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I'm in love with my car........


gotta feel for my automobile...

If this still had rear seats and windows I'd buy it.

Shit, I'd sell the Volvo.

Snow way...



It snowed another 1 1/2 inches (2 and 1/2 kajillion millimeters, 600 parsecs, 1 Irish rod) last night.

That's a total of just over 13 inches (1 metric light year, 3 cubits, 1/2 NBA power forward) since Monday.

It's pretty, but the kids have missed an entire week of school. Cool for them. I guess.

But this is the weather that I like.

snow kidding


I went sledding and got into a snowball fight yesterday.

I spent all day in a too-low office chair in front of this damn computer...working.

I'm too sore to blog.

I'm doing it again tomorrow.

I'll be blogging from the hospital next week.

Snow doubt


I am one-hunnert percent burnt out. I spent two hours yesterday looking at real estate on Palau and sending resumes to recruiters in the US Virgin Islands.

Not kidding. Scary part was, maddmom was all for it. "Don't forget the Caymans." she told me, "there's lots of banks there."

So I am going to do it. I'm going ex-pat and I'm taking my kids with me.

First things first.

I go to baking school.

Open a crummy little shop here in Madison.

Sell it to some retiring sucker.

Pack up the kids, wife, dog, and Volvo.

Move to a two bedroom shack on St Croix ($250k)

Work as day labor/gigolo for a couple months.

Purchase a rolling vendor cart.

Make cheesecake and sell it to tourists while juggling and grinning manically.

Meet a rich blonde with no upper lip.

Seduce her with my cheesecake and juggling skills.


Move to NYC and open cheesecake and juggling store with rich blonde's money.

Catch her in the sack with the retired sucker who bought my store in Madison.


Move back to the USVI with the settlment.

Buy maddmom out of white slavery, collect the kids from the bushes by the airport.


Oh, I'm so golden. This is going to work great.



You know what's scary? When your phone rings and a voice you don't recognize says:

"No way around it, Buddy. You're getting six inches tonight."

That's not what anyone wants to hear. I was shocked. Alarmed. Not thinking straight.
I said:

"Six inches will do fine, I'm tired of stepping on the damn thing."

When the voice on the other end of the line said, "Huh?" I knew immediately who it was and I'm happy to say he pretended not to have heard me. Which is classy, because he was talking about the snow we are expecting this evening and I was talking about a kind of embarrassing personal issue. I mean seriously, escalators can be a bitch.

Monster Mash

We recently learned our database was illegally accessed and certain contact and account data were taken, including Monster user IDs and passwords, email addresses, names, phone numbers, and some basic demographic data.

Monsters are scary. This is twice in eighteen months. Twice.

I'm done with Monster.


Obama inauguration got unprecedented news coverage - Reuters


Obama inauguration got unprecedented news coverage - Reuters

Wow, you'd almost think there might be something...oh I don't know...special about this inauguration. Something's different, I'm just not sure what...geeze...whatever could it be? What made this guy's swearing in so important? Why is it such a big story?

Nothing worse than the story about the story.

I'll bet you six bucks Sean Hannity mentions this on the air as PROOF! of media bias.

Oh now I'm depressed.



My printer is being held hostage. It broke in November. It was under warranty, but not in the "system" so I was told to bring it to a service center. I drove 60 miles to the service center and dropped it off, later that week, the guy at the service center told me he thought I was still under warranty and that he would submit the work he did.

He didn't, but I did after he told me it could cost $500 to fix the printer. I called him back and told him the printer was now in the system and indeed under waranty and I'd pick it up after Thanksgiving.


By the second week of December I was waiting on parts, by Christmas the parts were on back order and by New Year's the parts were unavailable. On the ninth, I was told that I'd be getting a new printer.

On the 16th Samsung called and asked if I still needed service on my printer. They left a number, I called back. The number went to voicemail.

I've since called that number 16 times. Voicemail.

The Samsung Problem Tracking Website said I was scheduled to have in-home service on the 9th.

On the 19th, I got an email from Samsung apologizing for not having my ticket in the system, and asking if I still need help with my printer.

