Hammering The Point Home That He’s An Asshole.

Here’s a story for ya. 57-year-old Jayantibhai Patel was living with his father and caring for him. He was thinking of heading back to India and his father didn’t want to move with him. So he thought maybe this would be a good time to put dear old Dad in a nursing home. Unfortunately for dear old Dad, he thought the only way to go into a home was to be in the hospital first. So, he picked up a hammer and clocked dear old dad over the head with it.

To make sure the poor fellow would need medical attention, he waited an hour and a half before calling paramedics! Unfortunately for him, all his dad needed was a couple of stitches, and quite clearly told the ambulance folk that he did not fall, his son hit him over the head with a hammer.

And here’s where I start to get baffled. Being appalled at what he did, the judge at his arraignment set bail at $500000, and his dad wants to put up all the equity in his home to post the bail and get him freed! Other relatives are saying he shouldn’t be kept in jail. Why the hell not? He hit his dad over the head with a hammer for Christ’s sake! I don’t care if he didn’t intend to kill or seriously injure him. He hit him over the head with a hammer, and then waited forever and a day to get him help, all because he wanted to put him in a home.

And, if you had any decency and thought the best place for your dad was a nursing home, wouldn’t you, um, do some research? It wouldn’t take you long to realize that you wouldn’t have to inflict bodily harm on him in order to find him a nice place to live. And wouldn’t you want to choose one, instead of having the hospital put him in some random home?

All I can say is people are weird animals.

How Loud Was She Screaming At Her toilet?

If you live in Scranton, Pa. Next time you want to move to a new place to live, a good question to ask is “How thin are the walls?” Another one would be “are their any prickish cops living near me?” If they’re too thin and the answer to question no. 2 is yes, you might want to reconsider moving there. Why? Because if one day, your toilet overflows and you swear at it in frustration, your prickish neighbour cop who is off duty could call the police and have you charged with disorderly conduct. Seriously. This woman could possibly go to jail for three months and have to pay $300 for something she said in the privacy of her own home. Now, if she was screaming and screaming and screaming and it was going on for a prolonged amount of time, I could understand calling in a noise complaint. But does it need to be a charge of disorderly conduct and a possible jail sentence?

Here’s the best part. When her prickish neighbour heard her swearing, what did he say through the wall at her? That would be “shut the explitive up.” You figure out what the explitive is, I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I’m pretty sure I know what it was. Slap a ticket on him too, then.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

As Long As There Are Rednecks, I’ll Always Have Things To Think About

I can’t decide what the weirdest thing about this story is. Is it that somebody left his amputated leg in a barbecue, that the barbecue in question somehow made it to auction, that the man who bought it decided that he had a money making venture on his hands, or that the 2 are now fighting over ownership and the leg is living in a funeral home until it ghets sorted out?

Police in Maiden, N.C., said a man found a portion of a leg, including the foot and most of the calf, inside a barbecue smoker that he bought recently at an auction.

Authorities said the leg belongs to John Wood, who once lived in the Maiden area.

But Shannon Whisnant said he wants to keep the leg if Wood isn’t willing to pay to get it back. The leg is currently being kept at a funeral home, but Whisnant said he previously charged people to look at the severed leg.

“It’s mine, I want it back, I have a receipt,” Whisnant said.

Wood wants to get the leg back so he can be buried with it. Wood’s mother told police that doctors amputated the leg after a 2004 plane crash in which his father was killed.

Whisnant said that if Wood cared about the leg, it wouldn’t have been left behind in the smoker.

Full article
here.

Pedo The Clown

People really seem to be banking on the fact that the collective IQ is going down.

Paul Carlock, who has spent 20 years in law-enforcement and who now works as a clown, came back from the Philippines. Since he said he was visiting an orphanage, and the Philippines is considered a high-risk area for getting child porn, police checked his computer and camera, and what did they find? Lots of pictures of kids naked or clothed but revealing their private parts. His defense? He was going to edit these pictures and show them to his church so they could see that kids were too poor to even have clothes! Riiight! He sorta got busted because one of the pictures that was labeled as edited was only enlarged.

