How many folks watched the lighting of the tree in NYC tonight? I'd say probably a lot.
Since so many of us are (at least in the confines of our own living rooms) prone to being somewhat a touch perverted and giggle-prone, I doubt I was alone when I observed that there sure were some huge balls on the set in the background while that one guy was singing that one song.
It begs the question: What would people say if I put huge balls on my front lawn, you know... as Christmas ornaments? Would people innocently admire my giant balls in the spirit of Christmas? Would some passers-by be jealous of them because they made their own Christmas balls seem inadequate?
Would they cause a stir? Would they (as any attention getting obnoxious yahoo article might say) "spark outrage"?
I imagine that if my name was, say, Wakefield... the headlines in the local newspaper might read something like this:
"Local Neighborhood Shocked and Outraged by Wakefields Huge Balls"
It's something to think about.
TSN
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
This Is Difficult To Look At
I drew it it MS Paint, using only straight lines. Now my brain hurts.
TSN
Freedom
Phil looked down at the ground whizzing by and had to close his eyes to regain his calm. Once he found his zen center, he took a savory sip of his still-steaming mocha latte, purchased not ten minutes earlier from the Java Shop in car 21 and considered two options that were staring him in the face. They were as follows:
A: Stay on the train.
B: Jump off the train.
Option B looked sketchy, given the blur outside that would have looked like sharp rocks had they not been moving so fast. He knew however that if he failed to choose option B, he would be forced to go with option A and he certainly didn't like the idea of being forced to do anything.
If he stayed on the train, he knew exactly where it would take him and that when he got there he would be a pleasant combination of alive and intact. If he jumped off there was a distinct possibility that he would not survive at all (much less remain intact), and the implications of that eventuality confused and mystified him. Phil sipped and pondered.
From the perception of anything traveling at speeds approaching that of light, not a lot of time went by. To anybody else it was quite a while, enough to make continued descriptions of what transpired during that time seem monotonous, pointless and otherwise generally trite.
At long last, Phil decided that since there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to jump off the train, he would go ahead and stay on. He went back to his seat and read a newspaper until the train arrived at its destination.
He found his car, paid for the parking, snagged some drive-through fast food, gave ten dollars to a homeless woman and went home feeling good about all of his decisions that day, at least until the fast food caught up to him at which point he began to regret that one.
The world is crazy when you realize just how much freedom you actually have, isn't it?
TSN
A: Stay on the train.
B: Jump off the train.
Option B looked sketchy, given the blur outside that would have looked like sharp rocks had they not been moving so fast. He knew however that if he failed to choose option B, he would be forced to go with option A and he certainly didn't like the idea of being forced to do anything.
If he stayed on the train, he knew exactly where it would take him and that when he got there he would be a pleasant combination of alive and intact. If he jumped off there was a distinct possibility that he would not survive at all (much less remain intact), and the implications of that eventuality confused and mystified him. Phil sipped and pondered.
From the perception of anything traveling at speeds approaching that of light, not a lot of time went by. To anybody else it was quite a while, enough to make continued descriptions of what transpired during that time seem monotonous, pointless and otherwise generally trite.
At long last, Phil decided that since there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to jump off the train, he would go ahead and stay on. He went back to his seat and read a newspaper until the train arrived at its destination.
He found his car, paid for the parking, snagged some drive-through fast food, gave ten dollars to a homeless woman and went home feeling good about all of his decisions that day, at least until the fast food caught up to him at which point he began to regret that one.
The world is crazy when you realize just how much freedom you actually have, isn't it?
TSN
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Wheee! D'oh!
If I had a head like Charlie Brown...
But enough about that. Today I saw a bird nest that was built in a bundle of cables for an omnidirectional ground to air antenna.
"I wonder if it helps keep them warm..." I thought, before realizing that the warmth the little feathery buggers enjoy is probably not helping them be any more healthy than they would otherwise have been.
That's when I thought about Chris Farley in Tommy Boy when the guy asked him "Did you live under power lines when you were a kid?"
