "trace bits of spit left behind with every pucker."

...

As Price writes, the hot dog stand's infamous "free-for-all nastiness" is a "microcosm of segregation in Chicago, with a black staff catering to a predominantly white clientele. Add alcohol, a hot kitchen …" And what occurs between vendor and customer is not fit for a Teamster's ears.

Ouch! Now, I have heard the racism argument before regarding this place, and although I don't think it's necessarily true, I could understand it. Oftentimes both the staff and the customer will use racist or borderline-racist language. It is unsavory and unnecessary, but then so is the entire environment at that place past 2 am. I don't think it's right, but I'm also not sure it means your average 24 year old idiot in an Ed Hardy t-shirt is a violent racist.

So, although the Wiener's Circle can be unpleasant for novices, I have found that cursing at the help isn't necessary to acquire some late-night eats. I can also safely say there are 101 places that are worse than the Wiener's Circle. Especially if you go at a time other than 2 am.

Posted at 12:49 PM | Comments (0)

June 18, 2010

Arizona sounds like a delightful place

I was in Arizona back in March, and I thought it was interesting place. I don't think I had ever seen a cactus until that day. All the people I met were friendly, if not garrulous. Of course, then this whole business with the anti-illegal immigrant bill started, and then people started bringing guns to Obama speeches, and soon I realized some Arizonans are downright grumpy. Not grumpy like John McCain, but grumpy like everything in the world pisses them off.

So, it's not really surprising to me that there is an uproar over a billboard in Phoenix. It's a Budweiser billboard, in Spanish, touting it as the official beer of the Mexican national soccer team. Wait a minute! said some concerned residents. Why isn't there a billboard for the American national team!?

"I think we ought to support our own team, take care of America first, " said Gloria Patty.
Jerseys supporting just about every team can be found in local bars, as people pack in to cheer for their favorites. But some said in a town with its own local hero, Robbie Findley, on the American World Cup team, ads should be geared towards Team USA.
"I suppose Budweiser is a big company and they can sponsor whomever they please. I'd rather have it be an American company supporting an American team but that's there choice, " Peggy Hutchinson said.

This is the sort of thing where I would just shake my head. It's the very definition of much ado about nothing. Budweiser is a sponsor of the US National Team. And why wouldn't Budweiser try to curry favor with a sizable Mexican population in Arizona? It's not like Budweiser is honoring Chairman Mao or anything.

Posted at 03:38 PM | Comments (0)

June 16, 2010

Dirty rats

I was out at court in Wheaton yesterday, and as I puttered back to the Loop on Roosevelt Road, I saw a couple of guys in lawn chairs sitting next to a giant inflatable rat. Ah yes, the international symbol of non-union work sites, meant to bring shame to an employer who doesn't hire union workers.

I can only assume the men in lawn chairs were union men, letting the miscreants at the job site know exactly what they thought about them. For me, I never could get behind a protest where the protesters are sitting down. A protest conjures images of angry, passionate people. Angry, passionate people do not sit in fabric chairs they got for opening a checking account. With a cupholder! Obviously people who can't walk or stand for long will want to protest, too, but two guys in lawn chairs is hardly an angry mob. I really think they'll need something better to truly stoke the flames. You'd think two union electricians, or carpenters, or whatever they were would be more physically capable.

Now, I see these things on a fairly regular basis, and it leads me to wonder: where do these rats come from? Is there a company that makes and sells inflatable rats? How much to these cost? Do unions have a stockpile of inflatable rats they keep just for these occasions? Do they borrow from each other?

Posted at 04:47 PM | Comments (0)

June 15, 2010

I am serious. And don't call me Shirley

This story caught my attention for a few reasons. First, it is probably pretty damn scary to have the pilot come over the radio and ask if there are any pilots aboard. Second, it sure reminds me of that fine comedy film, Airplane!

A flight attendant who has a pilot's license replaced an ill first officer during a landing at O'Hare International Airport, officials said today.

The co-pilot of an American Airlines plane that departed San Francisco on Monday fell sick en route to Chicago, said American spokeswoman Mary Frances Fagan.

"He was unable to continue his duties and he moved to the passenger cabin," Fagan said, adding that the flight's captain checked to see whether any off-duty airline pilots were on board the flight.

A female flight attendant advised the captain that she is a commercial pilot and the captain asked her to sit in the right-hand seat in the cockpit, Fagan said.