This is about as good as the story about the man who was claiming he was too blind to know who he was fondling, or better still, Monsignor Stenico who, after being caught on tape hitting on a young man, insisted he was only pretending to be gay to understand it better. Yep, uh-huh, sure, whatever.

My Name Is Sue! How Do You Do? Now You’re Gonna Die…Of Fright.

Picture this. You’re an 88-year-old woman. You need help with basic care. You ask for a female. They send you Sue, who has recently undergone a sex change operation. How would you feel?

People are saying that Sue has to be treated as a woman. Fine, but maybe Sue shouldn’t start out bathing old ladies. Maybe she should start by bringing meals, playing cards, doing things that aren’t so…personal. Once people get used to her, and realize she is a woman, then she can graduate to giving baths and doing things that involve nakedness. Common sense, people!

Did Dr. Mom Get her Medical License Out Of A Box Of Crackerjacks?

The U.S. has recalled a whole bunch of cough medicines designed for kids under 2. Why? Is it because they have some toxic chemical in them? No. Is it because a study found out some unexpected side-effect happens when kids take them? No. It’s because parents don’t know what they’re doing, so they give their kids an overdose. Seriously. Apparently, parents confuse a tablespoon for a teaspoon, and before they know it, their kid’s in the ER.

How stupid are these parents? If they can’t measure out medicine and read instructions, then they shouldn’t be having kids! Didn’t they have to measure stuff to mix formula if they fed their baby formula? How did they manage that?

What does this mean for us? Are products going to be recalled because we might not be able to follow the instructions, so the company might get sued when someone does something stupid? I’m frightened for our future.

Toronto Adventures

Last Thursday, there was a free workshop at the CNIB in Toronto about human rights, disabilities and the workplace. I figured I’m sure there was something I could learn, so off I went. It was a pretty good trip, full of adventures, so I thought I’d write about them. Hope it won’t be too boring.

First, Trixie was absolutely awesome. When we got off the bus, she had to walk past pigeons and a hotdog stand. Nothing could distract her. She followed the person helping us get from terminal to terminal without even batting an eye.

I needed to get money at the bank machine because I didn’t get a chance to get it the day before, and now I will never, ever, ever, use the bank machine in the departure terminal at the Toronto bus station again. If you aren’t lightning fingers, it starts beeping and asking you if you need more time. Plus, there is no dot on the 5 so you can’t even have a hope of being somewhat lightning fingers. It’s just an indiscriminant pad of buttons. Thanks a lot, bank machine designer.

I eventually had to let some stranger key in my pin because I had been yelled at several times, both by the beeping bank machine and the guy who helped me get there. He insisted that I should just take the subway because they’ll help blind people down there. That’s great, sparky, but I have never been on it in Toronto, and that thing waits for no one. I don’t feel like getting lost on Yonge Street in Toronto, thank you very much. I’ll pay to get where I’m going. Anyway, I felt I was holding up everyone, so I let her key in my pin, and wow! I got money! Then she helped me find a cab stand, and then she missed her bus! I felt horrible!

When I first arrived at the cab stand, I got a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Every single cabby in there was foreign, and sounded like he was from India or there abouts. Now now, before everyone calls me a racist, I have no problem with people from India. But, I have heard a lot of stories about people with guide dogs in Toronto getting refused cab service by cab drivers who are Muslim and don’t want the dog in their car for religious reasons. Not all Muslims do this, just some, but it happens a lot. So I was afraid that I was going to have to whip out the access law cards, call the police, do my first hell-raising on denial of access. But nope, I had no reason to fear. The first cab I got to had no problem taking me, and off we went.

The cabby was nice, talking to me about what route he was taking and how he was avoiding all the lights. That part of the trip was pretty uneventful.

Since I got there early so I could give the dog a chance to pee and such,, I spent a bunch of time in the technical aids store they have. A few things made me raise my eyebrows.

First, there was the simplified TV remote for super simple folk, I guess. It only had power, volume up, volume down, channel up, and channel down. Can you imagine how frustrating that would be with digital cable? Just envision the number of presses of channel up you would have to do to get from channel 12 to, oh, say, channel 282. Then, add onto that that it skips past any channels you don’t get, so forget counting! The only people who wouldn’t want to heave this remote out a window would be my parents with four channels.

