No, I Don't Want To Talk About It

And shame on you for asking.

Scoreline - July 17, 2011
Japan: 2
Miyama 81'; Sawa 117'
USA: 2
Morgan 69'; Wambach 104'
Japan win 3-1 on penalties

What have we learned, Mike Pesca? That in this struggle between David and Goliath, we are Goliath?

No.

We have learned that the soccer gods - in addition to being total a$$holes - play a very deep game.
They lure you into yet another love affair with possibility - wait until you're picking out china patterns - and then they burn it all down in front of you while you scream.

Once again, the US as a nation finally notices it has a world class team at the precise instant they fail in the most heart-rending fashion.

Wambach will never hoist the cup. Rampone won't either.  They're awesome, but they're done.

Four more years - and we get to do this all over again.

That's soccer.

Go USA.

Hunting Down Malware

This was awesome.

Computer security experts get a copy of malware called Stuxnet so they can write the counter for it - and in the process they discover something very, very interesting:

Within a week ... about 38,000 infected machines were reporting in from dozens of countries. Before long, the number would surpass 100,000. Stuxnet was spreading rapidly, despite signatures distributed by antivirus firms to stop it.

As Chien and O Murchu mapped the geographical location of the infections, a strange pattern emerged. Out of the initial 38,000 infections, about 22,000 were in Iran. Indonesia was a distant second, with about 6,700 infections, followed by India with about 3,700 infections. The United States had fewer than 400. Only a small number of machines had Siemens Step 7 software installed—just 217 machines reporting in from Iran and 16 in the United States.

The infection numbers were way out of sync with previous patterns of worldwide infections—such as what occurred with the prolific Conficker worm—in which Iran never placed high, if at all, in infection stats. South Korea and the United States were always at the top of charts in massive outbreaks, which wasn't a surprise since they had the highest numbers of internet users. But even in outbreaks centered in the Middle East or Central Asia, Iran never figured high in the numbers. It was clear the Islamic Republic was at the center of the Stuxnet infection.

The sophistication of the code, plus the fraudulent certificates, and now Iran at the center of the fallout made it look like Stuxnet could be the work of a government cyberarmy—maybe even a United States cyberarmy.

Read the whole thing at Wired.

(H/t Schneier)

Fruits of Their Labor

So Rebekah Brooks has finally resigned.

*Yawn*

In other news - the Telegraph has posted an online archive of the News of The World Stories that mention voicemail and email. I realize that hindsight is 20/20, but looking at newspaper stories that quote voicemail would be a pretty large indication that private voicemails are being accessed by the press.

Yeah, yeah, easy for me to say.

The Past is the Past

Scoreline – July 13, 2011
France: 1
Bompastor 59’
USA: 3
Cheney 9’; Wambach 79’, Morgan 82’

While the universe refused to allow a repeat of the previous game’s dramatics – the semifinal was not without its moments of fear.

First off, the US had no composure in moving the ball from midfield into the attacking third. We launched a missile into the French end and hoped that Rodriguez, Cheney or Wambach would snare it on a dead run and do something brilliant. Cheney managed to do this, but I’m hoping the team isn’t going to rely on this tactic. Somewhere between the Arsenal approach (everyone must touch the ball twice before we enter the box) and this hail Mary crap is a place where talented players like ours can produce goals with regularity without flaming out in the first half.

The French team was excellent at supporting each other – they kept possession (with help from our consistent giveaways in their end) and were on the attack more often than not. The US shouldn’t be letting a team as good as France (or any team for that matter) bang on the gates for an entire half with a measly 1 goal lead. We’re not freakin’ Italy.

Solo looked too casual on more than one occasion. Her blithe service giveaway that France picked off right outside the box could have lost the game for us. Likewise her careless near-goal giveaway to an opportunistic Frenchwoman who thought to head the ball off Solo’s upturned palm and go for goal. Solo was saved by a foul call, but she should have known there was an attacker behind her and protected the ball accordingly. Even world-class keepers like Solo are one mistake away from being the next Robert Green

Bompastor’s goal was not on Solo, though – Frankly, I’d love to see the goal again. Thiney’s presence meant Solo had to stay put. If Thiney pulled up because she knew the cross was going in – that would be a seriously brilliant bit of football.

Things I did like:

Lauren Cheney talking about why she aimed the go-ahead corner to Wambach.

Lauren Cheney: I knew Abby was going to beat her [defender].

Q: How?

Lauren Cheney: Because she's Abby Wambach.

Damn right.

Also, Megan Rapinoe and her AttackAttackAttack mindset continue to create good things. Did you SEE her through ball to Morgan? That was a thing of beauty. The technical equal of her Waumbach ball in the quarters (sans the other drama) – but perfectly placed and paced to ensure maximum damage to the defense.
Wonderful.

And Morgan’s goal, a nice bit of inspiration to chip over the keeper. Pity she didn’t stick to that formula on her following breakaway chance or she’d have had another goal on the board.

Now it’s on to Swede-

Scoreline – July 13, 2011
Japan: 3
Kawasumi 19’, 64’; Sawa 60’
Sweden: 1
Oqvist 10’

-JAPAN???

Yes, why the hell not? Japan have been playing some entertaining soccer the whole tournament and while their group wasn’t exactly loaded with powerhouses – they held Germany scoreless and then knocked them out of the tournament. That’d be the reigning world champions, playing at home. Germany blew some chances, sure, but you’re not going to find a lot of commentators talking about how Japan didn’t deserve a win.

So, on paper – the Cup has set up a matchup between a world power and a new arrival. On paper, we should mop the floor with them. But this is soccer. And while I’m sure the US team isn’t kicking back and assuming a win- it would be good for everyone to remember the heroics of the past two games for the US.

Fix those moments of awesome in your minds.

-and understand that if the US women do not win the World Cup, those moments will be utterly forgotten.

Because this is the World Cup – and no matter how much you deserve good things, it just doesn’t care.

Go USA

Nothing is Written

With the US women beating Brazil in spectacular fashion, there's a certain frustration that comes from watching the coverage (my local paper put the win in the sidebar, next to huge front page photo of some minor golf tournament) or listening to the pat recitations of "buzzer beater" by news anchors who got their lines only seconds before.

US Women win at the world cup after a late goal by star forward Abby Wambach... and in Golf today

Yeah, that's one way of looking at it. But I much prefer Ian Darke screaming incredulity into the mic "It's been a near miracle, this!!", or Julie Foudy bursting with pride and admiration for Rapinoe's cross "What a ball!

Because this is the kind of thing that deserves to be related by someone who appreciates how mind-bogglingly unlikely the win was.

Not because the US team isn't good - they're fricking brilliant - but because the World Cup is famous for chewing up good teams and spitting them out like so much garbage.

The cup is pitiless - it doesn’t care if you deserve it.

---

Exhibit A is the infrequency of the finals. Not every year - every fourth year. Like all sport - speed, strength and youth are rewarded. But in the cup - if you wash out you're going to have to claw your way back when you're four years older.

Plenty of deserving people never get a shot. They're ready, but their team isn't. Or they get a shot - but their coach is an idiot. Or they catch a booking that ends the only chance they'll ever get.

It doesn't have to be them either, any teammate can bring the team down.

Your star player is kicked out? Too bad, play with 10.

Oh, but they didn't deserve it? Too bad, play with 10.

Did the ref blow a call that could have been made from orbit?

Too bad, at the World Cup instant replay is only for salting open wounds. Look how wrong that was...Now rewind and do it again. Now go home and wait four more years.

---

Exhibit B is timing.
Waumbach's equalizes in the 122nd fricking minute. US audiences are conditioned to expect last minute heroics from years of watching games where the players and coaches have incredible influence on how long the game lasts. In football and basketball they can save time. Numerous options exist to stop the clock - making the game last longer and increasing the likelihood that a last gasp game changer will occur.

