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Leopard is the New Vista?


Leopard is the New Vista, and It's Pissing Me Off - Columns by PC Magazine

Wow, where do I begin? I'm no Apple guy, but Tiger was awesome at networking. This guy says Leopard screwed up tiger's networking. Now XP would drop network shares all of the time, and usually the workaround was to do something crazy and counter-intuative, like turn on IPX/SPX to work around some freaky bug and connect to windows shares. I've done that, but mostly I've downgraded Xp to 2000 pro. That worked better. Vista, due to the hardware issues, and the activation issues, is right out for me. Maybe, if I ever get a new PC, I'll keep a Windows partition to play games, but anything new I get will be linux on the desktop , probably Elive.

Can't afford Apple and can't grow a soul patch, so no Leopard for me.

See what happens when I don't feel like posting?

The Brain, it don't work.


I am, in all seriousness completely blocked. This happens once or twice a week, but I normally pull through OK. Not this week. I have nothing of interest to type. The four of you will just have to go somewhere else for your daily dose of maddad.

Like Nickelodeon, or somewhere like that. You know, deep stuff.

I think this is the time of year where everyone is just pissed off that they have to do anything at all anyway. Kids are restless waiting for Christmas break. It's finally too cold for adults to go outside and so they sit in the office all day (real adults, that is. I sit in my now-dry basement) and pick on each other. And no one wants to work anyway because they have less than a month to get all of the suff together so that the afore mentioned kids actually have something to be restless about. Everybody's still hungover from Thanksgiving (figuratively in most cases) and even those that try to be in shape are skipping workouts because, lets face it, in three weeks you're going to be drinking for an entire week anyway.

This is also the time of year when your calendar goes haywire. You've got a million things to do, usually after five, when you really want to be asleep. It's cold out now, who the hell wants to go out in the dark?

So I'm tired and bitchy and everything is taking three times longer than it would in the middle of summer. And I still have one more mowing to do before I put everything up for the year. I should have done it last weekend, but I raked and it rained, so DON'T JUDGE ME DAMNIT!

Skippy has been climbing all over me while I've been typing, and he's decided that it's fun to call me "bananapants".

"Hey Daddy!"


"Bananapants! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

Then he had a wet fart while taking a pee, maddmom's out to lunch so I'm the wet-fart-taker-care-of-er today.



Make that TWICE! Once in the old shorts. My eyes are watering.

Too close to home


Entire Blogosphere Stunned By Blogger's Special Weekend Post | The Onion

Gone baby, gone


I lost my entire media collection. I'm going to have to send my usb HD out to get recovered. Oh the humanity.

I have about 20 gig on my iPod that I can recover, more that I can't. I'm miserable.

I also lost all of my Powerpoints and vmware images from my work backups.

The "Email" button on my progammable keyboard now does nothing, and the up volume button now pastes text, the down volume button now prints the letter "V".

My trackball only goes right (but you all knew that.)

Too miserable to post.

Feelin' Groovy


Today is one of those days. Last night I felt so bad I had to take one of the pain pills I was supposed to have taken in the weeks after my surgery. I was in miserable pain and blamed it on working all day in my old and now broken desk chair.

This morning I was late getting up, due to the pain medication I'm sure, and just barely had time to say goodbye to the kids before school. Thank God I make the lunches at night. Due to my fugue state this morning I forgot to eat and instead had about eleven cups of coffee and two regular strength ibuprophen. Eventually, I ate a bowl of Rasin Bran.

Add that up.

I don't think the ibuprophen had a chance.

I feel great. Fantastic. Thirty pounds lighter. I think I've found the fountain of youth.

I was going to say eruption or volcano or explosion. Massive flood or enormous drain or deluge or whatever.

Point being, I may not be able to keep my eyes focused on one spot, my heart may be about to explode and I may be sweating and breathing in short, shallow gasps, but my back feels really good today.

Tomorrow I'm doing the same thing, but I'll try to get up on time. I wonder if I'll have to pack my lower intestine with undigested turkey to get the same relief.

What the hell, it's worth a try.

Email may be the greatest thing ever

Because without email, I would never have found this site.

