perfidy

Effing hilarious.

I can't really excerpt, you have to read the whole thing, as the effect is cumulative.

[wik]: I was startled, when I actually opened the link in a browser, at how ugly the page is.  I read most webpages now through my rss feed reader app, Reeder.  It does a remarkable job displaying ugly websites in a clean, easy-on the eyes manner while retaining useful semantic markup.  If you're a mac or iphone/ipad user, I can't recommend it highly enough.

[alsø wik]: h/t to my pal Christian.

While down in Columbus, the wife conceived a need to go to Walmart.  On the way back, waiting at a light, she was looking through her purse.  And her foot lifted off the break pedal a bit.  Since it was an automatic, she drifted forward and touched the bumper of the car in front of her.  So slight was the impact that she wasn't even aware that she'd touched the other car.

That is, until the woman got out and started screaming.

This Indian woman (dot) accused my wife of damaging her car.  Based on what I saw when of our car, there is no possibility that there was any damage whatsoever.  The woman called the police.  The officer, when he arrived, refused to right a citation to anyone since he couldn't detect any damage to either car.  My wife gave the harridan our insurance info.

I thought (hoped, really) that that would be the end of it.

But the day after the whole house thing blew up (see my previous post) I get a call from Geico about the "accident."  I had a hard time thinking of a .1mph impact as an accident - I've hit people's cars harder than that on purpose and caused no damage.

The bonus, though, is that the car my wife was driving was my dad's minivan, which we'd borrowed for the trip so we'd have more room.  So, I had to call Dad and explain that we'd been in an accident.  So while I was frantically trying to save my house, I had to deal with spending hours on the phone with insurance companies explaining the non-accident and making sure that the insurance adjustors when they get to look at the woman's 97 Toyota Camry, they take a skeptical view of any of her claims of damage.

Trying to get my insurance to pay for a new paint job or something for her thirteen year old car - and making my rates go up - is basically theft.  And forcing me to have to explain all this to my dad is just annoying.

Bitch.

Normally, I have a typically lame excuse for not blogging.  Apathy, work, illness, family, the like.  This last hiatus, though brief by the standards of previous lapses, was more scary.  (For me - if it was scary for you, I am concerned about your mental health.)

Last week, I almost lost my house.

There is a prologue to this story, of course.  I have been gainfully employed for the last year.  The two and a half years previous to last summer were rather more chaotic.  Between January 2007 and August 2009, I was laid off three times.  Once, just five weeks into a year long contract.  This had a profound and deleterious effect on my finances - every time I'd get a new gig, I'd struggle to get caught up, get there, and then immediately be on forced retirement.  With help from family, and by adopting a spartan lifestyle, I managed to make it through.  Except for what I owe my parents, I am no more in debt now than when I started the whole nightmare.  I have no credit card debt, and my only loans are car loans, and my mortgage.  But I did not get through without constant run-ins with the most wonderful and understanding people on Earth, the bill collectors.

My largest debt is my mortgage, and my mortgage loan company is a smallish one.  I'd fall behind, get a job, get on a plan, get laid off, get behind...  Last fall, hopeful again that this job would last a little longer than the last few, I got on a plan.  I scraped up a few thousand in earnest money, and started making payments.

Life is good!  The house is saved, a major worry is de-worrified, and I focus on catching up on other bills.

Now, part of the process is filling out endless paperwork.  I did, back in October of last year.  A call to the mortgage company revealed that they were missing a signed page two of my tax return.  No problem - I'll fax it.  As I made my last scheduled payment on the plan at the end of March, this came up again.  Didn't get the first one?  I'll fax it in again.  I continued making payments, as agreed.  I asked when I'd find out what the new terms would be, they said that the underwriters would look at everything and get back to me.

Okay.

Understand that from January of this year through my departure for Ohio three weeks ago, I received exactly one piece of mail from the mortgage people - a form letter saying that my interest rate might (or might not) change in August.  Got that in May.

'Round about June, I became concerned that I hadn't heard anything.  I gave them a call.  "Oh, hi, Mr. Buckethead!  We don't have your signed page two of your tax return."  Well, shit, okay, I'll get it to you.  I asked where we were - no problem, they say, just get that to us, and we're cool.  So alright.  I faxed it in, for the fourth time.  Busyness ensued - getting ready for the trip, other issues.  I leave for Ohio.