Now I have a reason to nod my head understandingly when the occasional bird flies beak first at top speed into my office window. I always wondered what must go through a birds head when they're so rudely interrupted.
I imagine it's this:
"Doot de doo..." SPLATTO!
He lays on the ground in a daze for a few minutes. Three people with cigarettes gather around and peer down at him, shaking their heads and muttering.
"Awwww, BOLLOCKS! Stupid GPS, how long as that been there? These people ought to be more careful, etc. etc. etc..."
If situations were reversed, and birds could install invisible barriers in places where humans were running really fast, I'll bet that Kenyans would slow right on down.
Also, trips on remote mountain biking trails through the woods could end in what can only be described as "tragically hilarious" face-smudging fiasco that even Gary Larson would be impressed by.
TSN
But enough about that. Today I saw a bird nest that was built in a bundle of cables for an omnidirectional ground to air antenna.
"I wonder if it helps keep them warm..." I thought, before realizing that the warmth the little feathery buggers enjoy is probably not helping them be any more healthy than they would otherwise have been.
That's when I thought about Chris Farley in Tommy Boy when the guy asked him "Did you live under power lines when you were a kid?"
Now I have a reason to nod my head understandingly when the occasional bird flies beak first at top speed into my office window. I always wondered what must go through a birds head when they're so rudely interrupted.
I imagine it's this:
"Doot de doo..." SPLATTO!
He lays on the ground in a daze for a few minutes. Three people with cigarettes gather around and peer down at him, shaking their heads and muttering.
"Awwww, BOLLOCKS! Stupid GPS, how long as that been there? These people ought to be more careful, etc. etc. etc..."
If situations were reversed, and birds could install invisible barriers in places where humans were running really fast, I'll bet that Kenyans would slow right on down.
Also, trips on remote mountain biking trails through the woods could end in what can only be described as "tragically hilarious" face-smudging fiasco that even Gary Larson would be impressed by.
TSN
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Bear Deterrent
I've slacked a bit on my posts here lately. I'll be back soon.
I miss it, this is a cool place for me to brain-dump any left over creativity I might have rolling around in there at the end of the day like so many loose gumballs.
Lately by the end of the day I've been pretty pooped and my brain starts talking to me like I was somebody else. It's not a very long conversation.
Brain: "Dude..."
Me: "What's up buddy?"
Brain: "This is the last you'll be hearing from me tonight."
Me: "Why's that?"
Brain: "....."
Me: "Hello?"
When that happens I can sit here as long as I want and stare at the blank white screen, but nothing will come of it, so instead I just mash a few handfuls of wasabi peas into my face, pick on my guitar for a few minutes and call it a night.
The other night I dreamt about being chased through my grandmothers house by a bear. I went out through a window and shut the window behind me... I remember wondering why I expected a window to stop a bear. It didn't.
Just as the bear was about to eat my face in my dream, I farted in real life and it woke me up. That was lucky!
TSN
I miss it, this is a cool place for me to brain-dump any left over creativity I might have rolling around in there at the end of the day like so many loose gumballs.
Lately by the end of the day I've been pretty pooped and my brain starts talking to me like I was somebody else. It's not a very long conversation.
Brain: "Dude..."
Me: "What's up buddy?"
Brain: "This is the last you'll be hearing from me tonight."
Me: "Why's that?"
Brain: "....."
Me: "Hello?"
When that happens I can sit here as long as I want and stare at the blank white screen, but nothing will come of it, so instead I just mash a few handfuls of wasabi peas into my face, pick on my guitar for a few minutes and call it a night.
The other night I dreamt about being chased through my grandmothers house by a bear. I went out through a window and shut the window behind me... I remember wondering why I expected a window to stop a bear. It didn't.
Just as the bear was about to eat my face in my dream, I farted in real life and it woke me up. That was lucky!
TSN
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Tortoise V Hare
One day, the tortoise and the hare decided to have a race.