Possibly the greatest site on the intartubes today (for a while).

Quiet Riot lead singer found dead



Quiet Riot lead singer found dead


Blogging on antediluvian tech

Looks like the Gateway 2000 blogging PC made it through the flood. The vintage 1997 flatbed scanner works too. Printer and print server are questionable. 10/100 Ethernet hub and USB 1.0 hub are done. Toshiba laptops, both of them, are cooked, or would boiled be a better metaphor. The usb harddrive with all my stuff on it is dead. I'll take it apart after the insurance guy looks at it to see if I can get any data off of it.

I guess it's time for some of this stuff to go. I mean, how many copies of Windows 98 or Office 97 does one man need?

I'll tell you what I do need, and that's a good backup solution. I had been backing up my desktops and laptops to the usb drive incrementally. Now I need to find a way to do that to DVD.

I no longer trust any of this new-fangled machinery. Plus I need to hook the water-line back to the fridge eventually and I'm afraid I'll lose everything again.

I ain't no plumber.

Not a real good blogger either, or else I'd have a million funny stories about Thanksgiving and I don't. Everything went well, I saw "It's a Wonderful Life" at the theater downtown and ate a lot. Had a lot to drink too.

And yesterday I got rid of all the leaves from the front yard.

I think I've reached my apex.

It's a tradition


For the second year in a row our basement has flooded right before
Thanksgiving. That makes it a tradition.

Like the tradition I started last year of drinking a fith of
whatever's handy and goosing the guys from Servepro.

Got my pinchin' fingers ready boys!

Dead on.


I must sound like a freak out here.

What American accent do you have?
Your Result: Philadelphia

Your accent is as Philadelphian as a cheesesteak! If you're not from Philadelphia, then you're from someplace near there like south Jersey, Baltimore, or Wilmington. if you've ever journeyed to some far off place where people don't know that Philly has an accent, someone may have thought you talked a little weird even though they didn't have a clue what accent it was they heard.

The Northeast
The Midland
The Inland North
The South
The West
North Central
What American accent do you have?
Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Apropos of nothing


This kind of shit scares me to death, if you can't already tell.

I could post about all sorts of things...

But I can't post about what I want to post about. I can't even really make up a post that would tell the story without giving away the punchline. But let's say maddad had a bad week. The phrase "eat a bag of dicks" was bandied about*, and I will be hiding out for the next month or so. Expect lots of happy fun time posts.

I'm having a hard time not ranting, and if I rant, well who knows. I don't know who's reading this, so until I cool down you get drivel. More drivel than usual, I mean.

But just so everyone knows, I was right, I was just outplayed. It happens. I'll suck it up.

*not really, but it should have been.**

See? Not posting about this again.

Labels: ,

Six and seven year old basketball


Seven year-olds are at least a foot taller than six year-olds, if I am
any judge. And seven year-olds are much, much better at...well

But the six year-olds are having A LOT more fun.

I miss fun

Posted via phone. And yes, I'm still really grouchy.

On the road


Be back tomorrow. I've got nothing to post, but I'll be back.

Hey, Norman Mailer died.


Before any of you say, "Again?". I'll relate my feelings on Norman Mailer.

Like everyone else, I read "The Naked and the Dead" in high school and liked it. Even though it droned on and the word "fug" annoyed me. There were enough dirty parts to get me through. I liked it, end of story.

I had to read "The Executioner's Song' for a class, and I liked that one too. I thought it was a good book, but I never figured out why I should care more for the murderer than for the murderee. Whatever, by this time I had been taught that Norman mailer was a "Great Writer".

"Great Writers" write "Important Books", they are "artists" and we can learn from them. So, since I wanted to be a writer, I vowed to read a lot of "Great Writers" and Norman Mailer was on the list.

At some point in college I picked up "Tough Guys Don't Dance"...and I thought, "OK, he's getting old." I read it because of the force of the marketing behind it. It was Norman Mailer and it was a detective story (I had just come to believe that detective stories were the truest form of American literary art. I still believe that, with some modification, but that's a different rant.) and if a "Great Writer" wrote a detective story I had to read it.

It sucked.