In soccer, you can't save time. Only the ref can. If you're losing, your opponent (unless they are stupid) will kick long, slow arcing balls into the corners. They'll dribble in a circle in the corner - daring you to foul them or (worse) give them a corner kick.

Late equalizers can and do occur in soccer - but they are vastly more improbable than in other sports.

Exhibit C is the PK tie-breaker.

As mind-bogglingly awesome as the US comeback against Brazil was, the soccer gods are more than capable of ignoring the US team's guts, effort and pedigree. Two US players slip or shank their shot and suddenly all their team's prior valor is worthless.

PKs are hugely dramatic - but they have no relationship to which side played better, or worked harder, or deserved it more.

Which isn't to take anything away from the US team. Quite the opposite.

I wanted to point out that for once a talented, hardworking, deserving team was pushed to the absolute limit and did - in fact - get what they deserved: a storybook victory on a global stage.

And they were our team.

In soccer, that's not improbable, or miraculous - it's unheard of.

Save Your Needles

This is seriously clever:

The CIA organised a fake vaccination programme in the town where it believed Osama bin Laden was hiding in an elaborate attempt to obtain DNA from the fugitive al-Qaida leader's family, a Guardian investigation has found.

...

The vaccination plan was conceived after American intelligence officers tracked an al-Qaida courier, known as Abu Ahmad al-Kuwaiti, to what turned out to be Bin Laden's Abbottabad compound last summer. The agency monitored the compound by satellite and surveillance from a local CIA safe house in Abbottabad, but wanted confirmation that Bin Laden was there before mounting a risky operation inside another country.

DNA from any of the Bin Laden children in the compound could be compared with a sample from his sister, who died in Boston in 2010, to provide evidence that the family was present.

...

A nurse known as Bakhto, whose full name is Mukhtar Bibi, managed to gain entry to the Bin Laden compound to administer the vaccines. According to several sources, the doctor, who waited outside, told her to take in a handbag that was fitted with an electronic device. It is not clear what the device was, or whether she left it behind. It is also not known whether the CIA managed to obtain any Bin Laden DNA, although one source suggested the operation did not succeed.

Mukhtar Bibi, who was unaware of the real purpose of the vaccination campaign, would not comment on the programme.

Not Much of a Fan of Gordon Brown, But...

This is downright obscene:

In October 2006, the then editor of the Sun, Rebekah Brooks, contacted the Browns to tell them that they had obtained details from the medical file of their four-month-old son, Fraser, which revealed that the boy was suffering from cystic fibrosis. This appears to have been a clear breach of the Data Protection Act, which would allow such a disclosure only if it was in the public interest. Friends of the Browns say the call caused them immense distress, since they were only coming to terms with the diagnosis, which had not been confirmed. The Sun published the story. On the Sun's website it claims it 'set the news agenda' by 'breaking the sad news that Gordon Brown's baby boy Fraser has Cystic Fibrosis'.

Five years earlier, when their first child, Jennifer, was born on 28 December 2001, a small group of specialist doctors and nurses was aware that she had suffered a brain haemorrhage and was dying. By some means which has not been discovered, this highly sensitive information was obtained by news organisations, who published it over the weekend before Jennifer died, on Monday 6 January 2002.

In 2003, Devon and Cornwall police discovered that one of their junior officers was providing information from the police national computer to a network of private investigators. The Guardian has established that one of these investigators, Glen Lawson of Abbey Investigations in Newcastle upon Tyne, used this contact to commission a search of police records for information about Brown on 16 November 2000. Lawson also commissioned searches related to two other Labour MPs – Nick Brown and Martin Salter.

Lawson made these searches on behalf of journalists, a previously unreported court hearing was told. Transcripts obtained by the Guardian show that the search on Martin Salter was made at a time when the News of the World, then edited by Brooks, was attacking him for refusing to support the paper's notorious "Sarah's law" campaign to name paedophiles. Lawson currently refuses to name the journalists who commissioned him.

An attempt to prosecute this network was blocked by a West Country judge, Paul Darlow, who shocked police by ruling that it would be a misuse of public money to pursue the case. However, Devon and Cornwall police contacted the office of the then chancellor to warn him that he had been a victim, as they also did with his two Labour colleagues.

(H/t The Awl)

Hope Beyond Hope

OK, having finally unscrewed myself from the ceiling - I can now state the obvious:

That was the greatest performance by a US soccer team that I have ever seen.

Scoreline – July 10, 2011
Brazil: 2
Marta 68', 92'
USA: 2
Daiane 2' OG; Wambach 120'+2

Solo to Melksham: You'll go home before I do

I mean, let's check off the setup:

High stakes? It's the World Cup Quarterfinal, duh.
Rivalry? Brazil. Yes, there's a bit of history there.

Hope Solo has a bum shoulder, or at least is taking great pains to appear to be in pain during warmups.

Tense? Yeah.

Kinda.

So, we have one of those dream starts where the soccer gods (who are a$$holes) gift us an own goal off Brazil's Daiane panic stab.

Hard to feel good about that - but given the US fragility through the rest of the tournament - it's almost divine providence. Brazil on the back foot and the US can focus on playing their game. Brazil drip talent from every pore, can score on the smallest mistake, and God help you if you get behind on goals or players.

But Brazil have a history of mental breakdowns. When they are winning, they are the Samba Queens. When they are losing, they turn into the Drama Queens - every bit as cynical as an Italian mens team.  Diving, Pouting, The pleading cous-cous gesture in front of the ref. Writhing on the ground for every imagined foul.

Vs. the Samba Queens, I'm thinking the US will have a hard time - but the US women can beat the Drama Queens any day of the week.

A goal down, Brazil is looking very dramatic - and the US, while not being bulletproof at the back, is playing a very solid game. Wambach is doing more damage by drawing fouls than anything else - but its a solid 1st half that any objective observer would have to cede to the North Americans.

But in the 62nd minute, the game reverts to type.

Enter the BS Red Card:

 Melksham: I will now utterly F#*k up the game

That's Rachel Buehler getting thrown out because - well, Marta did something clever that didn't work out. Buehler was the closest US player - so naturally she's thrown out of the game.

I'm sure a Brazilian would see that play differently, and you could certainly make the case for a penalty. But Marta was never going to get the ball regardless of Buehler - so the red card is just a load of crap.

The Drama Queens are gifted a PK and it's all onto our injured keeper, Solo. Penalty kicks become goals 80% of the time - so this will become a goal, and the US will play for the remainder of the game with 10 players.

Great.

Only Solo stops it. Incredible.The US is down a player, but they keep the lead.

Solo's screaming at the heavens and the US is in mid-exultation when the ref decides that she hasn't f#*ked up the game quite enough yet.

The Drama Queens will get a do-over - because (take your pick)

1. Solo moved off her line before the kick to a degree that is only perceptible to persons named Melksham; or
2. A US player was 1 step leaning inside the 18 yard box as the ball was struck

Reason 1 is total crap, and reason 2 is an incredibly tight ruling on a colossal play. Encroachment in the box is a big deal, but the merest step in the box is something forgiven in virtually every case unless there is some argument that it affected the resulting play.

It did not, the shooter was not distracted, and the resulting deflection was easily cleared without the encroaching player gaining some advantage.

In other words, much like the red card, the do-over call was total crap.

Marta steps up for the re-do and slots it home.

We're 1-1 with the Drama Queens - awaiting their inevitable transformation as our shorthanded team is ground down by their speed, talent, and (totally undeserved) numeric superiority.

Seen it before. And while I'm sure the US will be valiant, you just can't hope to contain and then score on Brazil while you're shorthanded. They'll lay back and burn you on the counter.

But then something strange happens - the US midfield steps up huge. Brazil is getting picked apart before they get deep into our end. Repeatedly.

