Hole in the firewall

A spammer has bored through the Blogger filter. I don't want to moderate or apply the fuzzy word game. For the time being I'll just trash them as they appear, accounting for the deletions you may see.

Place holder complete with lame excuses

I'm in debt, in the hole, owing my blog quite a lot. A promised report on the local loophole two weeks ago, the end of the maple syrup saga, further ruminations on the Coltoid Commander project, an embarrassingly self-congratulatory report of progress in bringing Camp Jiggleview, of which I am Commandant, up to at least Pa Kettle standards. Lord knows what else.

I haven't even vented my spleen on the increasingly mournful assault on the American dollar by those hired to protect it.  (Sorry, for "dollar" read "Federal Reserve Cartoon.")

Honest, Pa, I'll do 'er but I cain't find my round tuit yet.

For the moment, however, non-journalistic demands are in command. New Dog Libby, for instance, is being an incredible nuisance in the spring sun, bitching constantly -- if articulately only in lab language (nose on lap; drool on shoes)  -- that we haven't played fetch for, why, it must be twenty  minutes now.

Also, I come to you as of an hour ago from the official Base Administrative Center rather than the Great Room of the CO quarters. It's nice to be nestled again in the big library. The books don't make me any smarter, but they make me feel smarter, and, damn it, that has to count for something.

The spam cannoli

Blogger has improved its spam filter, but for the first time in months a message offering me riches and a more rewarding sex life made it through to my email, though not to the blog.  So I checked the  Blogger spam file and found some 70 come-ons from the past few days. Nothing unusual there except that every one of them was in Italian.  No problem. I just wopped them off to Deleto, but I found it mildly interesting.

Maybe the Nigerian e-thugs all moved to Sorrento because the internet runs on time there.

I can think of better reasons to go have gone to Italy.

Brigid on tools. Not only graceful, but wonderfully ludditarian for the most part,  both the implements and the attitude for getting along happily without undue leaning on other people.

Get Ready for HIllary

Or, "Quick, Henry, the Flit!"


---

Political operatives have a running Q and A gag: "How far is it to Iowa?"  The answer is ""(xxx) days." meaning the time left until the Iowa caucuses.

For one more presidential election cycle, we Hawkeyes will choose a president for the rest of you. More accurately, we will narrow your choices. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this because of our exceedingly virtuous character and the depth of our wisdom.

Last time around I blogged the damned circus for more than a year under a separate label (Iowa Caucuses 2012) and did my best to keep that part of the TMR objective.  Mostly objective, anyway.

Because some actual working pros in the journalism and political consulting rackets  said they found it useful, I guess I'll try to do it again.

I'll change the format slightly. I made up the last one as I went along, and while it told the story, it was slightly awkward, for me and for the folks who used it. Basically it will be a list, a quick reference -- the dude's name, age,  party, residence, date became a candidate, date dropped out and so forth.

I try to include everyone, from the most serious contenders right down to the 47 guys in big shoes who pile out of a Volkswagen in the center ring.

---

So why am I telling you now? What  difference does it make??!!  Hillary made me do it. She's here. The overture is playing.

Housekeeping

That latter-day Willa Cather I mentioned a while ago has moved her blog to Word Press. The change is reflected on the blog list. She's filed as Doris in Nebraska in honor of an old private joke.
.

Another Willa Cather

Out on the Nebraska plains, not too far from me, an old friend is joining the blog world

Light NEAR the End of the Tunnel

(On the TMR blog roll)

She's  Doris of the life-time team of Doris and Gene (RIP). Together they battled the markets, the weather, and gummint in an effort to create your BBQ back ribs.

She probably wasn't personally as hands-on with the cattle as, say, Jinglebob is. But you can bet your Prius she knows which end of the cow makes a moo and which a splat.

In her spare time she became a rather well-published writer, not to mention acquiring a mother's interest in C-130 war birds.

Drop over and welcome her if you please.

Place holder with adult language and light porn

My crack internet provider, Mediacom,  was back again today after a 36-hour outage. The technicians are adept at fixing things other than the root problem which is an important and f*cked-up something somewhere between Camp Jiggleview at some yet-to-be-discovered point  along Co-ax/Fiber trail.

I am promised that a higher-paid technician will deepen the investigation this afternoon.

Meanwhile, only because the narrative has taken us to La Belly France:

The Internet and Sexual Identity Crises

Taking a Chance on Spam

Blogger seems to be doing a better job of trapping spam. So, since we all hate it,  we'll try turning comment moderation off.

You really ought to hear it done by Ella Fitzgerald.