This leads to all sorts of questions. Does a pilot fall ill a lot? Do they need a pilot and co-pilot to land the thing? Is there anyone aboard who likes gladiator movies? Did that co-pilot have the chicken or the fish?

Posted at 04:20 PM | Comments (0)

June 11, 2010

Watch out, here comes Sarah

The people running the Empire State Building are about to get their ass kicked. The iconic building, like many of our buildings here in Chicago, can light up in different colors in honor of something. Recent honorees have included Valentine's Day, something about Mariah Carey, and the release of the Simpsons movie on DVD. So naturally, the Catholic League thought it would ask the building administrators if they would be so kind as to light it in blue and white for Mother Teresa's 100th birthday. Seems a no-brainer, huh? Oh snap!

The Empire State Building's owner says he won't light the landmark skyscraper for Mother Teresa because of a policy against honoring individual religious figures.

Anthony Malkin's statement Wednesday comes amid an uproar over the decision not to illuminate the building in blue and white lights in August on what would have been the late Nobel Prize winner's 100th birthday.

Okay, so it's against their policy to honor individual religious figures. Except, you know, the Cardinal and the Pope:

The league says individual religious figures have, in fact, received the honor. It says the building's lights were illuminated after Cardinal John O'Connor died in 2000 and extinguished after Pope John Paul II died in 2005.

This perked up the outrage meter of Sarah Palin, who never met a chance to score easy conservative bona fides she didn't like. Drop in a Communist China reference, and boom-boom-pow:

Palin responded on Twitter, "U kidding, Empire State Bldg officials?U won't honor Mother Theresa's compassionate, selfless efforts for humanity, but honor Communist Mao?"

So I think it's settled: Empire State Building management is being a bunch of twerps. Obviously they are a private entity, and have no obligation or requirement to fulfill these requests. Their no individual religious figure policy got blown up easily, and now they look like all-around dumb-asses. Now that Sarah Palin is on the scent, I am sure Fox News will be frothing in no time. Way to go, idiots.

Of course, what does it all really matter? Tourists will flock to the building, it will light up in honor of the banal, and time will go on. Even Sarah Palin will forget about this, just as soon as someone tells a Vietnam veteran he can't wear his American flag hat inside church.

Posted at 09:01 AM | Comments (0)

June 09, 2010

The devil gets his due

My dislike of White Sox TV announcer Ken "The Hawk" Harrelson is well-known. His homespun act does not do it for me one bit. Of course, legions of South Side partisans think he is manna from Heaven, but I do not. He is so popular in fact, the White Sox had a celebration for him yesterday. Cue vomit. (But not vomit-filled condoms.)

I used to find him simply annoying, but now I truly despise him. I think I know why. It's not that he is an unabashed White Sox fan. My favorite announcer, dear old Rick Jeanneret, does not hide his allegiances either. I think it's because The Hawk is downright insulting of the other team. He calls them "the bad guys." He gloats when they strike out. He belittles their accomplishments. It's something a high school announcer would be ashamed of, let alone a Major League Baseball one.

Even Ron Santo, he of the "shoot," "gee whiz" and groans doesn't talk bad about the opposition the way Hawk does. It's unseemly, and doesn't deserve recognition. So, again, I must link to my friends at Heave the Hawk. This is one Hawk that deserves to be extinct. (Not in the literal sense, more like extinct from the airwaves.)

Posted at 02:13 PM | Comments (0)

June 08, 2010

Well this is a good idea

Take one of the darkest periods in your nation's history. Then party about it. That's what some party people in London are doing: every five to six weeks, they're hosting "Blitz Parties."

Blitz Party is billed as a 1940s evening with community spirit, where people have the chance to escape the drab safety of the modern world for a time when Londoners defied Hitler's Luftwaffe bombers from behind the blackout curtains.
"This seems to have hit the ticket," said Blitz Party founder and organiser Mark Holdstock, who launched the club night last year. "We get people that know how to have a party and have probably been going to parties and clubs for quite a while -- older than your new, younger clubbers.
"They are looking for something a little bit more interesting and inclusive."
Blitz Party's venues are specifically picked to give an authentic wartime bunker feel, and then kitted out with old fashioned memorabilia and artefacts - such as sand bags, oil lamps, ration books and military bunk beds.
Swing bands, performers and DJs then bring the night alive with sounds from a bygone era.

I think very few modern people have gone through something like The Blitz. Everything I've read about it says Londoners took the Blitz with grim determination, refusing to break under the constant threat of death. I just don't see how this lends itself to partying.