I'm not certain whose idea it was but I know that if the hare thought it up it was a jerk thing to do and it was a terrible idea on the part of the tortoise to agree to do it.
If it was the tortoise who popped his head off his pillow that morning and said "Hey I've got a swell idea", his animal kingdom friends ought to have examined that head rather than show up to watch what would certainly be the public humiliation of a lifetime.
One would think that such non-violent creatures as tortoises and hares would have more benevolent friends. Consider these two pre-race realities:
First: Tortoises are amazingly slow runners. Amazing slowness is considered generally bad in terms of racing, and is only useful in specific non-race sort of situations such as waiting in line at the DMV.
Second: When running, hares are amazingly not slow. They are rather famous for being fast, which is normally chalked-up as a benefit during contests of speed.
The money exchanging hands on the sidelines before the starting gun was fired must have heavily favored the hare. We're talking 50 to 1 at least and that's being generous.
Starting gun!
The charge had barely finished exploding inside the bullet casing before the hare had disappeared into the distance. The audience gazed in awe at the long plume of dust that stretched to the horizon, then turned their heads back to the starting line.
The tortoise had nearly begun to take a step. His old bones creaked audibly in the still air as he laboriously placed one foot in front of the other and ever-so-slowly began shambling forward. Night fell. Dice-games began attracting attention.
The crowd began to stir, and murmured that the hare should have arrived back at the starting point, what with it being a closed loop course and all. Those who had taken the safe bet and wagered on the hare began to give the hairy-eyeball to those who had bet on the tortoise.
Another hour passed. Someone finally became worried enough about the hare to call 911, but sadly the paramedics were also tortoises.
Campfires were built, acoustic jam-sessions were had. Tensions continued to mount.
At long, long, long last, who should appear in the distance but the tortoise, plodding painfully slowly towards the finish-line! The agonizingly slow victory became more and more likely as necks were craned in hopes of seeing a last minute hare. This was particularly easy for the cranes.
The tortoise was unbelievably close to the finish when the hare burst unexpectedly onto the scene!
"Noooo!" he cried, making a mad dash for the line only to cross it the barest fraction of a gnats-ass too late! The tortoise had won, the tortoise had won! This was the biggest upset the animal kingdom had ever seen!
But the excitement wasn't a happy one. The crowd encircled the hare as the few who had bet on the tortoise disappeared hastily into the night with their giant stacks of cash.
The tortoise, who had failed to place a bet on time, was forgotten. The hare was never seen or heard from again.
The next afternoon, the paramedics arrived.
TSN
I'm not certain whose idea it was but I know that if the hare thought it up it was a jerk thing to do and it was a terrible idea on the part of the tortoise to agree to do it.
If it was the tortoise who popped his head off his pillow that morning and said "Hey I've got a swell idea", his animal kingdom friends ought to have examined that head rather than show up to watch what would certainly be the public humiliation of a lifetime.
One would think that such non-violent creatures as tortoises and hares would have more benevolent friends. Consider these two pre-race realities:
First: Tortoises are amazingly slow runners. Amazing slowness is considered generally bad in terms of racing, and is only useful in specific non-race sort of situations such as waiting in line at the DMV.
Second: When running, hares are amazingly not slow. They are rather famous for being fast, which is normally chalked-up as a benefit during contests of speed.
The money exchanging hands on the sidelines before the starting gun was fired must have heavily favored the hare. We're talking 50 to 1 at least and that's being generous.
Starting gun!
The charge had barely finished exploding inside the bullet casing before the hare had disappeared into the distance. The audience gazed in awe at the long plume of dust that stretched to the horizon, then turned their heads back to the starting line.
The tortoise had nearly begun to take a step. His old bones creaked audibly in the still air as he laboriously placed one foot in front of the other and ever-so-slowly began shambling forward. Night fell. Dice-games began attracting attention.
The crowd began to stir, and murmured that the hare should have arrived back at the starting point, what with it being a closed loop course and all. Those who had taken the safe bet and wagered on the hare began to give the hairy-eyeball to those who had bet on the tortoise.
