chucK

guy who got a better offer at Dick's

tell you wut, a board in my damn eye'd make me cry. Even a stupid log would. nuff said and where the hell do they get board in your eye anyway? why not a goddamn rock, or a piece of papyrus or a date palm or a camel. Why a board? Maybe Dwayner knows.

Jesus Christ guys get your Jesus quotes right. It's a GODDAMN board, not a fucking log. Jeezus.

Can you summarize it in 50 words for us?

Did you really write that Dru? It don't sound like u.

Yes often go down, but this last couple of day is scaring me. All this negative business news keeps coming out, followed by DOW down 300. Ugh. Check out the DOW for the last decade What we're in now seems like it could be pretty significant.

merry f'n christmas 'eh?

So would a live vaccine be a homeopathic treatment? Those work sometimes don't they?

?? What's yer beef? Did you think I was referencing charging the doctor? I meant it seems illogical to be charging the patient with assault. Apparently sane onlookers now agree as those charges have already been dropped.

Here's something that sorta fits with the homeopathy thread... FORCED RECTAL EXAM!!! summary: guy gets head injury goes to ER, doc wants to do rectal exam, patient refuses, doc has him restrained and sedated, then doc charges patient with assault when he gets punched in the process. Apparently checking for "tone" in the rectum is SOP for head injury patients to assess possible spinal cord trauma. But it seems pretty extreme to be ordering someone restrained and sedated. And even if you think that's OK because head injury patients can't be assumed to be thinking straight, then it seems illogical to charge the patient with assault. It sorta looks like that doc is on a bit of a high horse (which is a big problem in medical care nowadays).

dmuja, I don't know much about homeopathy, but just because regular docs can do stupid stuff doesn't mean that homeopaths don't. "Regular" docs are not perfect and many are pretty scientifically clueless. There certainly are cases that where in hindsight they can be shown to be wrong, but it is a very challenging field. Certainly one should always do some investigation before embarking on any recommended treatment with likely negative side effects (e.g. surgery). Don't take your doctor's word as the sole decider. No one is more invested in the outcome than yourself. JayB, emphasis added My oh my! Was that a slip of the tongue/fingers, or are you going soft on us? Conceding that for some percentage of sufferers lack of willpower is not the cause of all their problems? That would be quite a change in your usually presented worldview. What brought this about?

Unfortunately the homeopathy thing is usually correlated with the counterculture "the man is trying to keep us down" thing, which in turn is quite suspicious of the concept of scientific rigor (tool of the man). And with respect to the teething baby of the OP, get a freezable teething ring. It's a plastic thingy filled with water that you can freeze. The baby chews on it, the cold numbs out the gums (kid likes it) and it gets the teething process done more quickly.

One time I was walking down the Snow Lake Trail on my way back from the Tooth on a very busy sunny weekend day. I was really getting sick of giving the polite "hello" every six seconds, so I decided to just ignore or stare them all down. Fuck 'em. They can all get bent.

USAA treated me right too (back in the mid 90's) You must have had other stuff stolen than was listed in the original post to tally 5 grand.