We're getting chances in the Brazilian end. And the crowd has seriously turned. Every time Brazil has the ball in our end, the stadium erupts in whistles and boos. They start totally hating on Marta. I can't recall ever seeing a player of her skill booed so vehemently.

And the ref takes the hint. She's totally blown the game apart with her ineptitude, so a flurry of make-up calls start falling against Brazil. And incredibly, Brazil stays in Drama Queen mode.

Pouting, whining, diving - the whole act. Somehow they forget that they are a gifted side - and the USA hold them  until the end of regulation.

At this point - you have to be proud of the USA for hanging in there. But all that valor has earned is another half hour of the same treatment.

Extra time - and we're right on script. Marta gets an impossible ball and does something impossible with it to score two minutes in. It would be deserved if only one of their players hadn't been totally offside.

Brazil is insane, the crowd is not pleased and we're set for a grind down of the US until the final whistle. Down a goal and a player - this is about as dark a hole as you can find yourself in.

Still, the US plays on the attack - we get pressure up on the Brazilian goal against all odds - and the Brazilians are not grinding us down. There's a lot of takeaways in midfield - but no classic torching of the back line.

We lurch into the second half of extra time and I'm thinking we'll avoid the undeserved blowout score. The one critics will spout on about how we were "outclassed" and "outplayed" when in fact we were undeservedly hamstrung and hung out to dry.

[[Late Edit: Anonymous rightly points out another winning moment from the match - Ericka's laughably bad rendition of I've been crippled for life, get the stretcher. Naturally this was followed by her immediate and total recovery as soon as her erstwhile deathbed was carried over the touchline.

The crowd's prolonged outrage was satisfying enough, but the ref was apparently so offended by Ericka's cynical abuse of the game - she carded her. The look on Ericka's face was priceless.

Would that all recipients of the "magic sponge" were so rewarded. Or (as I've said to anyone who won't taze me) perhaps the rules should be amended such that any injury that results in a stoppage requires the speedy removal of the player by stretcher and a minimum amount of recovery time off the pitch. You wanna waste time? Waste your own team's time - the rest of us have a game to play.]]

Wambach is trolling for fouls and Lloyd keeps trying from distance. Morgan is doing her best but we're at the end of extra time and we're clearly going down.

Lloyd's getting run down in mid-field and Ian Darke is looking at the clock saying "She really has to get this pass off.." Literally two minutes to go and Lloyd guts it out to get a pass to Rapinoe, streaking wide.

Rapinoe taps it once, looks up - and fires an orgasmic-ly  brilliant cross into the box-
-and of course - late in the game - have we packed the box with players?

No, there's no one...

-No one except Abby-Freaking-Wambach. My brain starts into ...but she's been in a slump...

And then she heads it home like a guided missile!

Wambach to World: The Drought is Muthafu*#-ing Over.

It's unbelievable. I'm screaming Are You Kidding Me??!! as Abby roars towards the corner flag and the crowd blows the roof off the stadium. Brazilians are looking at each other with expressions of total defeat.

Too bad pouty faces and playacting don't count in PK shootouts.... Awww.

I don't know how Brazil managed to piss off the soccer gods, but the shootout was scripted by someone who clearly wanted to see them suffer full blown agony before death.

The US kicks first and - in a act of karma that is too perfect by half- Boxy's shot is stopped. And the ref calls a re-do because Andreia came off her line. 

Boxy's mulligan goes in - and the life drains out of the South Americans.

Solo's been baying for blood ever since Marta's do-over - so you better believe she's ready.

Daiane (of the I-kicked-the-ball-into-my-own-net fame) gets stuffed by Solo, and now Brazil knows they are doomed.

The US demands it, the crowd demands it- The goddamned universe demands it - and it will happen.

Today the soccer gods are d!cking with somebody besides us.

Alex Krieger steps up with the weight of the nation on her shoulders - and buries it.

• Boxx: Way to step the hell up. You were awesome.
• Rapinoe: All's forgiven for that perfect cross. 
• Wambach: You were just playing with us, weren't you? Waiting for that perfect moment to start scoring again? Well stop that, you're going to kill somebody.
• Solo: FIFA's calling you the player of the match, but only because they're sorry for how bad their ref tried to punk you. You're the player of the match by worldwide acclamation. Rock out and ride this to the final. You earned it.

I am literally dying to see the mash-up of crowd reactions to this match, because I think you're going to see some people seriously lose their sh!t.

Jaw dropping. No other words for it.

I've never seen the like.

Go USA.

Wambach and Solo: Do you see, Brazil??
Do you see how we crush your dreams??!!

Allonges...Not Throat Lozenges from Switzerland

Adam Levitin posted this awhile back, but it's a great issue to raise - now that we know banks are willing to pay for document fabrication so they can foreclose.

Do We Have a Fraud Problem? The Case of the Mysteriously Appearing Allonge

The shorter version is that bank paperwork is supposed to be processed and signed in a specific manner. The chaos and complexity of life has led to an accommodation  called an allonge - basically another piece of paper affixed (stapled) to the primary document that provides additional, relevant information.

This is a very unusual procedure - since most times a document can be corrected electronically and re-issued for wet ink signatures on the spot. But if a document was jam packed with text and the process was strapped for time - they might create an allonge and staple it to the transfer documents.

Again, a safety valve for the weirdness of everyday life.

But now bankruptcy courts are seeing allonges falling like rain. And after discovering that their initial trust of the banking industry was seriously misplaced - they are beginning to wonder if these allonges are merely the newest attempt to fabricate proper documents where none previously existed.

(H/t naked capitalism)

News International's Version of Cooperating Fully

Oh, how the rats are running over at News International's News of the World:

(Via the Guardian)

Police are investigating evidence that a News International executive may have deleted millions of emails from an internal archive, in an apparent attempt to obstruct Scotland Yard's inquiry into the phone-hacking scandal.

The archive is believed to have reached back to January 2005 revealing daily contact between News of the World editors, reporters and outsiders, including private investigators.

...

The allegation directly contradicts repeated claims from News International that it is co-operating fully with police in order to expose its history of illegal news-gathering. It is likely to be seen as evidence that the company could not pass a 'fit and proper person' test for its proposed purchase of BSkyB.

A Guardian investigation has found that, in addition to deleting emails, the company has also:

• infuriated police by leaking sensitive information in spite of an undertaking to police that it would keep it confidential; and

• risked prosecution for perverting the course of justice by trying to hide the contents of a senior reporter's desk after he was arrested by Weeting detectives in earlier this year.

CJR's Dean Starkman puts it well. "...like a trapped wolf chewing off its own leg."

Phone Hacking Money Quote

...courtesy of the Guardian's Alexander Chancellor:

"...it is worth pointing out that, however ghastly journalists may be, nobody would know anything about anything without us – not even the extent of our own ghastliness."

Bravo!

Murdoch Takes His Ball and (Tries to) Go Home

Incredible.

News of the World will be shut down in three days.

You have got to wonder if this is an attempt to lance the boil before the public learns just how bad it was.

Over and over, NOTW has said this was not a big deal, only to revise their statements after their falsity became obvious to all.

So, now they go dark - and you have to hope that the police (other than the ones on the take) will seize their office computers and records to discover the full extent of their crimes.

And given the swelling believe that NOTW is anything but unique in its behavior, you have to wonder if there will be wider inquiries into the affairs of other newspapers. Now that they all know what they should be looking for.

Hats off to the Guardian. Way to beat on a story.

Late Edit: Reading the recaps of how this story developed, you just have to marvel at how it took this long to detonate. I mean it has everything: Celebrities, politicians, corrupt cops - even Hugh Grant secretly recording a journalist to out his misbehavior.

Makes the collusion on Fleet Street seem even more likely.

Wonder what else those folks are sitting on?