Last Tuesday, two weeks into my trip to Ohio, I called again, to check on their progress.  And discovered that my house was scheduled for a sheriff's sale yesterday - the 10th of August, a week away.  Holy mother of fuck.  I say, well that's mildly outrageous, seeing as I never got anything in the mail, or a phone call, or by smoke signal indicating that my house was going to be sold out from under me despite the fact that I had made every single agreed payment.

In fact, I discovered that the decision had been made four days before I talked to the guy in June - rejected because they had only an unsigned version of page 2 of my tax return, and not a signed one.  They had somehow failed to mention that in the phone call, or the sale.  And it appears that my signature on the initial agreement gave them the right to do that.

I seriously considered just giving them the keys.

My house is worth no more than what I paid for it in 2006, maybe slightly less.  Thanks to missed payments that will be tacked onto the end, I'm at least somewhat underwater.  If I sold the house, I'd lose money.  Having the bank sell the house would mean they lose the money.  I could find a rental for significantly less than my current mortgage payment, even as low as half; and I wouldn't have the burden of hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt.  The upside would be a thousand more dollars in my pocket every month - not an insignificant sum.

Downside, of course, is that my credit rating would be savaged for years, useless.  That's a hell of a trade-off, freedom and more money with expulsion from the ranks of the credit-worthy; or continued paycheck to paycheck wage-slavery to maintain my status and nice home.

I find that the monkeybrains was arguing for status.  Losing the house would be a real hit to my pride.  But in the end, I decided to go with monkeybrains and keep the house for a couple reasons.  One, employers check credit reports when they're hiring. Two, I will need a viable credit rating to purchase a new, larger vehicle to accomodate my soon to be larger family sometime before next January.  Three, I have plans for the future that require home ownership.  It's involved, but take my word for it.  I'm trying to think long-term, and the short term happiness of more money is not outweighing seven years bad luck for defaulting on a mortgage.

So last week, I spent several hours on the phone, arguing, bargaining, negotiating, and managed to avert disaster.  So far as I know, they did not sell my house yesterday.  It came down to me agreeing to pay two payments instead of one, all for their screw up.  A reach-around would have been appreciated, but was not offered.  A timely short term loan from Mom covered the shortfall (thanks mom!) and finally we were able to move on.

The frustrating thing about this is (aside from nearly dying of shock, and then having to fork over an extra mortgage payment for someone else's fuck-up) that I had not refinanced the loan back in March. I didn't because the people I talked to said that I wouldn't be able to get good terms while I was still technically in default, because the plan wasn't complete.  I figured a couple more months wouldn't be a bad thing, especially if I can get a better deal at the end of it.  Now, thanks to this most recent ass-rape, it will be until January of '11 before this new plan is finished.  (Needless to say, I am going to pursue refinancing rather more relentlessly, I want to get away from these people.)

If anyone knows of any good house refinancing resources, I'd welcome a tip.

From what mom was telling me, this sort of thing isn't exactly uncommon.  Others have had houses sold out from under their feet despite having made regular, agreed-upon payments.  And usually, without notification.  Which strikes me as curious - it's one thing to foreclose on someone who isn't making payments, but given the near certainty of massive losses on the sale, you'd think they'd want to keep raking in the interest money.  Unless, of course, it's cheaper for them to write off the loss and get bailout money from the government.

No easy way to excerpt, so I'll just quote the whole damn thing:

Let me start by saying I have no problem with LeBron James leaving Cleveland for a bigger city, for a team with more talent, for more money, or for any other reason to his liking. It’s his talent. His body. He’s free to market his skills as he pleases. But like just about everyone else outside of Miami, I thought his decision to schedule a 1-hour prime time special on ESPN to make the announcement was tacky and gratuitous. (And shame on ESPN for playing along.)

So I don’t blame Cleveland for hating him.

When LaBron and the Heat visit Cleveland for the first time next season, the game will almost certainly be nationally televised. Cleveland fans could go ahead and boo and hiss when James takes the floor as expected. But that would really be no different than the reaction of every other city who lost a hometown hero to a bigger market. As these things go, what James did to Cleveland was uniquely insulting. So when James comes back to town, Cleveland needs to come up with an appropriately unique collective middle finger to let James know just how his home city feels about him. It needs to be special.

