TSA Strikes Yet Again: They Stole My Cupcake!

A woman flying from Las Vegas to Boston learned the hard way that "what comes from Vegas, stays in Vegas." Well, sorta, at least. The woman attempted to pass through the TSA screening with a frosted cupcake.  A cupcake. The TSA officer (shown below) thought the frosting could be a security risk, so he seized it.

 

Bubba consumed the cupcake to keep 'murrica safe.

Seriously, though, this is just another instance of TSA using its obscene power and authority for the sole purpose of oppressing the American public in the name of security. It was bad enough when Richard Reid tried to light his shoe, and caused the American public to shuffle through the local Checkpoint Charlie barefoot. Then we had last year's infamous "UndieBomber" and the rigamarole about water and shampoo. Now, frosting is considered a possible terrorist threat.

C'mon, people, get real.

Frosting?  A threat?

Maybe to the Jenny Craig crowd, but fergawdsake, give me a break.

Ya Can't Make This Stuff Up...

Today's "Hint from Heloise" (as seen in the Portland Press-Herald):

Dear Heloise: Twice in two years we have had a skunk move in under our patio enclosure.

Anyway, all I did was put a boombox-type radio on the floor and let it play on an all-night talk-radio station at a loud volume, and in the morning, the skunk was gone.

Was it the volume or the content?

Google and Yahoo Are Pissing Me Off...

The geniuses at both Google and Yahoo have come up with an exciting new advertising ploy. When you click on a search result, you are redirected to an advertising page that often has nothing to do with your search.

For instance:

Google: I entered the term "Cocoanut Grove" looking for information on the 1942 fire. The first result Google returned was the Wikipedia page for the fire. Clicking on that link, however, took me to a fine food page, Gourmandia. Not only was I greeted with a truly obnoxious Flash animation for WallyWorld, it had nothing to do with the Cocoanut Grove fire, except possibly both involved exposing flesh to high heat. Clicking "back" (at least on Internet Exploder) took me to the redirect page, which sent me back to Gourmandia. To get back to the search results, I have to open "History" and click the link there. Once I finally get back to Google, clicking the Wikipedia link again finally takes me to the page I wanted initially.

Yahoo: On Yahoo, the first two results for "Cocoanut Grove" take me to the Cocoanut Grove (Florida) Business Improvement Committee website (with a side trip to Elle magazine). Returning to Yahoo -- again via the "History" button -- I click on the Wikipedia link, and, whammo, once again, I'm at Elle fashion. Hit the "history", find Yahoo search results, and finally -- finally! -- I get to the Wikipedia page.

Thus far, Lycos (http://www.lycos.com/, which used to be the leading search engine till Google came along), takes me to Wikipedia without a detour to irrelevant advertising.

Therefore, I am proud to announce that LYCOS is the Official Search Engine of 618Rants.

Schticks of One, Half a Dozen of the Other

I. Gun Nuttiness

According to a filler in today's Portland Press-Herald, a woman in Lebanon, PA, lost her concealed carry permit after wearing a handgun in plain view at a soccer game. She claimed that "warm-weather clothing made it difficult to hide a firearm." Well, she has a point there. On the other hand, a right -- such as carrying a weapon -- comes with concurrent responsibilities -- such as not terrifying the populace, and obeying the terms of the permit. A "concealed carry" permit is just that: concealed. As a former police officer, I can testify that it is a real pain in the back of the lap to conceal a weapon on a hot summer day. That's why one occasionally sees beefy guys with short hair, blue jeans and black shoes (or black boots) wearing a windbreaker when it's 110 degrees. Chances are they guy's a cop. (And yes, the blue jeans and black boots is the giveaway).

If you're going to carry based on a concealed carry permit, your weapon has to be concealed.

Period.

Oh, and the local judge -- who also likes to pack heat on a concealed carry permit -- said the law required him to return the woman's permit.


II. Detroit Nuttiness

This tale of Detroit Nuttiness has nothing to do with former-mayor-and-convicted-felon Kwame Kilpatrick, but what the heck. Five (presumably female) Detroit police officers are suing the city for discrimination, in that they were forced to take sick leave when their bosses found out they were pregnant. The plaintiffs say they are contesting a 2004 policy that requires sick leave "unless a doctor finds they can crawl in confined spaces, jump from an elevated surface, and forcibly make arrests." Now, as a male, I have never been pregnant, and hopefully never will be (although I could use the money I'd get selling my story to the National Enquirer), but the policy seems to make a certain amount of sense. Being a street cop is a demanding, physical profession; does it really make sense to endanger not only your life, but the life of your unborn child? (And that comment has nothing to do with the question of when a fetus becomes a person)

On the other hand, given the dire financial straits in which Detroit finds itself, there should be some way of keeping these officers gainfully occupied while pregnant. The old standby of switching them to dispatch no longer is viable, due to all the specialized training now required of dispatchers (which is completely different than the training given street cops), but there should be other options, such as temporary re-assignment to Community Services (giving talks to school kids, who'd probably be thrilled at seeing a "girl cop"), Crime Prevention (Neighborhood Watch), or recruiting. Hell, sweeten the deal and arrange a temporary transfer to the Detective Division (to avoid having to buy maternity uniforms) and have them work Monday to Friday, 8:00 am to 4:00 pm, conducting follow-up interviews and investigations.