Peter Oborne Puts the Right Spin on It

You'll need to put a part of your brain in Brit-mode to savor all the snark in Peter Oborne's smackdown on the News of The World scandal, (and the tepid media coverage and government response thus far), but it's worth it.

[British Prime Minister David Cameron] finally woke up to the kind of company he has been keeping on Tuesday when during his Afghanistan visit he declared the Milly Dowler revelations ‘truly dreadful’. David Cameron has repeatedly displayed an inability to make a distinction between right and wrong. The press ought to have stepped into the breach. Unfortunately, we in Fleet Street have forgotten that the ultimate vindication of journalism is not to intrude into, and destroy, private lives. Nor is it the dance around power, money and social status. It is the fight for truth and decency.

(H/t CJR)

Hacking the Phone of a Thirteen Year Old Girl

(Via CJR)

I'm probably guilty of ignoring the Murdoch phone-hacking scandal overseas. I mean, it's overseas (the Brits are handling it) and it involves rich and powerful people (who presumably have the money and connections to make NewsCorp pay). The short form is that NewsCorp tabloids in Britain have paid private investigators to hack into the phones of famous people- and that the authorities had tried to give them a pass on it until their efforts were discovered.

All pretty horrid. But again, I've had other things on my mind.

But this is pretty damn horrid:

[Milly] Dowler, a thirteen-year-old from Walton-on-Thames, Surrey, went missing in the spring of 2002 on her way home from school. Six months later she was found murdered, dumped naked in the woods.

In the meantime, the Guardian reports, the News of the World had paid its crooked private investigators to hack into Milly’s cellphone and listen to her voicemails:

As her friends and parents called and left messages imploring Milly to get in touch with them, the News of the World was listening and recording their every private word.

Oh, it gets worse. That’s merely abhorrent and illegal. This, on the other hand, is downright evil:

But the journalists at the News of the World then encountered a problem. Milly’s voicemail box filled up and would accept no more messages. Apparently thirsty for more information from more voicemails, the paper intervened - and deleted the messages that had been left in the first few days after her disappearance. According to one source, this had a devastating effect: when her friends and family called again and discovered that her voicemail had been cleared, they concluded that this must have been done by Milly herself and, therefore, that she must still be alive. But she was not. The interference created false hope and extra agony for those who were misled by it.

Right. So, not content with merely illegally hacking into the voicemail of a thirteen year old girl - they saw fit to destroy her data (read: evidence) so they could continue to eavesdrop on people trying to contact her.

Holy. Fricking. Hell.

Late Edit:
The Awl's Alex Balk points out a great primer on the whole phone hacking mess.

It gets so much worse... after the News of the World hacked into the girl's phone (and gave her family the false impression that she was still using her phone), they went further:

Later [Milly's] family granted the News of the World an exclusive interview, where they discussed their sense of hope - without any knowledge of the fact that it was that very newspaper's interference which had misled them.

Asshats, with a capital "A"

The article's author, Ian Dunt, is less than optimistic that this scandal has run its course.:

It is highly unlikely that the News of the World was the only newsroom to indulge in the practise [of hacking phones].

Bannana Republic, Within The Republic

Oh, how I love this:

There's an address in Cheyenne, Wyo. — 2710 Thomes Ave. — where 2,000 companies are based. But it's not a skyscraper. Or even an office complex.

It's a basic, 1,700-square-foot brick house.

Not because it's good news or anything. But because it's yet another example of one of those things that only happen in other countries - happening right in our backyard.

(Via Reuters)

Hipshot

(via the Awl's ranking of state slogans)

# 38. "Virginia is for Lovers"
North Virginia, however, is for motherf[*]ckers.

The Wisdom of Others

There's just a ton of stuff I'm catching up on - and while I could write up my thoughts on each, I'd just be wasting your time.

Here's a sampler of what I've been reading, and a teaser for each.

First, Blame The Lenders - Barry Ritholtz

There is a familiar odor to the “Blame the profligate Greeks” meme now circulating. It is little more than a brilliant marketing ploy. This distraction ignores the simple reality that lending to insolvent people, institutions and countries is first and foremost the fault of the lenders.


Let us start first with the Greeks, who lied their way into the EU (with the help Goldman Sach’s financial engineers). The ridiculous pay and vacation structure, the absurdly generous pension plan, the excessive spending by Athens. They are a nation that can honestly be described as tax scofflaws. Yes, Greece is a mess.


Which begs the question: WHO THE FUCK WOULD LEND A DIME TO THESE PEOPLE?

(H/t CJR)

The Wageless, Profitable Recovery - Steven Greenhouse, NYT

In their newly released study, the Northeastern economists found that since the recovery began in June 2009 following a deep 18-month recession, “corporate profits captured 88 percent of the growth in real national income while aggregate wages and salaries accounted for only slightly more than 1 percent” of that growth.

(H/t CJR)

Wisconsin Court Supremely Slippery - Brendan Beery

But the Wisconsin Supreme Court stated—citing another case from the same court from 1943—that a court cannot determine whether a law is constitutional until after it has been published because prohibiting its publication somehow interferes with the process of making law. (The idea here seems to be that although a court may rule that a law already made is unconstitutional, a court may not hold that the legislative branch has behaved in an unconstitutional way while making the law. Why this would be so is anyone’s guess.)


In support of this proposition, the court did no more than cite the antique case from 1943 and restate its premise. In so doing, as was noted in a stinging dissent, the court simply skipped right past more recent cases that seem to point in the opposite direction.


But more importantly, the court never explained how stopping the publication of a law interferes with the lawmaking process. By the time a law is ready for publication, it has already been made. No more committees will meet, no more floor debates will erupt, and no more drafting or editing will be undertaken. So, again, how does stopping the law from being published interfere with the process of making the law? If there is any intelligible answer to this question, the Wisconsin Supreme Court certainly could not have been bothered to provide it.

(H/t Illusory Tenant)

A Corporation, but not a Gableman, is a Person - Illusory Tenant

In the Wisconsin statutes, the distinction between the court's supervisory and original jurisdictions is codified by their separate numberings:
§ 809.70 and § 809.71. The Department of Justice chose the latter.


It would not have occurred to the Department of Justice to petition the court to take jurisdiction of an original action because Ozanne v. Fitzgerald could not, obviously, be an original action for the purposes of the Supreme Court's original jurisdiction. Hence the supervisory petition.

¶7 This court has granted the petition for an original action ...

No such petition existed, until the Gableman court manufactured it.

How Wal-Mart Swiped JPMorgan in $16 Billion Debit-Card Lobbying Battle - Phil Mattingly and Robert Schmidt, Bloomberg

(Via CJR)

It's hard to pull a single quote out of this one - it's pretty much a tale of powerful corporate interests waging political war. The right thing for consumers ends up happening, but only because it also happens to benefit retail operations who were wealthy enough to pay for a lobbying war.

...and there's this winner

Biggest Tax Avoiders Win Most Gaming $1 Trillion U.S. Tax Break - Jesse Drucker, Bloomberg

Cisco Systems Inc. (CSCO) has cut its income taxes by $7 billion since 2005 by booking roughly half its worldwide profits at a subsidiary at the foot of the Swiss Alps that employs about 100 people.


Now Cisco, the largest maker of networking equipment, wants to save even more -- by asking Congress to waive most federal taxes due when multinationals bring such offshore earnings home. Chief Executive Officer John T. Chambers has led the charge for the tax holiday, which would be the second since 2004. He says it would encourage companies to “repatriate” as much as $1 trillion held abroad, spur domestic investment and create jobs.

(H/t CJR)

He Fought the Law

(Via Naked Capitalism and 4ClosureFraud.com)

[NY homeowner Sunny] Sheu’s ordeal began over 10 years ago when a bank representative knocked on his door and said he was there to inspect the house for its new owner. The problem was that Sheu had never sold the house. It turns out that someone had forged critical documents and used them to illegally sell the property.