Here’s my idea: Make him play before an empty arena.

Go ahead and buy your tickets to that game. Sell the place out. In fact, for this idea to work you may need to sell the game out way ahead of time. There’s no sense in punishing the Cavs organization for all of this. If you want, have a city pep rally or two the afternoon before the game to let current Cavs players know it’s nothing personal.

But come game time, don’t step foot in the arena. Do go downtown. Patronize the local bars and restaurants. Watch the game from a sports bar. Do some shopping. But keep your tickets in your pocket. Set a goal: See if Cleveland can set an all-time record for lowest attendance at an NBA game. Put so few people in the stands that LeBron’s first dribble actually casts an echo through Quicken Loans Arena. And on national TV to boot.

Any crowd can boo. This would show some civic commitment. It would take some coordination. Some advance planning. It would demonstrate a lingering anger still potent enough to compel an entire stadium of fans to eat the price of a couple tickets. And if it works, it would be a pretty awesome spectacle to behold.

Even better: There’s a pretty good chance that the first Miami/Cleveland game in Cleveland will be on . . . ESPN.

As a native of Cleveland, I was horrified. Well, not really. But Radley has the right of it - the way James went about this was just classless. Or, to put it another way, exactly how you'd expect a player in the NBA to behave. At least we still have the rest of the team, which isn't always the case.

My wife and I are working on a secrit project, one which involves downloading a vast amount of public domain texts from a variety of sources. One of the sources we are using to guide our choices of which books to download is the list compiled by Harold Bloom at the end of his book, The Western Canon, the Book and School of the Ages. Mrs. Buckethead, in interpreting some of the vaguer entries in the list (like, Robert Burns, Poems) has had recourse to looking over the interwebs for guidance on what Mr. Bloom meant when he said, "Poems." Universally, she has found comments criticizing Bloom's list. For being Eurocentric. That's like complaining that African-American History month is afrocentric. Did they read the title? Sheesh.

But, while trolling around being completist on the works of Ambrose Bierce, I found this:

Apparently, this is Johnny Depp's directorial debut, and the story for the song - Unloveable by Babybird - is from Bierce's classic story, "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge." If you haven't read it, you should. This story blew me away when I first read it at 13, and just did again.

From the Oatmeal, source of all kinds of awesome. Like, Seven Reasons to Keep Your Tyrannosaur off Crack Cocaine. And How Long Could You Survive Chained to a Bunk Bed with a Velociraptor? Or after Kicking a Bear in the Balls? And then there is the mighty, Motherfucking Pterodactyl.

Found this on Foseti.  It's like reading Joyce's Ulysses, but without the comforting assurance of generations of fey English majors that what you are reading is indeed a classic of western literature, no matter how little sense it's making to you as you read.

Start here, if anywhere.  And here's a sort of concordance/glossary that may help you understand what you are reading.  Or may not.  I don't know if I do, but it's fun trying to imagine that I do.  There does seem to be something behind the mangled spelling and odd terminology.  Whether that something is good, I don't know.  I hope he's not typing this in software that has spell-checking, because otherwise the red squigglies would blind him.

From "i luvs you allls  o ye of little faith"

to all the spinsters with cats
who teh fed tricked into spinsterhood/serving debt lxolllozlzl
to all the fanboys in ther single mom’s basements
whose dads they never knew because the fed tookawy fatehrhood lzozlzl
to all the broken familes
who were split up by the need to make two salaries to feed the kids
to all aging necon womenz celeberating secretive tapings of butthex without teh girlths conthent lzozllzlzozlzl they tircked you too
to all the spinster chix again i am sorry they sdesouled you
in asscokcing sessins drugged you up on prozac
told you to abort your kids no wonder your’re d[pressed and all fucjked up no lozlzlzlzling here
my heart goes out to you while tucker max & goldman sax laugh zlzolzlzl
too all the aborted fetushes we ask for forgiveness we deserve not and to all those tricked into aborting the gift of life lzozllzllzl we forgive u too and pray for teh fethuses, but not in school as prayer is illegal in school lozlzllzlz

[wik] One of GBFM's favorite word is butthex.  But it's not pronounced butt-hex.  You are asked to imagine that Barney Frank is saying it - something more like but-thex.