Another hour passed. Someone finally became worried enough about the hare to call 911, but sadly the paramedics were also tortoises.
Campfires were built, acoustic jam-sessions were had. Tensions continued to mount.
At long, long, long last, who should appear in the distance but the tortoise, plodding painfully slowly towards the finish-line! The agonizingly slow victory became more and more likely as necks were craned in hopes of seeing a last minute hare. This was particularly easy for the cranes.
The tortoise was unbelievably close to the finish when the hare burst unexpectedly onto the scene!
"Noooo!" he cried, making a mad dash for the line only to cross it the barest fraction of a gnats-ass too late! The tortoise had won, the tortoise had won! This was the biggest upset the animal kingdom had ever seen!
But the excitement wasn't a happy one. The crowd encircled the hare as the few who had bet on the tortoise disappeared hastily into the night with their giant stacks of cash.
The tortoise, who had failed to place a bet on time, was forgotten. The hare was never seen or heard from again.
The next afternoon, the paramedics arrived.
TSN
Friday, November 11, 2011
Pennies For Virgins
Here's something that occurred to me the other day: If you think about it broadly enough, the concept of tossing a coin into a well and making a wish is fundamentally the same as pitching a virgin into a volcano and hoping for a bountiful harvest.
Throwing away perfectly good money is a sacrifice, right?
Luckily for all the local virgins we've come down somewhat on the severity of necessary sacrifices but the idea is pretty much the same: The thing you sacrifice has to have some value, or the thing doesn't work.
Otherwise wishing wells would be filled to the brim with used oil and magazine inserts and the like.
Whoever figured out that a coin in a well works just as well as a virgin in a volcano must have got the equivalent of a Nobel prize back in the day, I mean... that's a pretty big deal you would think.
Here's the headline:
"Local Man Appeases Gods With Coin: No More Virgin Sacrifices!"
-- There was celebration in the streets today in downtown Tenochtitlan as thousands of citizens rejoiced the new non-sacrificeable status of their families and friends. As it turns out, flicking a coin into any old deep hole filled with water is absolutely just as effective as pitching maidens headlong into bubbling mountains of molten rock.
The man behind this ground-breaking discovery is Dave... Spaulding?, of 153 West Palm Rd., who apparently stumbled across the idea while drawing water from a local well. A coin slipped from his pocket and plummeted into the depths just as he said "I wish it wasn't so hot out here". According to eyewitness reports, a cloud immediately passed in front of the ball of fire in the sky, proving irrevocably that the Gods had heard him and had granted his wish.
Dave... is being heralded as "Chap of the year" and has been awarded a bag of sacred chicken feet for his discovery.
It begs the question: Whose hair-brained idea was it to pitch maidens in there in the first place?
Why was that the first thing they thought of? If I had to guess, I'd wager that ordinary folks would tend to lean towards the virgin sacrifice as a last resort rather than a go-to plan from the onset. Maybe that's just me...
TSN
Throwing away perfectly good money is a sacrifice, right?
Luckily for all the local virgins we've come down somewhat on the severity of necessary sacrifices but the idea is pretty much the same: The thing you sacrifice has to have some value, or the thing doesn't work.
Otherwise wishing wells would be filled to the brim with used oil and magazine inserts and the like.
Whoever figured out that a coin in a well works just as well as a virgin in a volcano must have got the equivalent of a Nobel prize back in the day, I mean... that's a pretty big deal you would think.
Here's the headline:
"Local Man Appeases Gods With Coin: No More Virgin Sacrifices!"
-- There was celebration in the streets today in downtown Tenochtitlan as thousands of citizens rejoiced the new non-sacrificeable status of their families and friends. As it turns out, flicking a coin into any old deep hole filled with water is absolutely just as effective as pitching maidens headlong into bubbling mountains of molten rock.