West Face -- Leaning Tower 8-10 pitches Grade V, 5.7, A2 This whole year has been a climbing writeoff for me. Except for one week-long vacation I haven't climbed shit. During the Winter and Spring, my regular partners scattered all across the coutry so I filled my spare time watching tv and eating pizza (interspersed with the occasional beer). Wayne, who had also suffered a rash of partner defections, tried to coax me from my sloth with an audatious mid-week excursion to the promised land. "Hey, let's fly into SF on Monday and drive out to Yos. We climb Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Then we fly back late Thursday night and get to work on Friday," Wayne outlined the plan. "I don't know, man. Why don't we take the whole week?" "I can't be gone that long ... family obligations, you know?" "It's kind of expensive for just a few days," I hemmed and hawed. "I can get us a deal on the tickets. We have to get our fat asses out sometime." After more salesmanship, I relented and Wayne made the arrangements. Since I had done so little climbing, I insisted on doing aid, reasoning that even if I was out of shape for climbing, I was fully prepared for some suffering. Two weeks later I sat waiting at an arrival gate at SFO waiting for Wayne's flight -- which was advertised as four hours late. When he stepped off the plane, Wayne had the haggard look of a airline victim. With little conversation, we collected his luggage which consisted of a single haul bag and rented a car. We had planned on driving all the way to the Park that night but our late start forced us to find a motel in Manteca at 2:00 am. Through monumental willpower, I slithered out of bed slightly after 5:00 am and roused Wayne. After showering and checking out, we found a grocery store. On the way, we discussed route options without coming up with any concrete plans. At the store, I got a cart and asked, "What do you want for wall food?" "I don't know," was his helpful reply. "We could start by getting victory beer." "Yeah, okay. It has to be drinkable warm. And come in cans." We stood in the liquor section and debated the merits of various beers. The cases of MGD on sale for $9.99 piqued our interest and prompted Wayne to do some quick math. "Okay, we're on some wall for two days. That means we can have four beers each the first night, four when we top out the second day, and four more when we get down. Sounds about right to me," he remarked with a grin spreading over his face. "Actually, if we got two cases and we only saved two each for when we got down, we could both have 11 beers a day and not even need to haul water." "Yeah, and we could get a bunch of pretzles and cocktail weenies for food." "I wonder," he began, his brow furrowing slightly, "what kind of pretzles would resist crushing the most." At that moment I realized that in Wayne's mind, the idea had crossed the boundary between stupid joke to realizable option. "Fourty-four beers," he continued, "what's that, like four gallons? That's about right for fluid. Those weenie cans are pretty small so we should get like four cans each a day. They're packed in water too ..." We left the store with two cases of MGD, sixteen cans of Hormel weenies, three giant bags of pretzle sticks, a roll of duct tape, and some cheap tupperware-like things to store the pretzles to prevent them from being crushed. We also left the store with a plan. We would haul ass to the Park, climb the first few pitches of the West Face of Leaning Tower, and bivy on Ahwahnee Ledge. Wayne would drive and I would pack the pig on the way. After getting a couple of boxes (to line the inside of the haul bag) from the trash behind the store, we were on our way. By noon we had managed to get our gear to the fourth class ramp and decided we had better celebrate the feat with a beer. After quaffing the brews and crushing and stowing the cans, Wayne lead us across the scary-as-hell ramp while I follow along with the pig. I thought carrying two cases of beer up to the ramp was difficult but the sphincter clenching fear I experienced while teetering along trying to stay in balance with the haul bag pulling me toward the brink was mind bending. Looking up at the steep line of bolts and overwhelmed by the exposure, we figured that a beer ought to calm our nerves. We plopped down by the bar (as we were now calling the haul bag), popped a couple of brews and pulled out some weenies and pretzles. The tupperware things were holding up just fine and after our satisfying meal, we were ready to roll. It appeared that there were two parties already on the route -- one was high up and looked like they would top out that day and the other was a couple of pitches above us. Since I hauled the bar across the ramp, I was entitled to the first pitch. Even though it was all bolts or fixed gear, the steep factor made it strenuous. A ways out, I had Wayne send me up a beer on the tag line and I reveled in the gratification of hanging on an immense piece of granite high off the ground and hearing the heavenly sound of a pop-top being opened. I polished off the brew, crushed the can against the wall, and tucked it into a handy stuff sack. Wayne combined the next two pitches and cruised. Before I knew it, I was on Guano, getting ready to haul. The two guys ahead of us were working on pitch five, obviously intenet on fixing the next two to make the next day shorter. When Wayne joined me, we pulled out a couple of beers and watched the second struggle to clean the traverse. He must have heard our pop-tops since he looked back over toward us and we raised our beers toward him in a toast. It was getting late and those guys wouldn't get done with pitch six until after dark. Content to settle into the Ahwahnee bivy, we ate the balance of our daily weenie ration and had a beer. We spent the rest of the evening watching the other guys working on pitch six and enjoying the sun set -- while having a couple of beers and munching on pretzles. When the other guys rapped back to Ahwahnee, we were already tucked in and practically asleep. The next morning came way too early. I awoke to a need to relieve the massive pressure in my bladder. My head was pounding and I had an absolutely revolting taste in my mouth. I was appalled to realize that the only thing we had to drink was beer. Somehow the practical matter of having to start drinking beer first thing in the morning had never occurred to either of us. I rummaged for Advil in the bar and popped a beer to wash them down. My stirring had roused one of the other guys and he looked at me in horror. Wayne's bladder forced him to get out of his bivy bag and we decided that we should get going since it was going to be a long day. We ate some weenies and pretzles and we did rock-paper-scissors for the fifth pitch. Wayne won. We hardly talked as we prepared and I believe we scared the other two guys since they didn't even say a word to us -- even avoiding all eye contact. Wayne headed out on lead and the other two guys hurriedly jugged their line. After Wayne fixed the line, I couldn't resist the call of nature any more. I clipped our Colman screwtop water jug (masquerading as a shit bucket) and let loose into the comfortably wide orifice. Ah yes, good consistency, if a bit aromatic -- the beer hadn't gotten to my gut just yet. I spent the next hour in purgatory. Cleaning the traversing pitch while carpenters hammered in my head thinking of nothing but a cool glass of water drove me to the edge of madness. Upon reaching the belay, I was just about through. "Wayne, this is just fucking dumb." He looked at me then looked down, "Bailing off this fuker would be lunacy. It's too steep. No where to go but up." He surveyed my ashen complexion and suggested, "Have another beer." I looked at the face to start the next pitch, fumbled with some hooks, then said "Fuck it," and lurched ahead in my boots. Lots of fixed stuff had me cruising to the next belay and Wayne followed up in a jif. Wayne eyed the shit bucket but decided he could hold out for a better stance. At the next belay he couldn't wait any longer. As I approached on jugs, I could see him hopping from foot to foot with a strained expression. I kind of hung off to the side to give Wayne as much of the small ledge as possible to do his thing. Even though I averted my eyes, I was forced to endure the horrid sound of his ass exploding. Then the stench wafted over, hanging in the air like a thick acrid fog. "Holy shit, did something crawl up your ass and die?" "And your shit doesn't smell?" he retorted. "Not like that." We were both parched and we took a moment to pop a couple of beers. While I was rumaging in the bag, I discovered that one of the big tupperware things holding the pretzles had come open. Subsequently, the freed pretzles had been ground into a wide assortment of chunks and dust. We ate some weenies (especially enjoying the salty, fat laced water they were packed in) and some of the uncrushed pretzles and tried to get back some of our psych. I began the eighth pitch and that is when things came unglued. I was having difficulty operating at any kind of level because I was trashed and the heat was rising fast. Our tempers flared and we shouted obscenities at each other. I had to piss mid-pitch and Wayne accused me of trying to hit him with it. The Evil Tree sank daggers into my back as I passed. In a fog I made it to the top of pitch nine, completely soaked in sweat and barely able to pull the rope through the drag. During our ordeal, the two guys ahead of us kept looking down -- I think grateful we would not catch up to them. After cursing each other up and down between chugs of beer, Wayne lead the last real pitch of the climb. As I followed, I helped along the pig when I could but that didn't prevent Wayne from screaming at me and me hollering back. Before we headed up the last fourth class section, we sat drinking beer, calm for the first time all afternoon. I got the honor of muscling the haul bag up the final bit and I was glad the beer was almost gone. Arriving on the summit, I found that the guys in front of us must have taken pity on us since they left a full two liter bottle of water. At least it was full before Wayne drank most of it while waiting for me and the pig. More profanity was exchanged at an extremely high volume. Still, those few sips of tepid, stale water were the best I could remember. Both of us were spent, our shirts and pants were a littice work of salt rings, and the back of my t-shirt had red dots on it where I was stuck by the punji sticks. We could do no more than lay immobile while the sun went down. Sometime after dark when we started getting really cold, we pulled out the bivy gear and bedded down for the night. Even though our bivy sacks and sleeping bags had been stuffed, somehow the pretzle detrious had found its way inside. The following morning, I awoke to a powerful urge to defacate but was frightened to open the shit bucket after Wayne's contribution the previous day. I steeled myself and held it at arms length as I twised off the top. It was horrid and I could hardly bring myself to use it. I filled it nearly to the top and hurredly screwed on the cap. Wayne stirred and finally crawled out of his bag. The cumulative effect of the climb had taken such a toll on us that the pounding in our heads no longer was the worst of our pain. Thus it became almost inconsequential. Lethargically, we pack up our stuff and prepared for the descent. After I closed up the pig, Wayne began squirming around and eyed the shit bucket. "No more room in there," I warned. He dug into the bag and pulled out one of the tupperware things and went off a ways, returning with a repulsive package. He used liberal amounts of duct tape to seal up his waste. We popped two of our few remaining beers, quaffed them, and began the treacherous descent. Managing not to kill ourselves, we staggered out to the car. "Fuck, we haven't got anything to drink but beer," I observed upon opening the car. Wayne dropped his pack and leaned stiffly against the car. Bending over and placing his forehead on the roof, his whole body shook and he sent a jet of vomit across the car roof. Wiping puke from his mouth he turned to me and said "I just didn't have the energy to do it anywhere else."