The Samsung customer service guy said I had received a new printer on the 9th, was there something wrong with it?

Today Samsung told me that the repair guy called for an exchange Monday, the repair guy said he did it on the 9th.

Samsung now wants me to drive 60 miles, pick up the printer and wait another week so that they can send a guy to repair it. They want their guy to see if it really is as broken as the repair guy says it is. Then they can order the back ordered or unavailable parts, make me wait another month before they exchange my printer with a new one.

Hopefully by the time that happens I'll really be out of warranty and I can fork over the money for the repair.

Memo to the creepy suck-ups on the TV news...


Hey dickheads,

We get it. Your guy won. That's great for you and I hope he does a great job.


I didn't vote for him and I don't agree with many, if not all, of his stated positions on the issues. Wait, maybe that's not true...I don't agree with the positions of the people who voted for him and shilled for him in public. I never did hear him personally state a position on anything other than "Hope", "Change" or "My Grandmother was a Typical White Person". Wait, I take that back, I do agree with "Let a man eat his waffle." I think that may be the greatest political pronouncement to come out of the campaign, actually. So maybe I will support your guy.

But I will bicker if I want. And you can't talk about how this man has the support of all the American people and that "they aren't going to take any of this bickering anymore". Because, let's face it, I got reason to bicker. And no amount of happy-hand bullshit is going to erase what you and your friends have done to separate the American public into two armed camps over the last eight years.

Remember the "I'm Sorry World" campaign? The "Jesusland" map? The "Not My President" bullshit?

Well, Fuck you. I'll do, say and think what I want. If I think your guy is an asshole, I'll tell you. And so will the 48 million other people who didn't vote for him.

Dissent, or so I've heard, is patriotic.

Windows 7 beta

Installing it now in VMware. Looks pretty neat. Not a lot different, but enough.

But it's HUGE!

maddad morning


The players:




The stage is set like a modern, functional, suburban American kitchen. There is a U-shaped counter with a SINK in the apex and a TELEPHONE at the right next to the wall. There is a TABLE and two DOORS one leads to the garage, STAGE RIGHT, and one to the basement stairs STAGE LEFT. At the bottom of the stairs there is a small OFFICE. In the OFFICE there is a FOLDING TABLE used as a DESK and another TELEPHONE with a HEADSET attached.

There is an IPOD wrapped in earbuds sitting next to the TELEPHONE.

Let's set the scene:

School has a two hour delay. Everyone is discombobulated.

MADDAD has shoveled the snow, salted the driveway, made the lunches and fed the younger two boys. MADDAD has switched the laundry and started a new load. MADMOM has dropped SKIPPY off at pre-school (no delay there), finished making the weekly menu and shopping list and is on her way out the door to buy the family food.

The three oldest boys have just now boarded the bus and are on their way to school.

MADDAD has retreated to his basement office to get to work, fill out his paperwork, put on the HEADSET and now has three minutes to kill before he starts his regular Monday meeting.

MADDAD suddenly remembers He has to do something before he starts the conference call. MADDAD throws down his HEADSET and runs up the stairs two at a time to the kitchen. MADMOM is STAGE RIGHT at the door to the garage putting on her gloves.

The TELEPHONE rings.

MADDMOM: See who it is, if it's important I'll call from my cell. I'm running out the door right now.

MADDAD: OK. (helpful guy, ain't he?)

MADDAD lifts the phone from its cradle and looks at the caller ID screen. It's THE PRINCE calling from his cell phone! An emergency! MADDAD'S heart leaps to his throat. He fears the worst. Assuming there's been an accident, the bus has skidded off the road, or THE BEAST or DANGERESQUE have fallen or otherwise hurt themselves on the slippery inside of a snowy school bus, MADDAD rather breathlessly answers the phone...


THE PRINCE: Um, yeah. Dad. I'm really worried.


THE PRINCE: Yeah. Can you check the kitchen and see if my iPod is there? I'm really worried I might have dropped it.

MADMOM: Who is it?