The city is going to wind up paying them either way, so they may as well get a return on their investment. And the average street cop has too much experience for it to lie fallow for five or six months, when they could be doing something productive for the city.


III. Dennis the Menace

Today's installment of the adventures of America's favorite "five-ana-half" year old has Dennis asking a guest, "If you're not married, who tells you when you're doin' something wrong?"

Oh, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis... Enjoy it while it lasts.

As any adult male can testify, there is always someone willing to tell you you're wrong. Female relatives, friends, acquaintances, even strangers, are always more than willing to point out the faults of any male.


IV. Bailout BS

After receiving something like $80 billion from the Feds as part of the bailout, AIG insurance execs blew $440,000 on a weekend retreat (including spas, manicures, pedicures, and a $10K bar tab). AIG then asked for $60 billion more.

And got it.

Meanwhile, ain't nobody bailing out us poor schmucks.

What Are The Chances?

I was perusing the Detroit News this evening, catching up on the antics of my favorite disgraced ex-mayor and soon-to-be jailbird, Kwame Kilpatrick, when a story from Michigan State University caught my eye. It seems that Mike Robell – purely by chance – was assigned the same dorm room his father had lived in thirty years earlier. Mike’s father Rich Robell suspected it was the same room, and, according to the paper, “the same broken window latch offered some evidence.”

Yes, one could ask what the chances were that father and son would get the same dorm room by chance. But my question is a little more basic:

THIRTY YEARS and you still haven’t fixed the broken window latch?!?

Trying to Catch Up

First off, let me apologize for the lack of posting the last couple of months. The lovely yet talented Mrs 618 and I packed up all our belongings and left the state of Michigan -- with its varied and unfortunate assortment of lay-offs, corrupt politicians, etc -- and moved halfway across the country, to Maine.

Since then, I have been busy as heck finding a job, buying a car (well, truck, in this case), trying to get a training business up and running, and joining the local volunteer fire department.

It's been a busy couple of months, and not just in the personal life.

Detroit mayor Kwame Kilpatrick (who, along with his former chief of staff/lover, are facing twelve felony counts) is still fighting for his political life.

We have lost both George Carlin and Larry Harmon (the most famous Bozo the Clown).

Jurassic Pork seems to have hung up his spurs (again), since "Welcome to Pottersville" no longer exists on Blogger. The folks at Daily Kos are even more into their "we love us, we're the greatest, and the rest of you suck" lifestyle.

On the political front in Maine, Democratic Congressman Tom Allen handily won the Democratic primary for the upcoming Senate election, where he will be facing off against long-time incumbent Susan Collins (who, like John McCain, is considered by a "maverick", but always reliably votes the Bushevik line). s I recall, Allen got more votes than his five competitors combined. Additionally, some recent polls are showing Collins at less than 50% approval, for the first time. I hope to be able to do more writing about the contest over the next couple of weeks.

Emily (our Lab) and Joey (the cat) have settled in quite well. Two people and a Labrador do not fit easily into a double bed. This I have learned the hard way: Emily has kicked my ass onto the more on more than one occasion.

Discovered yesterday that the new Jeep Liberty -- which isn't all that big -- has a 6-cylinder engine and gets 15 mpg. The '99 Chevy Tahoe I bought has an 8-cylinder engine and gets 18-20 mpg. Of course, at $4.25/gallon, it isn't much of a difference.

Well, since it is now ten minutes before 11:00 PM (that's 10:50 PM Celsius), I am going to bed.

Much-Belated Update

First and foremost, the lovely yet talented Judy Hoffman* has a revised edition of her book Keeping Cool In The Hot Seat. If you ever have to deal with crisis communications -- even if you merely piss off your wife -- you need this book. It shows you how to get your message across without shooting yourself (or your organization) in the foot. Hint: "no comment" doesn't cut it.

Next, the lovely yet talented Mrs 618 and I are getting settled in up here in Northern New England. The missus claimed this was even more like "cow country" than where we were before. True, there are fewer people, but here we can get DSL. I asked about DSL out in Michigan, and the phone company laughed.

Our Lab, Emily, and one cat, Joey, made the trip successfully. Bailey, the "feral" cat who adopted us, apparently understood what a 26-foot UHaul means. He took off two days before we left, and didn't re-appear until the day after we arrived here. Our former neighbors spotted him in their barn, where he has apparently established a residence in the hayloft. They're feeding him, and -- if we go out to visit Mom-in-law -- we may try to grab him then. he does like the lady of the house more than he likes me, so it might work. At least he's okay.

Look for pix of our new world headquarters, coming soon over most of this same blog.

Political commentary, This Date in Fire History, and other popular features will also be returning soon.

*UPDATE (to the update): BadTux pointed out that the link wasn't working. It should be now. Of course, if Blogger still doesn't like me, it's www.JudyHoffman.com.