[alsø wik] Not really germane, but considering what I just linked, who the fuck cares?  GBFM uses a the pure quill variant of the Hemingway Black WordPress theme that once powered perfidy before we cleaned house and moved to this new, Buckethead-designed theme.

[alsø wik] I don't think we've ever had a more appropriate use of the 'deranged scribblings' category here on perfidy.

[wi nøt trei a høliday in Sweden this yër?] I just noticed that there is a post at GBFM entitled, 'how the federal reserve system created the PUA community lzozlzlzloozlzllzll!! they DO NO wan t the men to read mises or hayek or jefferson or the us constitution lzozlzlzlz they want to keep the men in the fiat masters’ cave — the fiat butthex matrix — “gaming” and fighting over the table scraps of all the desoulaed, haggaard, std-ridden, vicious, gold-digging, cold, defeminized, prozac-addled womenz the fiat masters buttthexed and deosuled in college during teh primae nocate ceremeonies, instead of manning up and fighting for their dvine irght to something far greater — an honorable, virtuous wife. lzozllzllzllzozzlz' - I believe I'll save that one for lunch tomorrow.

Interesting.

Sure, men were a good idea. They were a good idea when the world needed immature, aggressive,  reckless, “overemotional” brutes who could hunt and plow.

Describing men, in opposition to women, as "overemotional" is new to me.  I've been somewhat insulated from the effects described in the post I linked - working in IT.  IT remains a predominantly male preserve.

Would it be completely un-PC of me to note that we've seen a drastic decline in innovation in nearly all fields, over the period that women have increased their role in the workplace, save only in the two fields that have not seen a vast influx of women?

Maybe "immature, agressive, reckless, 'overemotional' brutes have some value that isn't currently recognized by the leading lights of our culture.  In fact, maybe if we rephrased that description to, "confident, assertive, daring, passionate men" we'd see more of it.  One (among many) of the reasons that we've decided to homeschool is the treatment of boys in the public schools - whenever a boy acts like a boy, they generally get prescribed ritalin, and they are indoctrinated into viewing their own nature as "immature, aggressive, reckless, 'overemotional' brutes.  I have no brief against women in the workplace, but not at the cost of training boys not to be men.

And while I'm on about it, a little emotional stoicism would likely do us all a lot of good.  Except for Jerry Springer and Oprah.  A rebirth of emotional stoicism would kill them.

Now go read the post that justifies, in a roundabout way, this picture.

From Reuters:

Nurses' union: Care does not include sex

(Reuters) - A union representing Dutch nurses will launch a national campaign Friday against demands for sexual services by patients who claim it should be part of their standard care.

The union, NU'91, is calling the campaign "I Draw The Line Here," with an advert that features a young woman covering her face with crossed hands.

The union said in a statement Thursday that the campaign follows a complaint it had received in the last week from a 24-year-old woman who said a 42-year-old disabled man asked her to provide sexual services as part of his care at home.

The young woman witnessed some of the man's other nurses offering him sexual gratification, the union said. When she refused to do the same, he tried to dismiss her on the grounds that she was unfit to provide care.

"This type of action is not part of the job responsibilities of carers and nurses," NU'91 said.

The case has been reported to police, the union added.

Funny.  I wonder what other ordinary transactions could be productively and imaginatively re-imagined as sordid criminal activity?

I almost inexpressibly happy.  I am floating on air.  I am tingly with joy.  I am so happy, if I saw a congressman, I wouldn't spit on him.

Why? The materialistic and gadget addicted side of Buckethead has been deeply unhappy for much of 2010. Because on the day after Christmas, his dog Kasey gave him an anti-Christmas present. Kasey committed the unforgivable sin of breaking his master's iPhone. Horror!

I was walking Kasey, waiting patiently for him to find a suitable pile of snow to piss on. I realize that this is a difficult process, piles of snow being so different and all. So I was reading something or other on my iPhone and smoking a smoke when tragically, Kasey saw a squirrel or snow weasel or some damn thing and jerked on the leash. Which jerked my hand. Which held the iPhone. Which then wasn't holding the iPhone. The iPhone flipped up, did a one and a half gainer, and did a belly flop glass down on the pavement. 10.0 from the East German judge, but the glass was cracked.