Sheu alerted all relevant authorities; including the police, the bank that held the mortgage, and the title insurer of the property. Eventually the parties involved in forging the documents were prosecuted, pleaded guilty to forgery, and went to jail.

Sheu hoped that with all the evidence in his favor, the matter would be quickly resolved–it was actually only the beginning of his nightmare.

But Centex Home Equity, the bank that held the original mortgage, acted as if the fraudulent sale had been legitimate, ignoring all the documentation submitted by Sheu regarding the fraud, including the police report he’d filed.

Centex filed a lawsuit on December 12, 2001, against Sheu in State Supreme Court, in Queens County. The bank wanted a default judgment on the property and foreclosure, claiming that the "new owners" were delinquent on mortgage payments. In reality, of course, there was never any legal "new owner".

The Centex case against Sheu went before Judge Golia, in Queens County. Sheu said he was stunned when Judge Golia also ignored the obvious fact that the "sale" had been fraudulent, which would obviate the claim against him. Instead of immediately restoring Sheu's rightful ownership, he said, Golia allowed the lawsuit to proceed, eventually leading to the foreclosure of Shue's home.

Mr. Sheu investigated the conduct of the judge, hoping to get him removed from the case.

On April 9th of 2010, he recorded the following statement:

Hi my name is Sunny Sheu. I have filed a complaint to the FBI and the New York State Unified Court Ethics Committee about Judge Joseph Golia [who] falsified his financial disclosure statement. And I have submitted evidence to the FBI recently. [The] FBI sent me [a] copy of the evidence that I sent to the FBI.


And today, April 9th, the Unified Court ethics director, Janice Howard, she called me [that] Judge Joseph Golia already amended his Financial disclosure statement. This means my evidence is true. At least that he was forced to amend (misrepresentations) on his financial disclosure statement.


For the security issues, for the security concerns, I make this recording, that if anything wrong goes to me, it should be come from Judge Golia and his people because before I had been kidnapped by his people, and threatened and intimidated by his people not to file a complaint against Judge Golia.


So I make this recording for safety. For protection. If anything wrong please go to Judge Golia and his people.


Thank you very much.

Two months later. Sunny Sheu was dead.

(H/t Trainreq)

Local Govt's to Secondary Lenders: Cough Up What You Owe

(Via Naked Capitalism)

Remember that whole MERS thing? Y'know the one where big lenders are too impatient and cheap to follow local laws about title transfer - so they make up a shell corporation so they can ignore the law?

Well, local govt's smell money they're owed - and they're suing.

“Defendants have not paid the Transfer Tax because they have claimed on the face of the documents they have recorded that the transaction is exempt from the Transfer Tax. They sometimes claim the transaction is exempt because they are government entities and, under Michigan statute, government entities are exempt. Other times they claim they are exempt pursuant to federal statute.

“Neither claimed exemption applies. Defendants are federally chartered private corporations and not government entities. Defendants’ federal law exemption from certain taxes does not include the Transfer Tax.”

Give 'em hell, folks. There's money in them thar hills!!

What's Missing?

Eli Pariser wants you to know that personalized content = a reality filter that you probably don't control, or even notice.



(H/t E)

We Didn’t Move The Paper. No One Moved The Paper.

If what you say is true, we’re f*cked. We didn’t move the paper. No one moved the paper.

So sayeth the head of one of the major subprime loan originators - speaking about the legal consequences of his industry not moving the paper - the mortgages and assigned notes - in the way that current law requires.

Hardly breaking news, but the fact is the "we're f*cked" scenario and its implications are a trillion dollar question writ large across the nation's residential mortgage market. What can be done to fix a situation that (on the face of it) appears to invalidate mortgages & their derived securities nationwide? Lenders like Countrywide appear to have held onto loan documents they were legally obligated to deliver to firms purchasing those loans.

The bonus round was banks presenting notes at time of foreclosure that were improperly endorsed - that is, they weren't signed over to the foreclosing party, yet were submitted by that party as evidence in support of a foreclosure proceeding. (emphasis added)

Although law enforcement should be able to answer the delivery question easily -- [Countrywide employee] DeMartini['s testimony] indicated that Bank of America has FedEx tracking records for each note -- it's impossible for the public to check. But the endorsement of notes is easy to test. In every foreclosure, the bank must give the court the note or an accurate copy of it. And those notes are either properly endorsed or they're not.

To check DeMartini's testimony, Fortune examined the foreclosures filed in two New York counties (Westchester and the Bronx) between 2006 and 2010. There were 130 cases where the Bank of New York (BK) was foreclosing on behalf of a Countrywide mortgage-backed security. In 104 of those cases, the loan was originally made by Countrywide; the other 26 were made by other banks and sold to Countrywide for securitization.

None of the 104 Countrywide loans were endorsed by Countrywide – they included only the original borrower's signature. Two-thirds of the loans made by other banks also lacked bank endorsements.

As numerous observers have pointed out, this is not a small thing, since -

• who holds the note determines who can foreclose
• who can (or can't) foreclose impacts whether or not a loan is secured or not; and
• whether a loan is secured or not determines whether or not it has value if the borrower has defaulted.

Add to that the percentage of home borrowers in default (around 9%) and those who owe more than their house is worth (around 23%) and you have the recipe for a very big mess heading toward this nation's bankruptcy courts.

Which is not to say, wow look at this breaking bit of news - but more like. How the F*ck is this time bomb still ticking away?

Thank You For Proving Our Point So Effectively

(Via The Big Picture)

I can only repeat Barry's take on this.
The Most Awesome Movie Theater DO NOT TEXT Announcement Ever!

(Oh, and NSFW)

Vancouver Pride

Look ma, I'm all growed up!

The National News has the full reel of riot pictures.

Y'know, it's one thing to be an idiot, but it's quite another to be so proud of being an idiot.

Crack Me Up

Conan O'Brien takes a page from Stephen Colbert and roasts Dartmouth with a brilliantly biting commencement address.




And for a follow up - here's Samuel L. Jackson delivering a forceful reading of the instant classic, Go the F*ck To Sleep:



(H/t E)

Lap. Appy

< Previous

Where Am I?

I'm in pain.

Ha, ha. Seriously...where am I?

I'm in the ER

Where's E?

She's on a boat in the Mediterranean

Where are the kids?

They're at MB's cookout. It ends in a few hours.

Will I make it back in time?

No. You're not going home tonight. They're going to be operating on you in about an hour.

I gotta call MB...

Damn right.

---

It's 5pm on a Sunday, and - in the race between pain meds and pain - pain is clearly pulling away. I call MB and level with him. "It's my appendix, I'm not going home until at least tomorrow. Can you get my kids?"

MB's all over it. His wife, K volunteers to take my kids home. They'll meet me to pick up my keys, get my car - and take my kids home. All things considered, I'm sure my kids will feel better sleeping in their own home.

I had a quick phone call with the kids to lay out what's going to happen. I tell them dad's going to have the same thing Madeline had. Little E wants to know if I'll have a scar. The Boy promises to be good.

Shortly afterwards, MB walks around the curtain and I'm giving him my keys. Jen's heading down from the cabin as backup. She'll head to my house and spell K.

Car is handled. Kids are handled through tomorrow.

I'm on the phone with Jen. She's inbound, should be arriving closer to 11pm. The surgical kickoff keeps moving back, but I'm on morphine - so I'm not tracking time anymore. The upshot I get is - she'll show up at the hospital at some time. Then she'll go over to my house and tap on the window until K lets her in.

MB and K have totally saved the day. All's I have to do is sit and wait.

Oh, and strip.