That was OK, though. All the old guard were in terrible form in the 80's. I mean, everyone was trying too hard to be "relevant". They came up with the "Rock and Roll Hall of Fame' in the 80's for Christ's sake. I remember seeing Alan Ginsburg on MTV in the 80's, flopping around like some big, gay muppet in between power ballads by Poison and Brittany Fox. So if Norman had a bit too much coke and wrote a shitty book, well hell, didn't everyone?

So, my senior year of college I had to take a first level American history class to finish my core requirements, I made a Huuuge mistake and picked Modern American History or History since WWII. A class that taught American history only as someone with their head up there ass since 1968 could teach it. To sum up:

1) WWII - We bombed Dresden and interned Japanese. This caused the Berlin Airlift.
2)1950 to 1960 - Stifling repression, made bearable by Elvis and TV.
3) 1960 - 1963 - The Golden Age.
4) 1963 - 1969 - The Second Golden Age, or how I personally stopped a war by not going and smoking lots and lots of good shit.
5) 1970-1974 - Nixon!
6) 1974-1980 - Did I mention Nixon? and Nixon. Oh yeah, Nixon!
7) 1980- on. Did you know Reagan was a racist and might be gay? Me too! And Nixon.

We were assigned to read, in this class, a book by Norman Mailer. The only truly honest history of the 60's. A novel. (Make any sense to you? Me neither.) So I went and bought a book that Guiness describes as having the most pretentious title ever published, "The Armies of the Night: History as a Novel, the Novel as History".

Oh dear God in heaven.

I paid $24 for that book, couldn't get it used. $24 that I didn't have. It never actually came up on class, and after struggling mightily over several successive morning craps, I gave up and stopped trying to read it. I finished school that December and sold it back to the campus bookstore for something like $8 and bought a cheesesteak and a pack of Marlborough. I got the better of the deal.

By 1994 I had moved to Atlanta and "Harlot's Ghost" was in paperback. I couldn't afford it, so I was lucky to find all 1400 pages of it in the remainder bin at Media-Play. I guess "lucky" is too strong of a word. This book reeks. I can't believe I fell for it again. The marketing, that is.

Let me explain.

There is a certain type of person whom, for whatever reason, is obsessed with the JFK assasination/Marilyn Monroe/Bay of Pigs/Mafia/Jakie O story. Most of the rest of us have moved on. In fact, if it wasn't for these people, most of the modern media establishment would simply cease to exist. These people want us to belive a couple of things:

1) JFK was a guy who did GREAT THINGS, even though he really didn't.
2)Marilyn Monroe was a GREAT ACTRESS, even though she really wasn't.
3)The Bay of Pigs was a WORLD CHANGING EVENT, the what?
4)Jakie O was the most beautiful woman EVER, except for Marilyn who was just as if not more beautiful, so beautiful she must have been an alien or something. And let's face it. I've seen pictures and video of Jackie O. and no offense, but, meh.

Norman is one of these people, and he wants us to dig through 1400+ pages of lame spy story to get to it.

What I realised after reading this enormous pile of crap was that I, maddad, would never be a "Great Writer". I simply have too much shame.

I've been reading fiction again, trying to broaden my horizons, and nearly every single book I pull out of the stacks has the word "This book will chage the way you think about..." or "This book will challenge your perceptions of..." blurbed on the dust jacket. I'm not going to blame Norman Mailer for that, but he does share some of the responsibility. When everything you write has to be some kind of social statement or worse yet, in some kind of impenetrable prose, or told in some crazy flashback scheme, it becomes impossible to just tell a good story. A good story used to make me wish I could be a writer, used to get me to put pen to paper. I do have a story in me, after all, but reading this crap posing as "Great Fiction" simply saps the will. I've been reading two books a week for the last two and a half years, five of which I would consider great books, only one of which was written by an authour with any kind of name recognition. Most of the books I read from "Great Writers" end up having some sticky-sweet moral about as heavy as the last "very special" episode of some NBC sitcom. (Thanks Norman Lear, you bastard.)