I suppose that something like a nuclear bomb party might be analogous, except for the fact nuclear bombs weren't dropped on the same city, every day for a year. Maybe I'm an old fogey, but it seems sort of in poor taste to me. I wouldn't have a 9/11 party, for example.

Posted at 10:30 PM | Comments (0)

June 07, 2010

Never a coincidence

Yesterday was the 66th anniversary of D-Day, when Allied forces assaulted Northern France and gained a "toehold" in their quest to wrest Continental Europe from Nazi control. It was one of the largest, most-coordinated, and secret military operations of all-time. So, when the Daily Telegraph crossword puzzle began having answers that were related to the invasion, the authorities got concerned. In the weeks before the invasion, crossword answers included "Utah" and "Omaha," the code names for invasion beaches; "Overlord" and "Neptune," the names for the operations; and "Mulberry," the artificial harbors the Allies planned to use after the invasion.

British intelligence went to visit the crossword constructor, a schoolteacher named Leonard Dawe. After he was questioned, his interrogators determined it was all a big coincidence. Of course, that wasn't the real story. The story picked up 40 years later, in 1984:

Following a re-telling of the "D-Day Crosswords" in the Telegraph, Ronald French, a property manager in Wolverhampton, came forward with further information.
He said that, as a 14-year-old at the school in 1944, he inserted the names into the puzzles.
According to French, Dawe occasionally invited pupils into his study, where, as a mental discipline, he would encourage them to help fill in the blank crossword patterns. Later, Dawe would create clues for their solution words.
French claimed that during the weeks before D-Day he had learned of the codewords from Canadian and American soldiers camped close by the school, awaiting the invasion.
He was adamant that, in the final days before the landings, the words were well known and the only thing secret was the where and when.
Undoubtedly, wartime and the proximity of Allied soldiery was exciting for the schoolboys. French claimed to have kept notebooks of information he gleaned.
"I was totally obsessed about the whole thing. I would play truant from school to visit the camp and I used to spend evenings with them and even whole weekends there, dressed in my Army cadet uniform. I became a sort of dogsbody about the place, running errands and even, once, driving a tank.
"Everyone knew the outline invasion plan and they knew the various codewords. Omaha and Utah were the beaches they were going to. They knew the names but not the locations. We all knew the operation was called Overlord."
The soldiers talked freely in front of him "because I was obviously not a German spy. Hundreds of kids must have known what I knew."
French did not remember writing the codenames into the puzzle grids but recalled the consequence. "Soon after D-Day, Dawe sent for me and asked me point blank where I had got the words from.
"I told him all I knew and he asked to see my notebooks. He was horrified and said the books must be burned at once. He made me swear on the Bible I would tell no one about it. I have kept that oath until now."

How amazing is that? It goes to show that even the best-kept secrets can't always be kept under wraps. People are naturally gossipy, and will always talk. Obviously, based on how slow the Germans were to react to the invasion, they had little inkling it was coming. Nevertheless, I can only imagine how befuddled and alarmed Allied generals must have been when these clues kept showing up in the puzzle. I can also only imagine how confused poor Mr. Dawe must have been when these British agents appeared at his door asking questions about the puzzle.

Posted at 10:56 AM | Comments (0)

June 04, 2010

At least she got a refund

I think one of the more sadistic machines at the gym is the exercise bike. Modern exercise bikes, admittedly, are much more tolerable, but they are also as annoying as all get-out. You're pedaling hard, yet not going anywhere. It's one of the reasons I tend to dislike treadmills, too.

So, a woman who wanted to lose some weight signed up at her local gym. When she tried to use the exercise bike, it all hit the fan:

During one of her visits, Ruiz said a worker approached her while she was on a stationary bike and told her to get off.

"The lady said I couldn't get on the machines because we are overweight," Ruiz said. "Everybody was watching seeing what was going on, and I got very sad because I'm so emotional about my weight right now."

She said the gym told her she could instead use their aerobics room to walk in, but Ruiz said if she wanted to just walk she would do that outside for free.

Oh googily moogily. Further reading of the story shows our protagonist weighed in at a hefty 385 lbs, and was told when she joined she wouldn't be able to use certain equipment. (She denies this. Try proving either version though.)

I feel for this woman, I really do. There is nothing worse to see than someone getting humiliated like that. But at the same time, if a piece of equipment can't handle a 385 lb person, that person shouldn't be using it. I imagine that if she was using the bike and fell and hurt herself, her negligence lawsuit would state "Defendant should have told her not to use the exercise bike." So, essentially, it is a lose-lose situation. I hate those.