Here's the villain, looking remorseful:

The only thing damaged was the glass surface - the underlying screen and touch sensors were still functional. For about a month, I continued to use the phone while I tried to figure out what course to follow for repairs. Every time I swiped my finger over the cracked glass, I cried a little tear inside.

Apple wanted $200 to fix the glass. "$200!" I exclaimed, "That's the price of a new phone!" "A new, unsubsidized phone is $650," the Apple Store employee helpfully pointed out. Well, that seemed high, seeing that you could buy the glass part for $25 online. Of course, I couldn't get a subsidized phone, I'd used my upgrade to get the one that lay, broken, before me. Mrs. Buckethead is eligible for an upgrade, but wasting her upgrade on a replacement phone for me seemed, well, unseemly. Also stupid, since I was planning on using her upgrade to get me an iPhone 4.0 when it comes out in June.

I dithered on ordering the parts and doing the repair myself. On the one hand, I'm moderately handy with electronics. I've built my own computers. I can repair things. I can make things better than they were before. On the other hand, the iPhone is a $600 piece of magical technology made out of rainbows and leprechaun brains, hand crafted by Unicorns. After deep soul searching and comparing the $50 with $200, I decided to order the parts.

The parts arrived, and I disassembled my phone using custom made plastic prybars and a suction cup. I removed twenty dozen molecule-sized screws. I pulled the screen assembly out of the phone. I disconnected things. The tricky bit was getting the LCD screen out and away from the glass. I removed the broken glass, not even cutting myself. I installed the new glass, reassembled the phone, and proudly turned it back on.

Holy mother of fuck, I broke the LCD display when I twisted it to get it out of the frame.

I cried bitter, bitter tears. It seems that LCD screens do not tolerate twisting, even in small, repair-justified amounts.

I tried not to think about my phone. About as successfully as you can avoid noticing you've amputated your arm. Because, after two and a half years, losing the phone was like losing an arm. I borrowed my wife's iPhone - my original iPhone. But that was like losing an arm and replacing it with one of those creepy hook things. Sure you can pick things up, but you scare small children. I wanted the full 3GS goodness.  I wanted my arm back.

So I looked online again. Some people warned against the online repair shops. Plus, shipping costs yet money. I decided to go with a local repair shop that was "only two blocks from the metro." Turns out, that's actually five blocks, not one of which has plowed sidewalks. And uphill both ways.  But anyway.

Dropped the maimed iPhone off with the helpful and condescending lackey. And three days and $200 later, I have a working iPhone again. And I am whole and happy once more.

This whole experience has been stuffed to the gills with lessons, moral and otherwise.

• One, never trust dogs. The little bastards don't care what you've got in your hand when they see an ice weasel. This obviously has implications beyond iPhones.
• Two, $30 for an iPhone case is cheaper than $250 in iPhone repair costs. You'd think that would be obvious. But it ain't.
• Three, I am completely and unabashedly addicted to my iPhone. I was briefly embarrassed by the extent and deepness of my affliction. But really, why shouldn't I be dependent on something so damn useful? Do you think your dependence on, say, the internet or cars is ridiculous?
• Four, I went down the road my Grandfather always walked, the one that made my grandmother say, "We fix everything twice." I spent $250 repairing the phone, and a lot more trouble. If I'd just gone to Apple I'd have had it fixed sooner, spent less money and wouldn't have violated my warranty.
• Five, I know all I have to do to recapture this feeling is buy an iPad next month.

Perfidy is now at WordPress version 2.8.4, and theoretically safe from blog eating monsters.  That's the upside.  Downside is that some of the old plugins apparently aren't very compatible with the new version, and some things are hosed.  Like the "open sesame" button up there to the right, fer instance.

I think I might just redesign the whole site, seeing as I'm going to be doing that same thing for two others over the next couple weeks.  And seeing as I'm the only one who's posted anything over the last year or so, and damn little of that, well, I'm not even going to solicit input from my fellow ministers.