The man behind this ground-breaking discovery is Dave... Spaulding?, of 153 West Palm Rd., who apparently stumbled across the idea while drawing water from a local well. A coin slipped from his pocket and plummeted into the depths just as he said "I wish it wasn't so hot out here". According to eyewitness reports, a cloud immediately passed in front of the ball of fire in the sky, proving irrevocably that the Gods had heard him and had granted his wish.
Dave... is being heralded as "Chap of the year" and has been awarded a bag of sacred chicken feet for his discovery.
It begs the question: Whose hair-brained idea was it to pitch maidens in there in the first place?
Why was that the first thing they thought of? If I had to guess, I'd wager that ordinary folks would tend to lean towards the virgin sacrifice as a last resort rather than a go-to plan from the onset. Maybe that's just me...
TSN
Thursday, November 10, 2011
1000
Well, I'll be damned. 1 thousand hits on the ol' blog, thanks everybody who reads this nonsense! I did the math, oh yes... two months worth of blogging, one thousand hits, forty posts (not counting this one)... that means:
That's an average of 25 hits per post, to which I have this to say: "Not bad!"
If I was shooting for 1 million views, I have a paltry 166 and 2/3 years of blogging ahead of me at this rate in order to achieve my goal. Apparently going viral isn't as easy as dramatic hamster would have me believe.
At this rate, I only need to write 40 thousands posts. Wait, no... 39960 more. I'm up to 40 already! Nearly there!
TSN
That's an average of 25 hits per post, to which I have this to say: "Not bad!"
If I was shooting for 1 million views, I have a paltry 166 and 2/3 years of blogging ahead of me at this rate in order to achieve my goal. Apparently going viral isn't as easy as dramatic hamster would have me believe.
At this rate, I only need to write 40 thousands posts. Wait, no... 39960 more. I'm up to 40 already! Nearly there!
TSN
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Perspective
There are creatures living on the bottom of the ocean that we've never seen or heard of. I think that's cool, especially since we human-folk think we're so important and whatnot.
It would be doubly cool if a gang of them surfaced one day and started poking around lower Manhattan with digital cameras. I imagine that they also speak English, and that one of them is named Ed. Why not?
Scene: Half a dozen never before seen sea creatures have emerged from the water and are be-bopping around downtown, window shopping and generally behaving as if nothing was amiss. Naturally, every authority on planet Earth has been alerted.
Media crews follow with too many cameras and microphones, trying desperately to get a headline shot and some decent audio. Helicopters circle overhead and the sound of rounds being chambered into automatic weapons creates a proper ruckus.
Suddenly, without provocation, one of the creatures begins producing bubbles of water that quickly drop to the sidewalk and make little "splish" sounds. Then it stops. The crowd freezes in fear.
The Audio:
"Aww dammit Ed, I know that was you!"
"What? What?"
"Dude, I can totally see the bubbles."
"My bad."
"Seriously dude."
One of them pauses and scans the hushed crowd. They talk amongst themselves. Nobody in the crowd can tell which one is talking since nobody can tell where their mouths are, so they just listen:
"These things are wicked ugly, what are they called?"
"I don't think we have names for them yet."
"Sweet we get to name them!"
"Yeah I guess."
"Haha! I'm totally naming them after me."
"What, Dinglenuts?"
".... actually yeah, I like that better."
"Dinglenuts it is."
Aghast at the idea that our entire species has just been labeled "Dinglenuts", the crowd gets agitated. People begin to move closer.
"Hey what are they doing?"
"I don't know but I don't like it, let's get the hell out of here!"
"They're everywhere! How are there so many of them?"
"This is freaking me out, I'm totally freaking out, I'm freaking out!"
One of them pulls a contraption out of... somewhere... and fires a single shot into the crowd which instantly vaporizes all of humanity in a split second.
Apparently we didn't have the best weapons after all.
"Dammit. Now nobody will believe us."
"Whatever. We probably did them a favor."