But if you bet four times, your odds of winning go down to 5% but your payoff goes up sixteen times (though you only risk the same amount of money). And red only pays off 47.4% of the time. Better to put it on the Pass Line (49.3% chances of winning).

Bunch of new traffic-signal cameras in 2008 in Seattle. Fine is raised from $101 to $124.

What about "Air America"? Are they still around?

"Political coverage is mostly about the horserace. Boo hoo." GAWD! The horserace is the only news, people! What else do you want the damn news to report? For each candidate each day they could write, "Senator XXX gave another three speeches today in which he/she presented successive paragraphs of feelgood focus-group-tested generalities, a few feelbad focus-group-tested generalities, peppered with a couple of negative specifics about the voting record of the latest frontrunner/nearest competitor." And it would be true, but uninteresting. And certainly not "news" [comes from the root word, "new".] If you really want more depth, you can get it. The internet is great that way. There are often "fact checker" pieces on NYTimes.com and Washingtonpost.com. Probably even on those nasty Republican sites too. But it's too much to distill for a headline or the top-of-the-hour 7 minute newsbreak. What do you want for these spots? In depth analysis? I think some people's expectations are a tad bit high here.

It worked for little Joey Cora.

It's back in 2004 and a little still in 2005.

Agreed. Some might even describe those numbers as incredible or unbelievable.

Huckabee has got the zombie evangelical vote. All those folks who voted for (and were duped by) Bush simply because he was religious. Those votes would go to The Huck. That's who. I doubt he'll get very far. New Hampshire is going to be the big Huckabee buzzkill (not enough Jesus zombies up there), and Giuliani looks like a lock on FLA. Check out intrade.com ! You can bet, errr...invest in futures, in the political races. Probably illegal to do it for real money, but you can sign up to practice with $5000 play money. I'm up about 700 play$ right now.