MADDAD: The Prince!

MADMOM: (rushes in from the garage STAGE RIGHT) IS EVERYTHING OK?

THE PRINCE: Do you see it there Dad? I hope I didn't drop it. Can you check the driveway?

MADDAD: looks down, there is a rather nice IPOD (nicer than maddad's anyway, but we mustn't begrudge the Prince, he mowed a lot of lawns for that thing) sitting on the kitchen counter right next to the telephone.

MADDAD: It's right here. (to MADMOM) He thought he dropped his iPod.

: Oh for God's sake... I'm leaving now. (MADMOM exits STAGE RIGHT)

THE PRINCE: 'k thx bye. (Hangs up the phone)

: (looks at his watch, he's two minutes late starting his meeting) What did I come up here for?

MADDAD walks like a zombie down to his office, clueless, but with a troubled, nagging tickle in the back of his brain. He's forgetting SOMETHING by God...

Obama has stench of Bush

Same thing happened to Led Zepplin. I mean, when you're that famous...

So he's got that going for him, which is nice.

Dalai Lama gets it.

David Lee Roth takes a break


This is why they created the Internet.

Intelligence Court Rules Wiretapping Power Legal

Intelligence Court Rules Wiretapping Power Legal

"The decision marks the first time since the disclosure of we decided to disclose the National Security Agency’s warrantless eavesdropping program three years ago that an appellate court has addressed the constitutionality of the federal government’s wiretapping powers. In validating the government’s wide authority to collect foreign intelligence, it may offer legal credence to the Bush administration’s repeated assertions that the president has the power to act without specific court approval in ordering national security eavesdropping that may involve Americans. that we, the New York Times, are major assholes."

Fixed that for ya there Pinch. You dick.

El agente secreto es hombre muerto

Patrick McGoohan, 1928-2009

Ah. Excitement


Had a little heart attack this morning. Still a bit freaked out and not trusting anyone or anything, or, as we say in the biz, it's Monday.

This just can't last, I can't see doing this every year or half-year for the rest of my life. I really need to figure out how much money I actually need to live on, then start some sort of business or buy into one that's already open. I can be poor, I don't mind poor, I mind not having some kind of control.

It doesn't matter what I do any more, how well I personally perform doesn't mean crap. I am right back where I was five years ago and I can't take it. I am sick and tired of smiling and taking it up the ass. I get up a level and they knock me down two.

I am this close to selling mushrooms, meth or maddmom. I have to run the numbers first.

Here we go again...


Propoganda as news at CNN.

In the tank again.

If Mexico was shooting missiles into Texas, my bet is we would go to war...

..wait...No. Scratch that, we wouldn't. I don't know what I was thinking. We would send a couple of cruise missiles in in the dead of night to destroy "command and control" wiping out the core elite of the Mexican government janitorial staff. The Vatican will condemn all violence, but commend our restraint and measured response. The US consulates in every Latin American country would be the scene of massive demonstrations, culminating in the firebombing of the American embassy in Caracas. There would be staged riots in Los Angeles, and Martin Sheen would make a speech in front of LA City Hall in bad Spanish proclaiming a "war on the poor". Congress will cut funding for border patrol manpower in favor of more UAV surveillance, because more manpower on the border would be seen as a provocation. Meanwhile the drug cartels and the Coyotes will continue to harass local law enforcement with random shootings, kidnappings and missile launches, framed by the press as "demonstrations of rage by the disenfranchised immigrant community".

Look, most civilized people don't want to fight. They don't. I sure as hell don't. The problem is that the world isn't really civilized.

The world is High School.

Follow this...

There's the privileged, well known kids, who get good enough grades, play the sports, look good, seem like they are having a great time and get the best looking boyfriends and girlfriends. They seem cocky because they are, and they have reason to be. It takes more than just Daddy's money to get that kind of social status. It takes a personality, determination, and lots and lots of time. These kids aren't well-known by accident, they work on it. If you're grown-up, and still know one of these guys or gals from when you were in High School, ask them, they'll tell you.