TSN
It would be doubly cool if a gang of them surfaced one day and started poking around lower Manhattan with digital cameras. I imagine that they also speak English, and that one of them is named Ed. Why not?
Scene: Half a dozen never before seen sea creatures have emerged from the water and are be-bopping around downtown, window shopping and generally behaving as if nothing was amiss. Naturally, every authority on planet Earth has been alerted.
Media crews follow with too many cameras and microphones, trying desperately to get a headline shot and some decent audio. Helicopters circle overhead and the sound of rounds being chambered into automatic weapons creates a proper ruckus.
Suddenly, without provocation, one of the creatures begins producing bubbles of water that quickly drop to the sidewalk and make little "splish" sounds. Then it stops. The crowd freezes in fear.
The Audio:
"Aww dammit Ed, I know that was you!"
"What? What?"
"Dude, I can totally see the bubbles."
"My bad."
"Seriously dude."
One of them pauses and scans the hushed crowd. They talk amongst themselves. Nobody in the crowd can tell which one is talking since nobody can tell where their mouths are, so they just listen:
"These things are wicked ugly, what are they called?"
"I don't think we have names for them yet."
"Sweet we get to name them!"
"Yeah I guess."
"Haha! I'm totally naming them after me."
"What, Dinglenuts?"
".... actually yeah, I like that better."
"Dinglenuts it is."
Aghast at the idea that our entire species has just been labeled "Dinglenuts", the crowd gets agitated. People begin to move closer.
"Hey what are they doing?"
"I don't know but I don't like it, let's get the hell out of here!"
"They're everywhere! How are there so many of them?"
"This is freaking me out, I'm totally freaking out, I'm freaking out!"
One of them pulls a contraption out of... somewhere... and fires a single shot into the crowd which instantly vaporizes all of humanity in a split second.
Apparently we didn't have the best weapons after all.
"Dammit. Now nobody will believe us."
"Whatever. We probably did them a favor."
TSN
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Redneck Of The Day
So I'm leaning ever so nonchalantly against my car, watching the numbers on the gas pump whizz by at rates incomprehensible to my fragile little mind and wishing that my car ran on taco farts when something interesting happened behind me: Someone honked their horn.
Not just a little honk, like "Hey Biff, I see you there on the sidewalk, how you been ol' buddy?" but a big honk, like "Hey Biff you horse-toothed jackass, you just ran over my middle toe!"
This got my attention, so I turned my head to see what was going on. Just as I did I noticed a silver car streaking through an intersection with an obviously red light overhead. Inches from turning it into a tender and juicy T-bone was a big gnarly red pickup truck, the driver of which I deduced was the honker of the horn I had heard.
"That guy must have someplace important to be" I ascertained, and without a second thought re-allocated my attention back to the numbers on the pump, since they affect my wallet directly while random horn-honkers generally do not. Then I noticed the same silver car pulling into the gas station.
"He was in an awful hurry just to get gas" I decided.
"What a putz!" I further decided.
A man in a suit got out of the silver car and commenced an ordinary, unhurried gas pumping ritual, apparently oblivious to the near-death experience in his very recent past. Less oblivious was the guy in the big red truck, who had taken the time to circle around the gas station and pull in alongside the silver car.
Suit-man stood and looked rather alarmed as a textbook redneck leaned out of his truck window, shook his fist and lit him up with as nice a stream of character damaging tirade as I've heard in a while.
Something like this:
"What the hell is the matter with you, ya sack of crap?! You saw that @#%^ light was red, you know the !^#%#&* roads are wet, you could have #$^&(!% killed somebody! DUMB ASS! Yeah you heard me, DUMB ASS!"
It went on for some time. Then he took off, still muttering and shaking his head.
The whole episode left me feeling happy, with a little of my faith in humanity restored.
Many people would have just let the horn-honk suffice to let the guy in the silver car know he was a schmuck. Not this guy. He made the extra effort. He took the extra time, and really let the fella know just how much of a schmuck he was. I salute him.
Here's to you, random redneck! The world needs more doers.