Because hospitals like that sort of thing. The orderly/nurse/guy-in-scrubs looks like Don Reese. Exactly the type you are comfortable disrobing for. Another guy in scrubs shows up and they get into a big discussion of what has to be done with my wedding band.

Another guy: It must come off.

Don Reese: I thought a single ring was okay.

Another guy: It must come off.

Don Reese: You'll need to run it up to the safe (subtext: you want it gone? Then it's your problem.)

Another guy: We can keep it with his clothes. (subtext: Nice try, but I'm willing to risk his stuff.)

Don Reese: That'll work (subtext: Neither of us does extra work? I like how you think.)

To my great shame, I'm more worried about my iPhone - It's going to be my lifeline for the next few days. I have bills to pay, work to notify, business time to track, and a bazillion other things that will require phone and internet. My phone disappears or (worse) gets dropped - and I'm useless and incommunicado.

Speaking of which, there's the matter of E.

My immediate reaction once I heard my diagnosis was Don't tell E. I have since gotten visceral reactions out of associates who believe this was unconscionable, unthinkable. How could you not tell your wife???!!!.

I mean, there's a certain amount of deception there, but really. I'm not in any dire peril - and there's F$%*-all she can do for me. And, if I know my wife, it would alter her behavior on a trip that'd she'd been looking forward to for months. The airlines had already lost her baggage, I'm thinking she doesn't need another distraction. Barring a freak occurrence in surgery - all that's going to happen is that I'm going to be laid up and logistically hosed for a few days. Like that's worth interrupting E's vacation for.

Besides, there's the not insignificant matter of international communication. They're on a boat. I could call and not get them, which means I'd get their voicemail. Which could (as has happened in the past) sit on a US server awaiting their phone's return before advertising its existence. You have a voicemail from...Two Weeks Ago. Then there's text. I've had international text take days. Or seconds. You never can tell. And this is not the kind of thing that summarizes well in 140 characters.

Hi hon. Don't worry, but I'm going in to have my appendix removed. Kids are fine. How are you?

No, that's suckage nobody needs. And distance makes any scenario worse.

I stuff my phone into the most secure and padded shorts pocket - then stuff them into the hefty bags the orderly gave me.

Belongings. Done.

I'm in one of those Godforsaken hospital robes, waiting for the inevitable.

I've been up for 36 hours and the pain is really starting to get to the jeezus-effing-christ stage - and the orderly's telling me it could be awhile.

I'm visited by the insurance person. The administrative person. The allergist. The person with still more forms. And somebody who claims to be my future surgeon. He looks like a skinny David Duchovny. He tells me that the CT wasn't as clear as all that - I might have any number of things (each more horrible than that last) but that he thinks it's most likely my appendix, he is obligated to tell me there is a small chance that I might have to have an appliance attached to my body for the rest of my life.

But he's pretty sure that won't happen. He just needed to tell me.

Because some lawyer thought it was necessary.

---

Once again, a bit of an aside here for people who think health care is analogous to other consumer goods. I came to this hospital because I could find it, and because I'd been here before. Were I the type to price shop for the only procedure I thought I would have - A CT scan - I could have spent an hour or so before deciding which of the three major hospitals in my area had the best deal on a CT. That is theoretically possible. Hospitals don't exactly have price lists and help lines for these things, but let's pretend I made calls and achieved a miraculous quintet, to wit:

1. I reached actual human beings on the phone; who
2. were helpful; and
3. knowledgeable; and
4. honest; and
5. permitted to disclose what they know..

The odds would be against me, but I can't say that it would have been impossible. I could have shopped around for a good deal.

But what WOULD have been impossible was my shopping around to find the best price and service for an appendectomy. Because I had no idea what procedure I would need. No idea at all. Fix in your mind how hard it would be to get a personalized price quote for a known procedure like a CT from multiple providers. Then imagine what kind of mind-shattering complexity would be involved in getting a price quote from those same hospitals for the possible treatments associated with "male, persistent abdominal pain."

Good.
    Effing.
        Luck.

---

Back to the ER - I get shifted from one bed to one more mobile, and Another Guy returns to drive me up to surgery.

Game time.

I lumber onto the new, sportier bed. And Another Guy starts his Trekkie routine. Asks me if I want sublight or warp speed.

No. Really. That's what he asks me.

I opt for warp speed. Because it will get this over with sooner; and also - I like rainbows.

So, enter the clichéd, yet completely unavoidable sequence where a drug-addled field of vision cycles through a seemingly endless pattern:

Ceiling tile, light...

Just like the movies.

Tile, tile, tile, light. Tile, tile, tile, light...

And the occasional bump, that re-ignites abdominal fires I'd almost forgotten.

Another Guy apologizes for the first few bumps, then gives up as we plow over what could only be a gravel road with chuckholes.

Tile, tile, tile, light. Tile, tile, tile, light...Turrrrrrrrrrrn

The bed caroms off the back of an elevator.

AG's apologizing again.

I'm drugged, I can get away with anything.

Damn you, Sulu...

AG laughs, then bangs the bed off the wall a few more times before the doors close.

He hands me off to somebody I can't see and wishes me well. I'm wheeled into a wide room lit like a cathedral. It's focal point is another bed with skinny extensions so your arms can rest while sticking out sideways.

I think They killed Sean Penn on one of these things...

and then,

These are really, really good drugs.

I feel like cracking wise about Susan Sarandon - but the two masked men don't seem like they've been properly primed for humor.

There's some polite chit chat - and then -

Tile, tile, tile, light. Tile, tile, tile, light...

I'm in a room with two orderlies. They're loud and annoying - complaining about work as if there's nobody in the world here.

But I'm here.

They talk about how they need to move me to another bed, and they need a hand, and how typical it is that they can't find anyone to help.

So I sit and listen.

And they go on and on about how they hate this duty - and their shift - and how they might go about moving me to another bed without the help they need.

Another bed slaps up next to the one I'm on.

Some guy comes by, and these orderlies latch on to him "Hey! Give us a hand here!"

Some Guy apparently meets their qualifications for moving post-operative patients. He's in the vicinity.

Of all the people I met in the hospital, these two orderlies and Some Guy were the only people who truly pissed me off (And I'm including the lady who catheterized me).

Rolled me over, and dragged me over to a new bed like they were slinging a pork belly. I'm confident I made several unpleasant noises and yelled "Hey!" but I was completely ignored. Their griping went on without missing a beat. Because to them - I wasn't there.

But I was there.

Another Guy returns and I'm actually glad to hear him. Suddenly, Jen's there in the hallway, too. And I'm rattling off a standup routine like it ain't no thang. Because it's Jen. And Jen's always a good crowd.

I'm wheeled into some room. Jen and I make some small talk and she basically leaps onto the logistics grenade.

She'll go over to my house tonight and spell K, then hang out with the kids on Memorial Day.

Memorial Day... Damn... No cookout. And I'm sure to be on a liquid diet for the foreseeable. Double damn.

Jen's saying she's set through the next two days - so that's a ton off my mind. She wants contact info for L and I fire it off, they can confab and sort things far better than I can. Surgery's the first sleep I've had in 40 plus hours, and I'm sure I'm going to black out soon.

My kids are good for the next two days. My friends are awesome. My sister is awesome.

They hook me up to the CPAP machine and before the rush of air slams up my nose I hear my nurse chuckle while reading my chart.

Whazzat?

She laughs. "Apparently you had a 'horrible' appendicitis. Usually we don't editorialize."

I don't get it, so she shows me my chart, and there it is:

 

Well, good, I say. No sense doing things halfway.

A short time later, sleep does everyone a favor - and shuts me up.

Now It Can Be Told

Okay, with E back in the country and fully briefed – This post is now possible.

---

So, it’s the day after E goes to the Med (of course, United manages to lose their bags and delay them to the point that they all but miss out on Venice. Anytime anyone tells you how incredibly efficient private companies are – tell them to fly on an American Air Carrier.)