Things are mending now 
I see a rainbow blending now 
We'll have a happy ending now 
Taking a chance on love 

---

Also, she's beautiful.

Damn spammerrs

I've turned on comment moderation. It was that or WV, and I think most folks hate that worse than a little delay.

It is strictly to keep the spam out, so if  you're a real person and want to call me a louse, no problem. You'll get through, just a little later.

Jim  

Did anyone else ever wake up feeling so highly intellectual  and literarily competent that a long post explaining the world  -- with unprecedented insight and elegance -- was a sure thing?  Then you wrote it down. Then you drained the coffee dregs as you "edited."  Then something inside you whispered, or, rather, shrieked, "what utter, banal, bullshit."  

So you decided to clean the damned house instead. 

Hit delete. Confirm delete.  Sometimes a guy's most important contribution to the world of letters.

Me. This morning.  That's why  my kitchen almost sparkles. It's also why you don't get my analysis of Fox News thighs as a marker of societal decline.

Blog spam

I've trashed a few comments lately, all of them spam.  Apparently a few unevolved life forms have doped out a way of evading the Blogger filter. May they choke on their dingleberries.

The gummint loves me again

A reader relayed to me a notice saying the TMR was banned from the Department of Defense  computer system "for operational reasons."

I'm now informed that it has been reinstated.

Damn. Damn. Damn. I was soooooo proud of myself.
.

Porn update

A guy is lucky to have a friend like John, a liberrian in the GMA. He was understandably upset at the blurry Venus/Susan cheesecake I posted. (Honest, it was the best one I could find.) so he sought out a much better reproduction, and it now appears in the original post. Lechers of the world, rejoice! Go look and pant.

Maybe it's the long, dark nights

Sometimes when Sitemeter shows an unusual number of hits from an exotic locale, such as Norway, I look a little deeper. This time I found a half-dozen guys (I presume) hitting on May recently.

Of course it could be that some Norwegian social studies teacher assigned a class to look into racial relations in the United States.

Naah, probably  not. Most likely some randy little devil caught the old post by mistake and spread the word. Can't say I blame him. :)

New faces

A couple of additions to the blogroll.

Stainles of Sportsfiirngs caught my attention by reporting his pleasure in finding a Skeeter Skelton book. Anyone who likes Skeeter is to be admired even though memories  of his gun-journalist home, the old Shooting Times,  arouse my disgust with with the current crop of news-stand firearms rags. (My carbon-fiber reinforced polymer is way cooler than your wimpy ol' plastic!)

Welcome, too, to Stephen, an  entertaining fellow who seems to be a genial an/cap for all seasons. Guns, food, bikes, camping. All the good stuff.

Edit to add one more good guy: Mojave Desertrat who this morning suggests that the Kate exposure really isn't all that big a deal.

---

I had read a lot of Skelton before hooking up with an AP colleague in Denver who  became a mulie hunting buddy.  (How ya doing, Bob K.?)  A Texan, he knew Skeeter at least slightly, and may (damn a fading memory) may have gone shooting with him a time or two.

The Seven-Year Snark

You can slip over to Tam's place and wish her a happy 7th anniversary of View from the Porch. That's a long time to be funny every day, especially to induce grins before 8 a.m.

Personal note

The TMR readership is not one of the demographic segments undergoing a serious population explosion.  But by God you guys are faithful, and I appreciate it, especially after the last few days of dull posts here.

Thanks for sticking around through my latest bout of Mediacom Disease. A little over a week ago Mediacomedy jiggled my wires, palpated my F connectors,  and allegedly retuned a nearby signal amplifier. They promised the troubles were over, which promise they kept for slightly more than three days.  I hereby withdraw, renounce, condemn, and declare null (not to mention void)  my previous report on the subject.)

A tech was here again today. After the usual jiggling and palpating he called for backup. The guy guarding his six discovered and fixed a  "loose connector" where my neighborhood feed mates with the main line. He said. We'll see.

I hope to repay my regulars with a little more content in my content. It was just too maddening to try to write something non-drivelly knowing there was only a  meager chance of ever getting it further than the Mac end of the ethernet  cable.

(The few little posts you did see were transmitted via a wimpy wireless signal that sometimes wafts  across Camp J. If I knew who the rightful owner was I'd send him a  sixpack in gratitude.)

Sidebar cleanup

Breda (The Breda Fallacy) seems to have retired from blogging.

So has the always interesting Abby of Bad Dogs and Such. I miss her work as much as I do the hilarious Cranky Lit Prof, and if either of them is working under a new aka, I'd like to hear of it.

A guy hates trimming the blog list, but ...