Night Of The Litigious Snake

Plaintiffs,

This lawyer stuff is driving me nuts. I guess I understand Travis Corcoran’s problem with Robert Tourtelot. Mr. Tourtelot esq. seems to be a little addled. Mr. Corcoran has halted his email war with the elderly barrister for just that reason, and that was surely the right thing to do. Where Mr. Tourtelot seemed to be uninformed on copyright law, America’s other geniuses seem to have missed the boat on trademark law.

I bought a bag of chips this afternoon and the legal team at Frito-Lay seem to think that their service marks are in danger. What do you think of when you hear Doritos? Chips? Well done. But not with them. They would like for you to be sure that you’re sure. The invigorating copy on the back of the bag references “DORITOS brand” this and “Cool Ranch brand” that. Brand, brand, brand. Yeah, we get it. It’s a brand.

They have a new flavor and they’re holding an online contest to name the flavor of X-13D. Naturally, I asked Jaunty Blog staff member Chuck Petrovitch to investigate. Here’s what he found:

It’s really fun. They have a Doritos city with some really neat music that has a map you click on to go to the secret X-13D site. I guess it’s not real secret because it’s there on the city map in real big letters. XBOX 360 is there too, but I don’t think they make chips. Anyway, you register and name the flavor. I haven’t tried the chips, so I used the name you told me. DORITOS brand BRAND Chips brand. I hope I win something big! I am going to win something, aren’t I?

Of course you are, buddy. You’ll win the satisfaction of knowing that our three readers love and respect your journalistic credentials. That should be enough.

I’ve had this particular nit to pick with the former Chrysler Group division of the former DaimlerChrysler’s Jeep Division. I guess they’re Chrysler Corporation again, but this was surely written before their divorce from the Germans. The only reason I think that is because the “brand, brand, brand” business is missing from their more forward-facing pages. Look, we’re a long way away from being confused over a Willys ‘Jeep’ Universal, a Ford GPW, and Popeye’s pal. Jeep toilet paper? Scooters? Deck screws? Chrysler legal will surely be all over them in a heartbeat (heartbeat? doesn’t chevy own that? -ed Only when they put a bowtie on my EKG.).

Can’t we all be cool? I mean, schools are ripping out playgrounds because they’re afraid of getting sued. Ladders, sleds, sun visors, they’re so covered with CYA stickers that you can hardly see the underlying product. I spent the morning working on my 1973 Jeep Commando. Lap belts, people.

Sue me.

– bob

UPDATE: Wow! I botched the first paragraph in a huge way when I first posted this thing. It’s fixed now, but Jeebus H. Chrysler!

Night Of The Persistent Hectoring

Dear Fellow Travelers,

Remember how I mentioned my new toy in a previous post and how one of its requirements is that I turn on this site’s RSS feed? Well, since I did that, you can now actually subscribe to this mess. Just scroll all the way to the bottom of this page and click on the Atom link.

Your worst fears. Realized.

– bob

Night Of The Magnetic Postman

Friends,

I stopped by the post office with the car insurance payments and knowing that the lobby doors are usually locked, I was going to put the envelope in the box outside. The Jeep was running, wallet and cell phones in the center console but I tried the lobby doors anyway, and they were open! What luck! No worries about my precious cargo getting stuck to some errant ice cream bar stuffed down the box.

Figuring that my payment was less likely to get lost, I went inside and the doors clicked shut behind me. What’s this? Magnetic locks! I dropped the envelopes in the slot and tried the doors…

Locked!
Trapped!
No way out!
Running out of oxygen! (okay, I made that last part up)

So I was shaking the doors back and forth to see if I could wiggle through the gap, looking around for some way to break the glass, maybe a tool to pry them apart. But while looking for a tool, I saw to the right a tiny (1/2 inch square) lit green button that said EXIT. I pressed it and the locks de-energized. I let go, thinking that there might be a time delay, but the locks re-energized. So I played that game for what seemed like a month until I realized through the fog of panic that the button had to stay pressed while the doors were opened.

I hopped in the Jeep—which was still running, with the driver’s door wide open—and sped away, wondering if my adventure was caught on the lobby cameras. Surely the staff at my little USPS outpost are having a good laugh reviewing the tapes.

Pure evil.