Anyways, I’m loving the idea of soaking up some serious dad time. Yes, it’s going to be non-stop, but the fact of the matter is, my morning commute won’t change a bit. I’ll just have to be creative about getting grocery runs in.

I begin with a Day of Yes. The kids are always asking to do things, and the typical parental response is “no.” No, you can’t play computer. No you can’t watch another movie. And so on. I get them a decent pancake breakfast to butter them up and declare that we’re going to get outside today. And we need to return some library books.

The Boy immediately responds with “Let’s walk to the library!” Normally, this would be a reflexive ‘no’, but this is the Day of Yes. “Okay, but we should pack some water and an umbrella, just in case.”

He’s out the door and halfway down the block with his sister before I manage to find a backpack. The library is two miles away, so this is a bit of a hoof for little E, but she gets her complaints out early in the first block and doesn’t look back. The Boy launches into a window game, where windows of different sizes are worth different points and soon he’s a bazillion points in the lead.

The day is muggy, but the temp is decent and soon we’re at the Library. I’ve been nursing a stomach bug for the past few days, so I find a chair to flop into. I fire up the iPhone to search for Newberry award winners and the kids begin a coloring jag that lasts for easily a half an hour. I find the books I want, the Boy makes his selections – and I get the replacement card I need. We’re out the door and hoofing it home. Great times.

Little E announces late in the walk that she needs a restroom and we’re doing a rapid job to the nearest restaurant, a microbrewery. I forgot that U is coming by to watch the FC Barcelona match, so we’re going to be joining things in progress (thank heavens for DVRs).

We make the microbrewery just in time to avoid unpleasantness – and I flirt with ordering something mild for my stomach (yogurt or something) before just taking the cure or kill approach and getting fish and chips.

We’re hoofing it back home to meet with U for the game, and I can tell the lunch choice was a bad one. No pain, just a dull, weighty sensation that tells me that my guts are not happy with me. So be it.

Home. We meet up with U – watch Barca beat on the Red Devils until the Red Devils fold (Suck it, Giggs!) and a good time is had by all.

U is back to his hotel and the kids and I have a mellow evening with easy prep leftovers and settle into our books. I read them The Tale of Despereaux, and the kids seem hooked when we stop around chapter 5.

They get to bed, I dust off my newly acquired WFRP stuff for a run through – and I reflect on the day.

Not bad, Dad. Sure, it’s only one day, but no screaming or snarling. We had a lot of fun, and we didn’t break the bank on silly stuff. I’m looking forward to Sunday – when we have a birthday party and a cookout to round things out. The Boy’s totally jazzed about playing with one of his buddies at the cookout.

About the time I finish a small run through (good God, does WFRP have lots of bits!) I realize it’s about midnight.

One full day of single dad-dom down, I turn in. My back is killing me, probably from the walk, so it takes about 30 minutes to find a good position to rest.

Right about the time that subsides, by gut starts to ache.

In the normal run of things, whatever it was would subside to the point where I could pass out and have in mend by the morning.

But it doesn’t. And it doesn’t feel like a normal stomach ache. It feels lower than that – and somehow more in the front. And it doesn’t quit.

By about 3 in the morning, after having tried walking around, distracting myself, and acetaminophen – I start theorizing. Had some bad fish? …Gas pains? I seriously consider leaving my two sleeping children in bed and driving to the pharmacy to get some medicine. (I had thoughtfully thrown out virtually all our meds for being past their exp dates, but did I replace them? NooOoOOoooo.)

I just can’t abide leaving the kids alone, and it’s three in the damn morning. So I’m stuck.

I go downstairs and read the intro to The Looming Tower to pass the time. Mostly I wait for the sun to come up. When it finally does, the morning routine serves as a decent distraction. Breakfast, clothes and shoes. I tell the kids we’re headed to the store to buy their friend a birthday present before the party. And get meds. Because the gut hasn’t let up once since 1am.

The kids prolong the departure in their usual way, so that we’re leaving the store almost right before it’s time to drive out to the birthday party. I pop the meds and enjoy a few moments of placebo relief before the pain is back.

It is becoming clear that whatever it is – is not going away with time or medication. I have visions of being at home, unable to drive, with two small children. Drama, I tell myself. And I pull into the party. It’s a gymnastic party, so the kids can get some jump around time. Something that makes bedtime sooOOooo much easier. I go to the observation lounge and the kids are clearly loving it.

I try and fail to find a comfortable chair/position. And there’s that voice in my head saying: It’s just you and two little kids. And you need to get this sorted out. Other parents are leaving their kids at the party, so I check in with the birthday girl’s mom and say, “I need to go to urgent care. I’ll be back in an hour unless they physically restrain me.” Birthday girl’s mom is about as unflappable a person as I’ve met. She’s like, “One way or another, we’ll work it out.”

I lumber off to urgent care. It’s about 1pm and I’ve been up since 6am yesterday. Oh, and my gut hurts. I start a timer on my phone to know when I need to get back. The folks at urgent care are very helpful. No solid answers, they’ll take some samples but the results will take time. I tell them I have to leave in twenty minutes and they get my cell number to call me. They offer no good theories, I’m still thinking I ate something that’s lodged in me in some painful way. I’m out the door with minutes to spare.

And I’m back at the party. The kids are having a grand old time. There’s cake and whip cream, and kids to goof off with, what’s not to love? I chat with BG’s uncle for awhile, and it’s time to go. I’ve got a little over an hour and a half before the cookout. It’s dawning on me that I’m not going to be feel like eating anything – which is a serious downer. Holiday weekend grill out and my stomach’s down for the count. Major suckage.

I go home. Mom’s asked me to help them chase down where their baggage disappeared to. I call United, and get the standard “You need to call Lufthansa, since they were the last air carrier on their itinerary.” I point out the bags were lost because United canceled the flight and re-routed them all over hell’s half acre. Eventually, the guy settles on giving me all the numbers and codes his system has on their bags, and I text them to mom and E.

It’s about 3pm when urgent care calls. They tell me that the results weren’t terribly conclusive. White blood cell count is up a little, but not enough where they’re thinking appendicitis (thank heavens), but that since I’m in constant pain, they’re thinking I should get a CT.

I’m like, Okay, when should we get that set up? Tomorrow’s a holiday…and-

Her response was immediate – “You should go to the ER. Today.”

This is the first moment that I realize things are really going south in a hurry.

I call the folks with the cookout and ask if they wouldn’t mind having my kids run around their cookout without me for a few hours. Being incredibly cool, they’re like “No problem.” They even invite me over early, before things start.

Between fatigue and pain – the day is starting to take on the quality of Ray Liotta’s last day of freedom in Goodfellas. The world is rushing into my head uncontrollably and I’m doing my best to ignore all but the essential details.

Drop. Kids. Off.

Get. To. ER.

---

If I may digress a bit here. I would like to point out something of interest to those who follow health care policy. As of this point in my day, I was actively seeking out a medical procedure. I became a consumer of health care. Yet I was in no way exhibiting behavior of a cost-conscious consumer. At no time did cost enter into my calculations. I have no knowledge of what a CT would, could, or should cost. I wanted to get to the closest ER I could find. As I have been to the local Catholic hospital’s ER in the past, I was sure I could find it. So I went there.

---

Thirty minutes later, I’m in an ER bed being compelled to drink four big glasses of stuff that was labeled barium, but was actually some other CT-necessitated liquid that tasted like instant lemonade. I’m on the iPhone keeping tabs with the kids and generally keeping folks in the loop.

And I wait, wince, and drink crappy CT-Lemonade. Soon enough, I’m being ritually stripped and fed through the CT machine. I felt removed from the entire experience, rather like inferring reality from a blurry penumbra. And this was without drugs.