TSN
Not just a little honk, like "Hey Biff, I see you there on the sidewalk, how you been ol' buddy?" but a big honk, like "Hey Biff you horse-toothed jackass, you just ran over my middle toe!"
This got my attention, so I turned my head to see what was going on. Just as I did I noticed a silver car streaking through an intersection with an obviously red light overhead. Inches from turning it into a tender and juicy T-bone was a big gnarly red pickup truck, the driver of which I deduced was the honker of the horn I had heard.
"That guy must have someplace important to be" I ascertained, and without a second thought re-allocated my attention back to the numbers on the pump, since they affect my wallet directly while random horn-honkers generally do not. Then I noticed the same silver car pulling into the gas station.
"He was in an awful hurry just to get gas" I decided.
"What a putz!" I further decided.
A man in a suit got out of the silver car and commenced an ordinary, unhurried gas pumping ritual, apparently oblivious to the near-death experience in his very recent past. Less oblivious was the guy in the big red truck, who had taken the time to circle around the gas station and pull in alongside the silver car.
Suit-man stood and looked rather alarmed as a textbook redneck leaned out of his truck window, shook his fist and lit him up with as nice a stream of character damaging tirade as I've heard in a while.
Something like this:
"What the hell is the matter with you, ya sack of crap?! You saw that @#%^ light was red, you know the !^#%#&* roads are wet, you could have #$^&(!% killed somebody! DUMB ASS! Yeah you heard me, DUMB ASS!"
It went on for some time. Then he took off, still muttering and shaking his head.
The whole episode left me feeling happy, with a little of my faith in humanity restored.
Many people would have just let the horn-honk suffice to let the guy in the silver car know he was a schmuck. Not this guy. He made the extra effort. He took the extra time, and really let the fella know just how much of a schmuck he was. I salute him.
Here's to you, random redneck! The world needs more doers.
TSN
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Home Security
Security is a word that never gets to mean what it's supposed to mean. No matter how "secure" something is, it's never completely unbreakable. There's always a way in, it just depends on how hard someone is willing to try, and for how long.
How good you feel about it depends on the quality and quantity of break-in attempts.
For example:
If nobody ever tries to break into home-A, the people living there might feel secure even though the only deterrent is a screen door under a neon sign that reads "Gold Bullion Storage Facility". That's a false sense of security, if you ask me.
On the other hand if folks are always trying to break into home-B, it's more likely the people living there feel insecure despite the 1/2" wrought iron sliding bolt on the door, crows-nests with armed guards, razor wire, mine-fields, searchlights, kung-fu tarantulas and whatnot.
Trying to break in sucks, what with all the getting kicked in the face eight times simultaneously. Why do people keep trying?
Who do you call if you lock yourself out? What locksmith is going to negotiate that killing field?
As for me, I have a "Hide-a-Rock". You should get one.
It's a giant plastic key that you hide in the flower garden. Whenever you lock yourself out, you pick up the key and there's a secret rock under there that you throw through the window.
Works every time.
TSN
How good you feel about it depends on the quality and quantity of break-in attempts.
For example:
If nobody ever tries to break into home-A, the people living there might feel secure even though the only deterrent is a screen door under a neon sign that reads "Gold Bullion Storage Facility". That's a false sense of security, if you ask me.
On the other hand if folks are always trying to break into home-B, it's more likely the people living there feel insecure despite the 1/2" wrought iron sliding bolt on the door, crows-nests with armed guards, razor wire, mine-fields, searchlights, kung-fu tarantulas and whatnot.
Trying to break in sucks, what with all the getting kicked in the face eight times simultaneously. Why do people keep trying?
Who do you call if you lock yourself out? What locksmith is going to negotiate that killing field?
As for me, I have a "Hide-a-Rock". You should get one.
It's a giant plastic key that you hide in the flower garden. Whenever you lock yourself out, you pick up the key and there's a secret rock under there that you throw through the window.
Works every time.
TSN
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