– bob

Night Of The Squealing Heel

Pals,

As I was driving home yesterday, crappy shoes slipping across the brake and clutch pedals, feet aching, I thought I’d stop by the local shoe store. Something brown, I thought, something lightweight, something cool enough to be comfortable down in the Festival Of Dirt. Then I blew it off in favor of spray paint for the new-to-me patio set (flat black, natch).

I rolled up the front driveway instead of the back drive and there was a box from UPS. Out of the blue, my brother Stinko sent me a pair of shoes. Brown, lightweight, maybe cool tennis shoes. Super comfortable too. Why did he send them? I have theories! He’s a good guy, which is true. They also didn’t fit him, which is fair enough. How do you explain my own shoe thought before I even knew there was a package in front of my garage? It’s hard to know. Discuss.

Your pal,

bob

Beep!

Friends,

I have a new (to me) toy. It’s a little editor called MarsEdit. It grabs as many posts as you wish to feed to it (remember to turn on RSS!) and lets you create new ones—all from a non-web interface. Whether or not it’s better or not is hard to say. It is new though, so I’ll have to play with it a bit to see what all the fuss is about.

More this afternoon…

– bob

Night Of The Innovative Roundness

Friends,

I’ve been sitting here at 47 Jaunty Plaza listening to my P.R. gal Magdalena yell at me about the site. Apparently, hits will go down when you don’t keep the content fresh. Who knew? Granted, she hasn’t been doing the greatest job promoting the site (Jaunty Little Blog coasters at American Legion bars didn’t work out as well as we had hoped, nor did the commercials on the Spanish-language radio stations in Murietta) but I understand the need to keep up my end. I’ve been working on the house lately, so there are plenty of bandages on my fingertips (oh! that’s tragic! -ed No, really. go to the kitchen and turn on the tap. that should approximate my tears over your plight. -ed It’s hard to touch-type too! fine, just get to work. -ed) ahem, that make it hard to type. The spiny ends from all of the pine needles we’ve cleaned up at the Lodge seem to be magnetically attracted to my mitts. But anyway, here we go…

I’ll try to catch you up on as much as I can recall, or am allowed to recall for the ‘tubes.

My adorable niece was christened in the Roman Catholic Church last weekend. It seems that only a few years ago a christening was a solitary family affair. One child, one mass. You’ve certainly been to one. There’s a bit of liturgy, then a spoonful of holy water* is poured over the child’s head, the child cries, the service is buttoned up and you go home. Precious little Inez was baptized in a group ceremony with nine other infants. That’s fine with me, if only for the people watching, but the script provided the officiating priest hasn’t been updated to accommodate this. “Parents of Mary, Kate, Jeff, Steve, Inez, Larry, Paris, Nicole, Crystal, and Brittney, do you renounce Satan?” “Yes!”

Last weekend also held the promise of the famous Memorial Day yard sales here on the hill. The results were fairly disappointing though. I scored a brand new-in-the-box printer for my folks for cheap and they found a five dollar antique oak office chair for me. Beyond that, we spend our best time chatting with my neighbors. Two encounters deserve note. The first was the Christian evangelist who was selling his Jeepster but really needed tech support for his new non-profit venture. I don’t think I stressed enough how wary I am of non-profits nowadays (non-profit=no profit, get it?) but took his card and promised to give him a hand (that’s going to impinge on your production here, so we’re against it. -ed Some extra cash might help dress up these shabby digs.). The genuinely interesting part was a look at his parents’ videophone for the deaf. The picture quality was poor, which is a huge problem when you’re signing over the Interwebs and he was hoping I could fix that too.

The other discussion was with a Jeep aficionado who had a very heavy Eastern European accent. I’ve spoken with him since (at the post office, natch) and I think I have a bead on the guy. At the post office, he was wearing cowboy boots and a straw Stetson and driving his Wrangler. My guess is that while some people have chosen to be Elvis impersonators, he’s chosen to be an American impersonator. What’s more American than Levi’s and a Jeep? If he had been snacking on an apple pie, that would’ve clinched it, but for now I’m still only guessing.