I am Perfidy.  I control the horizontal.  I control the vertical.  And no one really cares.

This, more than anything I have ever experienced, makes me want to want to dig a hole and pull it in after me.

Watch the first minute or so, if you can, and then jump to 3:54.

Sheesh. I need more guns.

[wik] Ashton Kutcher as the face of the new order of the ages. Along with the obvious horror, a secondary horror is the staggering historical ignorance this little piece of unintentionally Orwellian theater demonstrates in its art design.

[alsø wik] Ashton Kutcher, I have always felt, represented something evil. I just wasn't sure until today what it was.

[alsø alsø wik] I for one would like to be among the first to welcome our Stepford Hollywood Elite Overlords. Non servium.

[wi nøt trei a høliday in Sweden this yër?] My wife just suggested Non Servium would make a nice tshirt. So as not to implicate myself as a Satanist, we'd need to add a picture of Obama. Maybe done up Che-style, but I think the socialist realist depiction from that video would perhaps be most apropos.

[see the løveli lakes...] And really, wi nøt trei a høliday in Sweden this yër? Sweden seems almost Republican now.

...nothing will.

"Microsoft says next Windows won't be as annoying"

Well, not EVERYONE, exactly...just those of us who intend to make our living through our creativity.

There's a Bill sneaking its way through the government, called the "Orphan Works Bill," and it's absolutely worthy of Germany ca. 1935 (which, if you think about it, wasn't ALL that different than America ca. 2008). I'm parroting the email I received from my local writers' organization.

There's a reason why Google, Getty, Disney, et al are interested in seeing this bill pass:

http://www.youtube. com/watch? v=CqBZd0cP5Yc

PASS IT ON

The Orphan Works Bill promotes theft of creative work, pure and simple. This bill, currently under consideration in Congress, will deny you the right of immediate ownership over the product of your own creativity, and therefore makes it increasingly difficult to make money--much less a living--from it.

Copyright law, as it is now, acknowledges that the work you create is legally yours--your own property--as soon as you create it.

The Orphaned Works Bill will deny that right of ownership. It requires that the creator of any work must pay to register that work before it can be legally deemed the property of the creator. It means you have to register with a private company to have it copyrighted. That means your work can be "orphaned" as soon as it's created, especially since such companies don't exist right now.

Should someone copy your work and leave off your name, it becomes "orphaned" especially when the copied work is copied again and again. These days, this happens all too easily. That repeated copying makes it difficult to discover who created the work in the first place--even for the "diligent" copier.

In addition, it pits million- and billion-dollar companies that want easy access to creative work against artists who can hardly make ends meet from their own work as it is. Why? Because it puts the burden of proof on the creator of the work, rather than the copier.

Worse, it seriously erodes the property rights of citizens of the U.S. as outlined in Section 1 of the 14th Amendment to our Constitution.

Write your senator and congressperson now. Find your state representative: https://forms. house.gov/ wyr/welcome. shtml Feel free to forward this e-mail.

"The three great rights are so bound together as to be essentially one right. To give a man his life, but deny him his liberty, is to take from him all that makes his life worth living. To give him his liberty, but take from him the property which is the fruit and badge of his liberty, is to still leave him a slave."

- George Sutherland, Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court, 1921.

It occurs to me, after reading the articles about the money mules, that you could:

1. Set up a fake paypal account, tied to one of those super-market pay-as-you-go credit cards.
2. Set up a fake email address, and sign up on Monster.com with a fake resume, etc.
3. Sign up for money mule scheme.
4. Wait for them to deposit money in the paypal account.
5. Keep the money.

Seems like it would work better than the average

1. Collect underpants
2. ???
3. Profit!

schemes.

I avoided an email scam! Aren't I clever? Interestingly, though, a day after posting about one, I find several in-depth bits on how the money mule scams actually work. The Washington Post has an article and backgrounder, and here's a website devoted to fighting the scammers. Find out how not to be a chump for organized crime.

And as an added bonus, more info on phishing. Which, curiously, does not involve metal hooks and hippy jam bands.

...seems it's never too early to, you know, get my preferences out there.

I figure if everyone at the Ministry kicked in merely half of their economic stimulus money, you could all easily swing this for me.

And I can't tell you how much that would in turn stimulate me.