As the poor man was showing me everything he had, and watching me make fun of various gadgets that looked ridiculous, he showed me a phone with huge buttons with braille on them. But the braile dots were spread so far apart that they didn’t feel like braille to the touch. Maybe, to the eye, they still looked like the symbols they were to resemble, but they didn’t feel like them anymore. The 7 looked like an = sign, so much so that I asked him why there was an = on a phone. I had to show him by having him compare the same thing on the braille labeler to the braille on the phone.

They had a talking compass on display, but he said it was broken, to which I just about had a heart attack. Those things are friggin expensive! How did someone break it? And, why why why didn’t they have it replaced?

I think the poor tech aids guy was happy to see me go. I don’t think anyone has asked him so many questions about all his products. I think most people just sort of walk in there and say “I need a magnifying glass” and leave. But I did get to tell him about my talking cell phone and told him what company is selling it. Maybe, just maybe, I helped him just a little.

Now, on to the workshop! I didn’t learn a whole ton, partially because the guy running the workshop only had two hours, and when you cover something like human rights, you’re barely scratching the surface when you only have that amount of time. What I did learn was the fellow listeners to this speech were either bitter, sad, dorky, or all of the above. That’s not entirely true. There were a couple of cool people. But oh me oh my oh me oh my. One guy would go off on rants and try and turn them into some kind of question. One lady seemed so broken down. I admit that it’s hard getting turned down alot, but this just broke my heart. One guy only had a job when the funding was there so the company didn’t have to pay him. He seemed like a perfectly smart man. Another recognized his beeping car horn from the meeting (not all of these people were blind) and ran from the room to shut it off. The speaker was a very good, very patient man who put up with all of us throwing him off course with our questions.

At break, everyone wanted to pet Trixie. I decided this was ok, so took off the harness. Instantly, she went wild and frisky. She would run to some people and give them a greting as if they were old friends. But the speaker got no such love, even though he seemed to want it. I don’t know what it was about him that she didn’t like, but she would not go near him. Poor guy. Or maybe I should take that as a sign that I should be careful of him.

After the workshop was over, I waited in the lobby for a lady who said she would help me get back to the bus station so I could get back home. A woman came into the lobby with crutches and started coming over. Not knowing how much she could see, I pulled Trixie in all nice and close. The lady with the crutches told me not to worry, that she could see and wouldn’t step on Trixie, and sat down beside me. Instantly, Trixie started shaking like mad! The shaking didn’t stop for a long time. Not knowing if I had scraped her on something when I got her to sit up and move, I took the harness and asked the lady to have a look at her. As soon as the harness was off, she ran to the lady and squished into her, quivering even more violently. She said she couldn’t see anything wrong with her, so I put the harness back on and Trixie settled down. The lady said that’s the second time that has happened to her. The first time, a seizure alert dog did it. Now she’s starting to wonder if she has some kind of medical condition that needs addressing.

The way to the bus was pretty uneventful. The lady who offered to help me helped me take the subway, and got me to the bus. The worst thing was trying to go through those clicky gates that are all over the subway stations. Trixie got bonked on the head! Poor doggy.

We got back on the bus, and I tried a little experiment. I asked the bus driver if he could drop me off at a corner near my house. He said he could, and he did, but we weren’t on the side of the street I was expecting to be. We stood for a second, and then Trixie turned us towards the convenience store I sometimes go to. Way to go, Trix, getting me unlost again!

So that was the trip to Toronto. Hope it wasn’t too boring to read about. I just thought enough wacky things happened in it that it deserved a post.

If You’re Reading This, My Net’s Up!

There were a few things floating around in my head, and I thought maybe I should write them down before a monster starts to develop, so off we go.

I finally figured out what that singing alphabet commercial was all about. It wasn’t an attempt at improving literacy. Why would I think such a thing? It was a commercial for zellers. What a letdown.

When I went to my parents’ house for the long weekend, I realized how much I’ve gotten used to certain things in my own house. Take the water and how much quicker it heats up here. I would turn on the tap and wonder why it was taking so long. Then, it would hit me. Oh yeah, mom and dad are on a well.