As a side note, I was at this gym in Philadelphia once. (Great running city, by the way.) I was using the exercise bike, and wham, two times the seat on the bike fell with me sitting in it. If you want to feel like a fat bastard, that is the way to do it.

Posted at 04:13 PM | Comments (0)

June 03, 2010

OMG cuteness overload

Here's a cute story to warm your heart on that dreariest of days, Thursday. Our hero: Sgt. Mark Fry, of Toledo's Finest:

After a pregnant deer was hit by a car May 20 on Arlington Avenue near the University of Toledo Medical Center in the city's south end, Sgt. Fry worked with the fawn by giving it CPR until it started to breathe.

Since then the Frys have taken care of the animal, nursing it back to health.

Mark and Darla Fry have called the fawn "Norman."

"Now he's a couple weeks old," Darla Fry said. "He's running around, jumping, all of the things he's supposed to do."

Aww! That junk is so sweet, my teeth hurt. But like any feel-good story, there is also a villain. In this case, it's Big Bad Mr. Government.

But it's illegal to keep a deer and that's why the Department of Wildlife came to the Frys home Wednesday morning. State wildlife officials said the fawn is a wild animal and it is not safe for the average pet owner. The state also worried about any diseases the fawn may have.

"We have to relinquish him to them (Thursday) morning or we face fines or jail time," Darla Fry said. "And if my husband goes to jail, he'll lose his job."

"I'm not handing him over, I can't," Sgt. Fry's wife added. "I can't hand him over after he fought so hard. If they would come to the door and say we won't euthanize him and would guarantee it, things would be different."

This is a fairly outlandish story, I must admit. Surely there has to be some middle ground, specifically one that doesn't involve killing the fawn.

This reminds me of a long-standing fear of mine as a child. My dog, Indiana Montana Jones Osgood, PhD, was one of the gentlest dogs you could imagine. Yet, I was often worried that he would bite some stupid kid and then get sentenced to the doggie electric chair. It was my plan that if such an event occurred, I would free Dr. Jones from the dog pound, secret him out of Ohio, where the big bad sheriff had no jurisdiction (probably to the mountains of West Virginia, where definitely nobody would look for us), and live the outlaw life. It was the perfect plan.

So, Sgt. Fry, if you really want to spare the life of Norman, get the hell out of Ohio. You live in Toledo. Michigan is like five miles away. Get to it.

[Please note: although I am a licensed attorney, I am not familiar with the laws and regulations of Ohio, particularly those concerning wildlife. Furthermore, please be advised, transporting contraband animals across straight lines is probably a violation of applicable federal statutes. Please consult your attorney before taking any further action.

But if you really loved Norman, you'd do it anyway, wouldn't you? I thought so.]

Posted at 02:08 PM | Comments (0)

June 01, 2010

No Michiganders on Michigan Ave

Today's bit of Tribunery comes from Barbara Brotman, who wrote a (tongue-in-cheek) set of rules for tourists using the Michigan Avenue Bridge. Notably, no stopping to take pictures, no holding hands, no talking. No flip flops, because flip flops make you walk slow. Apparently this bridge is a vital artery, to which the average on-the-go Chicagoan needs quick and immediate access to get from North Water Street to South Water Street and vice-versa.

I sort of scoffed at this article, even though I know it's only semi-serious. I think this is because any idiot who lives in a big, tourist-attracting city ought to know that if you have somewhere to be, avoid certain areas. For New Yorkers, I think that means all of Manhattan. For Chicagoans, it means Michigan Avenue.

I, for example, will run from my neighborhood to downtown and back. Even though I know it will utterly destroy my time, I sometimes like to run on Michigan Avenue for a half mile or so. I expect that this will happen. I may even have to stop and walk because the crowd is so thick. So with all due respect to our esteemed writer, you're dreaming if you think Michigan Avenue will ever be something other than a slog of tourists with fancy cameras, people trying to sell them bus tours, and Bucket Boys.

If there is one thing that irritates me, however, it's people who block escalators. Most mornings I ride an escalator, and am stuck standing on the stupid thing because the left side is blocked by any number of people standing. The left side is for walking. Stand on the right! You live in Chicago, you ought to know how to share an escalator. Jerks.

Posted at 12:15 PM | Comments (0)