Now that I'm an adult, and can write my own dirty parts, or at least see them in gainy video on the intarweb, I have re-read "The Naked and the Dead" and guess what, it's not that great of a book. It's not terrible, but it's obvious that the guy writing it has one book in him and this was it. If the writer was a true artist, he would recognise this and deal with it, Ralph Ellison comes to mind, but most aren't artists. And that's Norman Mailer

Oh Lord...I thank you for many things...


But mostly I thank you for not inventing the internet until I was safely married.

Go ahead, click on the link. It's safe for work.

I love being a boy


The best part about Saturday morning cartoons when I was growing up was the thinly veiled drug references.

Wondering who they are?

I always wanted to go to this amusment park. We used to go to Hershey Park as kids. They didn't have a big slide.

For some reason the big slide grew in my imagination to be the greatest amusment park ride ever. But I never did get to ride one.

Now, I'm a dried-up, bitter old man who's mean to his kids.

SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME HANNAH-BARBERA! I'm going to die alone and un-loved, because of YOU! You horrible bastards RUINED MY LIFE! Over a SLIDE! A god damn SLIDE, you sick sons of bitches! I...I..I gotta...I have to g...you sonsabitches'll pay....

Who'da thunk?


MIT sues Gehry, renowned architect of daring $300m Stata Center.

Should I comment? Do I know anything about architecture?

Yes, and no. But I know what looks good and I can build a box that doesn't leak. I also spent three years working in an architectural marvel that leaked like a sieve and was impossible to either heat or cool effectively. So I got that going for me. I'm not saying it wasn't a cool place to work, it was, but I didn't argue on the days I had to drive into the freindly, dry confines of North Camden, NJ.

Basically, from what I've seen, most of Gehry's stuff looks like it just fell down.

It's ugly.

In fact that thing in Prauge? I drew that same building in third grade, only mine had a giant gun on top shooting missles at Ultraman while thousands of jet airplanes strafed the surrounding streets.

My building was way cooler.

And didn't leak.

Gimme a box with a lid and some windows. I'm happy.

Total Awesomeness


We're still in superhero mode here at the Mcmahonsion. Which is awesome.

Skippy, the mild-mannered secret identity of GAVINBOY! Defender of the Universe!, dropped this nugget of absolute cool on me this morning while explaining why he was sleeping under a towel next to the nightlight last night.

He said, "I had a dream about an astronaut punching a volcano!"

Is that not the most awesome thing you could imagine? Ever?

Maybe, if the astronaut was rescuing Evel Knievel and the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders from the volcano while leaping from the roof of a customised van.

But then you have to wonder if in the whole "an astronaut punching a volcano" idea, Evel Knievel and the cheerleaders are meant to be understood. And the van could be a rocket ship, but to be cooler than the van it would have to be a TIE fighter, the one with the goofy wings that the astronaut stole from Darth Vader on his last punching/rescuing mission.

I mean, if any atoms were still moving after that they could only be stopped by a rampaging electric guitar solo.

And I'm not sure with the volcano, Evel Knievel, cheeleaders and van/rocketship, any astronaut would have time for a massive guitar solo. But if he did, I'm sure it would be on a big, honkin double-neck.

This doubleneck:

See this

Superhero rules


Gavinboy: Superheros don't read books.

maddad: Oh yes they do.

Gavinboy: No. You read books.

maddad: Really.

Gavinboy: Yep, the sidekick reads the book.

maddad: I'm a sidekick?

Gavinboy: Yep, a great big sidekick.

maddad: Do I have a name?

Gavinboy: Sidekickman.

maddad: Nice.

Gavinboy: And you can't fly. Sidekicks don't fly.

maddad: Can I get, like, a promotion?

Gavinboy: You're a sidekick.

maddad: Right.

Gavinboy: Now read the book.

Annual "I'm Better Than You" post


That's right, it's that time of year. When I celebrate just how much better I am than you at almost everything.

I quit smoking cold turkey tonight a bunch of years ago. You all should just give up and send me money. Let's face it, aside from changing your body chemistry so that you inhale carbon dioxide instead of breathing normally, there is no greater gift to the world than not smoking. My farts now smell like strawberries.

Honest, I'm so good I can't even keep count of the years anymore.

Doesn't help that I'm hungover as hell.