Then there's the mid-level floaters, kids who aren't super well known, but have a strong group of friends and work hard, do their thing and get out. They could be arty, goth, band geeks, computer nerds, what have you, but they are nice, normal, everyday kids who just want to get along. This is most of the kids in school, and like any group, they have their mini groups. Some of these mini-groups wish they were as well-known as the well-known kids, because they think they are smarter and nicer and everything. If only they could lose those last ten pounds or their face cleared up or they had more money or drove a nicer car... These are the kids who end up working in High School administration.

Then there's the kids who are just getting by, you know, the losers and the punks. They don't play sports, they get crummy grades, but they leave everyone alone and everyone leaves them alone, when they get out of school you'll see them around town, they might work for the guy who fixes your roof, he'll know you, but you won't remember him. Nobody pays any attention to these kids, and even though they may have it rough, they don't hold it against anyone.

The last group are the assholes. These are just like the last group, except they don't seem to understand that the well-known, successful kids are well-known and successful because they do the things required to become well-known and successful. The assholes take everything personally. If the prom queen didn't want to sit next to one of them in Kindergarten because he smelled like cat pee, an asshole will assume it's because the Prom Queen looks down on him because she's pretty. By the time High School rolls around, he'll think she looks down on him because she's "rich". She'll be looking down on him all right, but not because he's poor, it'll be because he'll still smells like cat pee. He will have rejected the idea of showering and laundry sometime in middle school because that's what the "popular" kids do who listen to "gay" music and he'll gather a group of dirtbags and assholes around him and start picking fights.

He won't start with the well-known kids, though...he'll start with his own group and work his way up. Most of his violence and threats will be focused toward the kids that get no attention at all, these kids will give in to his demands and give him the "respect" that he wants without too much trouble. Everyone will ignore his attacks on the losers and punks, because they ignore the losers and punks. The mid-level floaters will stay out of his way, because they just want to be left alone, but occasionally they will have confrontations. When that happens, the floaters will give in because that's what nice kids do, and if you fight back you can get in trouble, floaters are better than that. Besides, if you get into a fight it'll go down on your permanent record, and the floaters have too much to lose.

But when the assholes confront the "popular" kids, things change. The popular kids make no secret of their disdain for the assholes. They think that the assholes are assholes, and they are right. So the popular kids will fight back, and they'll fight back the same way that the assholes fight...dirty. And what happens? The assholes, because they have less money, do lousy in school and smell like cat pee, have the advantage. Why? Because the school system is geared toward making losers look good. If a dirtbag loser asshole and his friends jump a popular kid as he's stuffing his football gear into the trunk of his BMW, breaking his thumb and nose and keeping him out of the last two games of the year - that he needed to maybe get a third-string position at a Division II school - it's the popular kid's fault for rubbing his money and status in the poor dirtbag asshole kid's face. If the popular kids retaliate and grab the dirtbag from behind the Circle K one night after SAT prep class, steal his stash, beat him up and leave him de-pantsed and hog-tied on the 50 yard-line, it's also the popular kid's fault, for retaliating at all. When the popular kid gets suspended, thrown out of Student Government and has his guidance counselor re-think sending that recommendation letter, people will say it's his own fault.

...And it will be, but the asshole deserved it.

Things I know...


More from me about me. You know you want it...

I know...

That I can't draw, saw or cut a straight line.

A soda can add 200+ calories to a meal, a regular American beer about 150.

Dinosaurs are extinct, and thank God for that, those things would eat you and everyone you care about...

Way too much about children's television/

That there are seven words that I can't spell, but I know that I've misspelled them.

It's harder to spend cash than it is to use a card...any card.

The Philadelphia Eagles will not make it to the Superbowl this year.

Whatever is healthy this year will be bad for you next year.

There are some cities I feel totally at home in and others where I feel out of place...and it has nothing to do with the size of the city.

President-elect douchebag is talking out his ass about "Green Jobs".

Buying a $35,000 car over five years to get 10 more MPH average over your existing car is stupid. Even at $4 per gallon.