Post CT, they give me drugs. A far too exuberant resident announces that every day on his rotation this week, somebody’s had an appendicitis. He’s saying odds are, it’s my appendix or a kidney stone. Kidney stone…. That’s the first time that possibility was raised and I decide it makes the most sense. I’ve had pain off and on for two weeks now (now that I think about it), and the pain seems low enough to be bladder related. Aw…hell. I get a text from Jen, and I give her the update.

Not to be dramatic, but I’m in the ER. Holiday weekend and I need to know what’s what. I’ll get a test and we’ll see what the deal is. Not an emergency, but I can’t wait and wonder with E gone.

Jen offers to come down from the cabin, and I tell her to hold off until I get the results of the CT. My money’s on kidney stone I tell her. Because that’s the one that will hurt more.

And shortly after I make that pronouncement, the resident comes back. “It’s an appendicitis.”

I’m drugged, so I come back with “You’re sure you’re not just going for the record?”

He laughs, “Nah. Your surgeon will be here in a few minutes.”

Like a series of punches, reality catches up with me. My wife is in the Mediterranean, my kids are at a friend’s house, and I’m in the ER being prepped for surgery.

And the only thing running through my dead tired, chemically-laced brain is:

After all these years - I still got it. A perfect sense of timing.

Next >

Death To Wallets

Rewind to a couple of weeks ago.

I'm in a hardware store and the cashier is asking me if I'm a member of their rewards program.

I lie. "No"

Why do I do this? Because my hands are full. I've got my stuff under one arm and have my wallet out. The plastic rewards card is on my keychain.
If I say yes, I have to do something with my wallet and debit card, and then dig in my pocket. Then sift through my keychain and isolate the appropriate plastic card so it can be scanned.

Sure, not a huge hassle, but when we're talking about a $7 purchase of wood screws and glazing compound - it's hard to find motivation to bother.
Plus, the rewards plan isn't money off - it's points that accumulate over time to earn like $5 off. I think. All these plans are different in details.

But all of them have a similar process.

You trade hassle for a small reward that may or not be relevant or available to your purchase.

---

Now I'm at Borders, being asked the same question. I have their card as well. Mine's beat up as all hell, and sometimes doesn't scan. The backup plan at Borders is to give your email address to be credited with the purchase. A good backup, but also hassle. And Borders basic rewards plan gives you "Borders Bucks" that expire. How the hell do I know how many bucks I have? or when they'll expire? Oh, I know- I'll log into their website and do it because that's what I enjoy doing with my copious spare time. Logging into vendor's websites.

Gah.

Trading hassle for a small reward that may or not be relevant or available to your purchase - a reward that will go away if you don't use it.

---

Now I'm in a local hobby store. They also have a rewards program. You get points or something. And games at hobby stores cost respectable amounts of money, so I'm motivated to find my card. And it is an actual card, not on my keychain. As I use it practically never it's not in the limited number of ready access slots in my wallet.

It's buried, or at home. There are people behind me, so after a minute or two of looking for it I give up and just say "forget it." The merchant writes a note on the receipt so that if I find it later, I can get credit for the purchase.

Now I have to keep the receipt. Keeping is easy - it will instantly become buried in the sheaf of tattered paper bits I keep in my wallet. Ostensibly this is "organizing" but really it's just merging with garbage I carry around until I lose my patience and pitch it en masse. And I'll be out the loyalty reward.

---

So what's the point of all this? Rewards programs are great, but require the user to carry around a stack of cards AND dig them out at the right time AND keep track of what benefits are available to them at a given time AND when they expire.

Also, and I say this all the time - Paper receipts are stupid.

Much as the Apple store stuff annoys me - they have one thing right - they email you the receipt.

I've said over and over that a million dollar idea would be for somebody to consolidate the rewards interface - get the merchants to standardize on a common fob so the user only had one thing to carry around and manage.

I was thinking small - and clearly brighter minds have been working on this, but here's a great leap forward for individual commercial transactions.

Buying things with your cell phone.

Yes, well *duh* - but the mere transfer of money isn't what I getting at. This video shows Google Wallet looking like it’s about to kick Apple's transactional butt unless they get it in gear.

Google Wallet's using Near Field Communication to exchange payment and authentication data with a merchant's receiver. Which is plenty awesome right out of the gate.
Google Wallet stores your credit card info so your phone becomes your credit cards. Less crap in wallet. Hell, less reason to even have a wallet.



But this is the tip of the iceberg as far as I'm concerned. Because think of the plug in app potential here. Every damn vendor with a reward program can now offer an app that coattails on any transaction your phone kicks off.

As in:

Smart Phone: Hi anybody out there?
Cash Register: Why, yes. I'm a Borders cash register. Are you the party wanting to buy this copy of The Looming Tower?
Smart Phone: That's me! Here's my payment information.
Cash Register: Excellent, are you a Borders Rewards member?
Smart Phone: Yes, I am. Here's my member number. XXXXXXXXXX
Cash Register: Thank You. Your payment is confirmed. I've emailed you a receipt. And here's your updated reward status.

Smart Phone (to me, on the phone's display): Payment (Less 10% discount) Confirmed. Receipt sent via email.
Smart Phone (to the Borders Rewards App installed on it): Here's a Borders Reward status code. Any news?
Borders Reward App:: Thanks. Checking. Yes. This account now has 10 Borders Bucks, expiring on July 5, 2011.
Smart Phone (to me, on the phone's display): You now have 10 Borders Bucks, expiring on July 5, 2011.

From my perspective, this goes down in a self checkout lane.

I put the book on a scanner, wait for the book price to display on the terminal.
I launch the payment app, hold my phone up to the reader, and press "Accept"
There's a blip and I see:

Smart Phone (to me, on the phone's display):Payment (Less 10% discount) Confirmed. Receipt sent via email.
You now have 10 Borders Bucks, expiring on July 5, 2011.
Me: Sweet!

I no longer have to manage the rewards program. It becomes an integral part of the transaction. I pay, and all the reward crap happens automatically.

And I no longer have a keychain festooned with plasti-sh!t.
And I don't have to pretend to care about my receipt. If I need it, I'll search Gmail.

The App can even (assuming I let it) alert me to the fact that I have Borders Bucks as I begin the transaction.

Smart Phone (to me, on the phone's display): You have unused Borders Bucks, do you wish to apply them to this purchase?
Me: Sweet!

Frequent Flyer miles, Rental car rewards, Frequent Burrito rewards at Qdoba - all pushed to the background so all's I do is pay and the software tells me what I've won.

This must happen. I am directing my mental powers into the universe and WILLING this to happen.

I will pitch my vendor plastic into a fire and dance a jig when it does.

She Only Sang Two Words

I'm flipping to network (yes, I know) to find out if mother nature is about to rip my house off the face of the earth and I blunder onto (yes) America's Got Talent.

And someone's singing Ave Maria. Young African-American woman with white dreadlocks.

The marquee identifies her as:

Lys Agnès, 27
Unemployed

She's done in less than two minutes and as I said, she sings only two words  ...but how she sang them!

Jeezus, Mary and Joseph - she blew the roof off the place.

Here's the YouTube.

She already has a website "coming soon," so this is perhaps a well-managed PR undercurrent. But screw it, she sings like that and has some range - she will sell music - and lots of it.

Syria Circling the Drain

With things such a mess, it's hard to know much for certain.

But it's beginning to sound like Syria could go the way of Lybia.

The people of Syria no doubt remember Hafez al-Assad slaughtering thousands of them back in Hama, yet they are gearing up for more confrontation.

For their sakes, I hope Bashar al-Assad is nothing like his father.

Stewart vs. Trump's Pizza

Doubtless most anyone who reads this has already seen this, but if I can be the safety net for the odd case that hasn't - this simply must be seen.



I laughed until it hurt, then rewound and did it again.

Dear God, I think something burst.