As far as my work goes at San Diego’s (not nearly so, nowadays**) Omnipresent Charitable Organization’s Far Eastern Outpost (i thought we were going to shorten that. -ed It’s been a long time since the last post. Some people may need to catch up. the lurker from estonia isn’t worried about that. get to the story. – ed Um, were it not for the interruptions….) things have gone badly. I spent the last couple days—yes, even Saturday—helping to connect the various computer labs to the corporate network. My co-conspirators in San Diego came down to the desert to install switches, routers, a server and access for the, erm, clients. What does this mean for them? No more porn. I know, you’re upset about the closing of titillation opportunities for the homeless, but what can you do? It is a quasi-religious organization, after all. Yeah, no more MySpace or Facebook either. Take that, Rupert! (and whomever owns Facebook today).

But seriously folks, how exactly has the ‘Organization (much better. -ed) gone fishin’, so to speak? Well, I’m still the point man should things go sour with the medical software, but as I’ve learned this weekend, I’m getting pushed out of the role. That’s fine, I guess, except that I already purchased plane tickets and a room for this year’s user group convention in Washington state. On top of that, I’m likable! This is a trait that, I hear, is sadly missing from the interactions clinic staff have had with my co-conspirators in my beleaguered department. There’s decision making and there’s decision making, but these are some doozies, especially when they’d initially approved the trip then denied the trip after the reservations had been made. I have a plan though…

Oh, and this. I finally put some tires on the tired little Dodge Dakota. Of course, America’s Tire Co. (nee Discount Tire, nee Sears) didn’t have the right tire in the right size, so I went a size up. They look great, but they’ve changed the effective gearing and are further taxing the pathetic AMC four-banger. Sad, no?

There’s more, but it’ll have to wait for the next installment. I know, you can hardly wait.

Your pal,

– bob

* Joke alert: “How do you make holy water? You put tap water in a pot and boil the hell out of it.”
** Irrelevancy alert: As the company’s namesake falls further into ill health, his diminishing public exposure is leading to fewer donations and lower revenues. Local governments will sure be upset when folks are turned back out onto the street, won’t they?

Night Of The Styrofoam Take Away Boxes

Friends,

Sadly, you missed the Earth Fair in my little town last weekend. I know what you’re thinking, “of course! everybody loves a good hemp-wearing hippie show!” but that wasn’t really the scene. Nobody was standing on a soapbox warning of the end of days. There were more forest rangers/Bureau of Land Management managers/firemen offering free trees and helpful tips on raking up dead leaves. The county recycling people were also there giving away a remarkable amount of swag. More stuff to recycle later, I guess. Job security!

Sure, the crafty people were there. Lots of jewelry (polished rocks are from earth. -ed), and an Idyllwild fixture, textiles woven from unexpected fibers! Fancy a satchel made of Golden Retriever fur? Alpaca and dryer lint cap perhaps? People, these things are from NATURE™!

Then there were the freakishly large green onions, grown organically on Monster Island, apparently. Besides being delicious, you only need one. Very efficient.

Thanks Earth!

– bob

Genius! – Link Dump Edition

So I was hammering out some insane screed in the bullpen at 47 Jaunty Plaza when Chuck Petrovitch and Socks (a monkey) stopped by my desk. “What’s that?” Chuck asked, which he is wont to do, and I realized that nobody wanted that. Socks (a monkey) thought that it’d be fun to show off some of the stories that compel me to weep for the human race instead. He was right, of course.

As for Sharpton’s Romney comment, look dude, his imaginary friend is no more imaginary than your imaginary friend. So, um, knock it the hell off. We can talk about that cat’s affinity for Scientology all you want, but the religion thing? Yeah, sure. Go teach a man to fish or something.

Your pal,

bob

EDITOR’S NOTE: Your P.R. gal Magdalena is on the phone. She thinks that all the linky love is gonna help your technorati rating. I think she’s all wet. – ed
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Don’t you wish.

It Really Does Take Two: Part Two

(a two part post on a two-themed post? how adorable. -ed It’s a literary device!)

Friends,

I’m headed to the desert this weekend to help Dad install new vinyl windows. Sure, I hold the idea in high disdain, in theory, but the folks can use the insulation from the oppressive summer heat. I would have loved to see some sort of solution to keep the creaky aluminum crank windows on their mid-century vernacular ranch home, but what can you do? They were tired of the problems, and the air conditioner doesn’t have to work as hard. Dad said that he could take care of the installation, but changed his mind. Besides, I offered (imposed) my help.