If it took 12 hours to fill your gas tank, and 5 minutes to re-charge a battery, we'd all be driving electric cars.

If I don't get laid off this quarter, I think I'll be OK for the year.

Anyone who goes on TV and says they were prepared to accept risk, but not fraud, when investing with Bernie Madoff is blowing it out their ass. People didn't invest with Madoff because they were prepared to accept risk, they invested with him because they thought there was no risk.

I'll admit, it's hard for me to feel bad for those people, but I know I should, so I'll try. Next time I fuck up, and I will...be kind.

After two years of UFO programs, hypothetical disaster porn and conspiracy theory "infotainment" shows, the History Channel finally had a program on that made me say, "wait a sec...hey, he's right!"

Maddad throws a chair


Totally forgot about this


Merry Christmas.

26 More "true" facts about maddad

In the spirit of my five year anniversary, I'll be having my own little "Jubilee" here. So I'll be posting, more or less, about me. this is, after all, a blog, and one of the things bloggers are supposed to do is navel-gaze interminably. Also, my traffic is so low now, I guess I can play around with this thing without too much worry.

Those of you who weren't around back in the day when I had a full-on blogger profile in my sidebar, might want to know who this "maddad" guy is and why I post here as "maddad" and elsewhere as "Lost My Cookies". Who's "this guy" and why does he NEVER post? Why don't I have a blogroll or a "best of" section, why no trackbacks, and why don't I use all of those funky blog tricks that drive traffic? What's with all of the commas? What happened to pictures? You used to post pictures, why did you stop?

I spent the morning writing a post all about me and why I do the things I do, and then I realized that you actually don't care. So here, in no particular order, are the answers to twenty-six questions that I know you have about the mysterious and attractive maddad. So, go for it and don't get any on you.


b)Switched to Vista


d)A lame-ass ex-pat with bitched-up Brass Bands

e)I delete my cookies regularly and I have no memory for passwords

f)Is there an f? There is. Because, that's why.

g)A leather thong, rollerblades and a cape. You?

h)Fourteen and I ain't stopped yet! WHOO HOOO!

i)The blue, it matches your eyes.

j)the Running Strumpet, it'll change you.

k)elephants, the dirty motherfuckers.


m)Oh that...only once...well, because

n)usually Thursdays

o)I think you meant, "when" right?

p)No? You sick bastard.

q)Parallel parking. Fuck you, you can't make me do it.


s)Yes I do, thank you very much. And no, it won't happen again.

t)Never met him.

u)I mis-spoke.


w)Seventeen, didn't turn eighteen until second semester of freshman year.

x)I can't answer that in public

z)Ice cream, any kind.

Oh my...Ohoho my.....


De-rooooolllllll baby! Talk about luck.

That, to me, is a better find than this one. Why? Because.

The 245 is the perfect car. They aren't slow, even normally aspirated at 114 horses, which surprises a lot of people. They don't have a lot of leg room, but the seats, when taken care of, are really comfortable. They get between 22 and 30 mph, depending how you drive and if your overdrive is working.

I drove my 244 one hundred and ten miles every day for five years, wide open on cruise at 75. I got a consistent 25mphg. The only issue I had was the 12 gallon tank. I had to fill up every other day.

I sold that car in 2005 when it needed a new transmission and I needed a wagon, it was 18 years old and had 300k miles on it. I got 4k in trade for it and bought a 2001 V70. I just hit 100k on that one, so I have at least another five years before maddmom will let me get a new car.

At the Ryder Cup in Louisville, The Prince and I parked next to my old car, some college kid had it. They had bitched up the hubcaps and put Wal-mart replacements on it, and the interior was filthy. The front seat was twisted, so I guess they weren't doing any kind of maintenance to the car (seriously, how hard is it to tighten a 14mm bolt?), I had replaced the seat padding in 2002. But the radio I had put in was still there, and the body looked OK.

When I do have to get a new car, I'm going hunting for a clean 1993 240 classic. It's a beautifully updated version of the 240 with anti-lock brakes and airbags, they even got rid of the chrome around the back window that would catch water and cause rust.