Next, there was their crappy computer and dialup internet. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just their dialup internet. But the stupid thing would go up, and down, and up, and down. So while it was going down again, I would just assume it was the slow internet, and that I just had to wait a bit. Then I’d find out it was down, and disconnect the dialup, and reconnect, all of this while I’m working with a demo of JAWS that only runs for 40 minutes before I’d have to reboot the whole computer…at which point I would need a set of eyes because they’re using a cracked version of xp…raaarr!

Then, there’s their silly TV. Dad ran out and got a high definition TV. What he didn’t go get was some kind of service that would show things in high definition. So they’re still watching the four channels they get, in standard def, on their fancy shmancy new TV. Good job, fellas. I love ya, but good job.

I don’t mean to rag on being home. I loved being home. It’s been a while since I’ve been in that house, and it was sure cool to just slip out the back door when it was time for Trixie to go pee. But there are some little things that tell you this is not your house anymore and you haven’t been home for a while.

Does anyone else besides Steve and me think that it sounds like the CTV guy is saying “closed captioning of this program is brought to you in part by…AIDS.” when he’s saying eggs? You do a double-take, and then realize that that can’t be possible. At least when you do figure out that it’s eggs, you remember it. Was that all part of the plan? But then I think that maybe the eggs are AIDS-laiden. Do I want to eat AIDS-eggs? CTV guy, what have you planted in my brain?

Speaking of thoughts planted in my brain, it always amazes me how deeply a smell or a sensation can bury itself in the deep dark recesses of consciousness, and how smelling or feeling it again can dig up old memories that I didn’t even know were there. The other night, I was taking Trixie out to pee, and noticed how crisp the air smelled, and how much it smelled like winter. For half a second, scenes of being about five years old and running through the snow, drinking hot chocolate, skating, and waiting for Santa Claus flashed through my head in the fastest and most vivid movie ever imaginable. Then, the voice of reality came back. “That smell means winter. You don’t like winter! Have you forgotten that?” and the movie reel came to a grinding halt.

I’ve noticed something weird that people do when I’m in a store with Trixie. We’ll stop in an aisle while someone’s helping us get something, and people will want to get by. But they will do one of two things. They’ll not say a word and hope to hell we move soon, and when someone else tells us we should move, thank them for letting them through. Hey! Here’s a novel idea for ya! Say Excuse me, or ask me to move over. That would make things infinitely faster for both of us, and make me feel less like some kind of vegetable. Or, they’ll make kissy noises at the dog, and then grumble when she doesn’t move. I have two problems with this one. First, don’t! call! my! dog! If you want *my* dog to move, then talk to *me*. She moves when I tell her too, not when some random person says stuff to her. Second, I don’t even get the logic of the kissy noises and gestures. Most dogs, when you make kissy noises and gestures at them, come to you. So she’d be walking straight into your path. I’m so confused.

Trixie did something else really goofy yesterday that I thought just had to go up here because it’s funny. I was in the grocery store, and my friend didn’t know where the chicken would be. So as ajoke, she said maybe Trixie would know. Sure enough, she stopped right at the chicken! What the?

Jen sent me a link to a wacky file, and just because it freaked me out, I thought I’d link to it, for as long as it lasts. So, put your headphones on and go get your virtual haircut today!

I think that’s about it. Who knows when this will make it up, we’re having weird internet problems. I can receive email, but I can’t send any, or go on msn, or browse the web…or maybe I can…no I can’t…yes I….nope, scrach that.

How Do You Write Up, The Sound Of Your Voice?

So we’re watching a Barenaked Ladies concert on TV right now. It’s been pretty good in case you were wondering, but that’s not the point.

After one of the commercial breaks, a message came on the screen that said “closed captioning for this program has been brought to you by…”. It got us both to thinking, so we thought we’d put the question to you, our all knowing public. Why are they closed captioning a concert, and what deaf person is watching it? Isn’t that kind of like us blind folk watching something on mute? I get that deaf people can watch and enjoy TV, but why would they take the time to watch a concert, where even though they can read the words, they still don’t have any idea why they’re so cool? Couldn’t you accomplish the same thing by looking up the lyrics on Google?

Sorry if we sound like assholes, but we’re both really curious. It’s one of those
braille on a bank machine
type things, one of those things that just makes no sense at all.