Oh, here’s something you can help me with. Apparently, I’m too dim to figure out how to work a one-man brake bleeder. I bought two, one’s just a bottle with a check valve, the other has a vacuum pump. Neither can get the air out of the brakes on the Jeepster. Back in the old days, I’d have somebody in the driver’s seat pumping the brake pedal while I opened the bleeder screws under the car. There was a clear hose running into, invariably, a beer bottle. Push slowly, open the bleeder, watch for bubbles, close the bleeder. Repeat until the air bubbles were gone. That’s how we’ve always done it. Am I getting too uppity with the bleeder gizmos?

Your pal,

bob

I Had No Idea!

So I’m sitting in the editorial meeting this afternoon and almost everyone showed up. Our publisher Mr. Jaunty himself, my editor, Doctor Octavius, Big Jim, Hairy Steve, Socks (a monkey), my P.R. gal Magdalena, and the Petrovitch twins. We were working on story ideas and went with this one (recommended by Socks):

I was pulling some new data lines this morning at Campland In The Dirt. Sure, I could’ve used some help, but I’m not allowed to solicit help from clients or take staff away from their duties (solitaire). One of the clients walked up and I strangely thought that he might help straighten the wires that I was pulling through the conduit. Wrong.

Instead, he regaled me with his resume. He had been employed by a contractor installing data services in all of the franchise stores for a certain married cookie entrepreneur. I must’ve fulfilled the requirements to be interested, since I was pulling wire. “But get this,” he added, “did you know they’re Mormons?” Um, no, but please, go on. “Yeah, her husband is involved in this secret Mormon paramilitary group. They’re global, and they work with the government.”

Oh, now it’s really getting good. More?

“They go around finding people, and some people, they disappear.” Really? That’s wild. “Yeah, man, it’s all true.”

He went on, but everybody on the editorial board thought this was the best part. Except for Chuck Petrovitch, who didn’t get it.

Your pal,

bob

It Really Does Take Two

Little Dudes,

I’ve been a little quiet lately, not posting much of anything (here, anyway). Too much frustration. The phone lines had been dead last week and you know what that means—no DSL. It’s enough to give you the shakes.

The local Verizon tech finally showed up on Friday afternoon, right as I returned from The Festival Of Dirt™. My office is in the residential section of the building and Friday was “Bug Day.” Yep, they were spraying for bed bugs and everyone had to clear out. They could have told me about the fumigation at any time before 30 minutes ahead of the event, but where’s the fun in that? Clearly they didn’t want to deprive me the joy of driving down there to turn around and drive back.

The Verizon guy found that his recently replaced line between the Lodge and the pole had a break and needed to be replaced again. I helped feed the new wire over the new 114-foot run, naturally. Friendliness? (that’s rich. -ed) I was certainly anxious to get a dial tone (and to start clogging the ‘tubes again and get back to work). The dial tone came back, but I wasn’t too interested in getting to work just then. The day was by far the most lovely in months. If it makes you feel better, I’m working right now. Whee!

These demands on my time are mostly of my making though. For instance, I realize the you clearly need to see real photos of young baby Inez (confirmed, it’s an “I”).

I was drawn to this picture for the sly sideways, halfway cranky glance. Watch out for this one, world.

And while I get that this one is about singing, why is the hospital staff person holding her head down on? It’s clearly attached.

More in a little bit…

Your pal,

bob

What Time Is It?: Late April Edition

Friends!

This gloable whirming thing is really getting me down. I’ve done everything—burning raw coal (from the open pit I’ve started digging in the backyard), dragging out all the old aerosol cans from the garage and taped down the nozzles, fed the dogs beans and kielbasa (a phenomenally bad idea, btw)—everything I could think of to pump more carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. No luck. It’s still chilly up here.

What does a fella have to do?

Three inches of snow predicted tomorrow night. Spring, yeah sure.

Your pal,

bob

Brand New Babies!

Neighbors,

Normally, you’d think of April 15th as that special day when you might file your taxes, NO MORE!

Now you’ll remember April 15th as the day that my niece Inez was born! Mother and daughter are doing fine, see?

artist’s interpretation

Named after the beautiful Santa Inez Valley (I think), by all accounts she’s a lovely baby.

Even lovelier than this statue of some gal named Agnes…

Time for a road trip!

Your pal,

(proud new) uncle bob