When algore outlaws the internal combustion engine, museums around the world will go crazy looking for just two cars, the Model T and the Volvo 240 wagon. I intend to invest in a Volvo while I can and use the carbon credits paid me by the Lisbon Museum of Pre-Caliphate Restoration Technology to buy at least one of my kids into a job with the First National Federal People's Property Redistribution Service Agency and Mortgage Bank. Maybe he'll be able to secure me a bigger monthly rice quota.

Oh for God's sake...


‘Third-Hand Smoke’ A New Health Hazard

What about farts? You know those farts that are so bad that they linger for hours? And how about those times you go into a restroom to pee or check your tie or something and some guy who's never met a salad has been in there and absolutely destroyed it? That stink can linger on your clothes too. I think the last time I had to take Skippy to the can at the mall I got cancer just from the air freshener, not to mention the aerosolized remains of thousands of Cinnabons.

This is such bullshit I think I might just start smoking again just to piss these assholes off. Maybe I'll just burn cigarettes like incense in my house. That'll do it. OOOOOO they'll be so mad they won't even notice all of the dead polar bears stacked in my freezer.

Maddad facts?


Five years in I figure I can finally open up and not be so mysterious about who maddad is. So I'm putting together a series of posts that will give my fans a new appreciation of the "me" in maddad. Everything here is true, unless I misspeak, in which case it's your fault for not asking me the proper questions and/or reading the answer wrong.


I know that Shaggy from Scooby Doo's full name is Norville Rogers.

I met the mother of my children when she was fourteen. When she turns eighteen we'll get married.

The Anthropogenic Global Warming/Carbon Credit/Green game is a scam that I wish I was in on. Madoff has nothing on Al Gore and friends. And let's face it, no one will ever admit that these guys were able to con the entire world into regulating the stuff that we exhale so they will never get in trouble. So freakin' smart.

I can roll my tongue.

I can't spell available.

I once broke my clavicle and cracked the head of my fibula tripping over my own feet. The broken ends of my clavicle didn't knit together, and for two years I could do a great impression of a garbage disposal by rotating my shoulder. I got it fixed when I noticed my right arm would go numb and I'd drop things.

Speaking of bones, I shattered a toe while making my bed in 1985. I now have a malformed middle toe on my right foot. This is a sign of royalty and wisdom for the indigenous people of the Vanikolo islands, where I am forbidden to travel by my religion, darn it.

I can't even smell Southern Comfort without wanting to throw up.

I've accidentally driven the wrong way around Philadelphia's City Hall. While sober. Twice.

I'm a very good driver.

I once sat next to Sophia Loren on an airplane, in first class of course. She smelled like an old lady.

I was once the proud owner of a fabulous mullet.

I don't believe in ghosts, but that doesn't mean I'm not scared of them. Maybe "creeped out" is a better definition of the feeling, but the "nyah,nyah,nyah" noise I make when old man Jenkins shows up in his "Phantom of the Swamp" mask sounds like scared to most people. So, you know, I'm not going to quibble.

A girl once kicked me in the nuts so hard I threw up. I was in eighth grade and was on my first "date". She thought it was going to be "funny". I think of her whenever I'm cruising the strip malls with my hammer and my van.

I once bowled seven strikes in a row at the Showboat Casino in Atlantic City.

I actually used the "If I told you that you had a good body, would you hold it against me?" pickup line successfully. It was 1986. In 1986 I was a freakin' GOD!

I dated a girl I didn't like for almost two years just to piss off another girl that I did like. The lesson here is to not get your relationship advice from John Hughes.

I once swore I would never drive a Volvo or a minivan. I now own a Volvo and a minivan.

I once told madmom that I wanted a vasectomy for my twenty-first birthday.

I got thrown off of a bus once, for smoking, and walked from Meadville, PA to a place called Venango before someone lent me enough change to call a friend to come and get me. If you want me to give you change, don't shake the cup, don't tell me you need food, tell me you need to make a phone call. I'm a sucker for that one.

I'm sure there's more to come...