The Random Yak

May flowers are upon us, and I don’t mean the kind that carry Pilgrims.  In addition, May brings us:

Brain tumor awareness month  (it might be a tumor….)

Older Americans Month (Something all but one of us can celebrate)

Tennis Month (don’t you just love it)

Salad Month (Save a salad…eat a steak!)

Egg Month and Hamburger Month (But hamburger *with* egg is meatloaf.)

Barbecue Month (good with the hamburger…not so much with eggs.)

and

Better Hearing and Speech Month (sorry, did you say something?)

Get out there and observe!

At least, that’s sure what it seems like, given the gigantic pinata-of-fisk a client dropped in my inbox this morning.  A pinata too fine to keep entirely to myself, so I decided to share it with the rest of you.  (In part because one or more of you might actually benefit from it beyond the pure entertainment value of watching me shred it to whimpering bits of spam-scented tissue.)

The incoming e-mail (forwarded by a conscientious client who actually recognized it as fraud but wanted to make absolutely sure) reads in [redacted] relevant part as follows (italics [and brackets], as always, are mine):

From: [the Spammer I Should Publicly Excoriate But Won't Give the Satisfaction] [mailto:worthlesswasteofpixels [at] loser’semail.com]
Sent: [late yesterday afternoon]
To: [mysmartclient [at] client’sawesomebusiness.com]
Subject: Copyright breached.

Dear Sir/Madam, (an important quality in a lawyer: gender recognition of the people you’re suing.  This bottomfeeder, for example, recognizes that people come in both the male and female persuasion)
This is to remind you that we have already filed a case against you on 12/04/2010. ( read it.  read it again.  … then leave this one for now.  In the immortal words of Puss in Boots, “I’ll get him later.”)

The pre-trial conference is to be held on 9/05/2010 at 9:00 AM in courtroom number 142.  (of….which court, exactly?)
The case number is 9626133. (Nice try, but that’s a phone number.  Court cases have 8-12 digits, usually alphanumeric.)

Please visit http://www.[clickthisandbecomeavictim].com for a copy of the lawsuit that we filed against you on 12/04/2010.  (which our time machine process servers will be serving on you promptly, as soon as we fix the flux capacitor on the Delorean.)

We need a reply in writing and on time. (but since we won’t be filing until next December, you can probably wait ’til Tuesday.) We have already won similar lawsuits. (in our dreams.  with teh pwr of our MINDS.) If you make sure you’ll contact us before 5/05/2010 at 18:00 PM (note: 18:00pm is 6:00.  Most lawyers don’t answer their phones after 5.  4:30 if they use voicemail.) and you agree to the terms mentioned above, (between the lines, I assume, since they’re not visible.  Or possibly written in “future ink” that won’t show up until…December) you shall not have to appear in court.  (Note: I also might not have to appear because there’s no lawsuit.  I’ll flip a coin and we’ll see.)

Yours sincerely, (No name printed to delete, but I can provide several less-than-complimentary ones upon request.)

No virus found in this incoming message.  (Probably because the message itself IS a virus.)

So.  Anyone else see the problem in this picture?

Setting aside the inconvenient truths that (a) lawsuits must be served personally on all defendants you can reach (with exceptions not relevant here), (b) real law firms don’t generally post pleadings in lawsuits against private individuals on portions of their websites you can reach via email link, and (c) most of us are still living under a roughly chronological calendar that prohibits use of the past tense with reference to lawsuits filed eight months in the future….

EVEN setting all that aside, there’s one major, glaring error here that absolutely, positively marks this communication as worthless spam the moment you start to read.

If and when someone invents a time machine, the LAST group of people (s)he will give access to it is lawyers.

We create enough trouble in our own timeline.  Seriously, unless we’re dealing with some anarchist out to rip holes in the space-time continuum, there’s just no way the guy lucky enough to invent time travel would risk exposing his own private Personal Wealth Management System (you know you’d bet on the upset-winners of every sporting event from now until Kingdom Come) to help some ambulance-chasing, bottom-dwelling scumbag flaunt the statute of limitations on personal injury filings.  No. Way.

And don’t even try to claim the lawyer might have invented it.  Plenty of them look like Doc Brown, but that doesn’t mean they have his horses under the hood.  (Though admittedly one or two might still be driving Deloreans.)

In reality, of course, I know a lawyer probably didn’t write the email at all.  This is a relatively recent but fairly well known scam in which a phisher sends unsuspecting companies a version of this email with a link to click to “view the court documents” – and the minute the innocent victim clicks through, (s)he gets taken for one of a variety of scams, most of them highly unpleasant and time-consuming to fix.

So if you do get one of these emails, stop before you click.  First off, anyone who wants to sue you has to actually serve you with papers, either in person or by mail – and email doesn’t count.  Second, check the filing dates.  The courts might start permitting service by email  (I doubt it will become standard in my practice life, but stranger things have happened) but as a general rule it’s safe to assume “email from the future” won’t be an accepted method of personal service any time soon.  In fact, any communications from the future should be taken with at least a grain of salt (and probably a lithium chaser).  Dollars to doughnuts, there’s a bottom feeder on the other end of the communication, but for once it’s probably not a lawyer.

…. .- .–. .–. -.–   — — .-. … .   -.-. — -.. .   -.. .- -.–

(For those who didn’t figure it out yesterday:  Happy Morse Code Day!)

Last night, on the way home from the penultimate meeting of what may be the last college course I teach  (at least for a while, I hope), I had a great idea for a blog post.

It had to do with puns, and excellent ones at that.  Puns that had me in stitches, and Yak the Younger too.  I made a mental note to remember them, because I’d nothing to do for the blog this morning, and  I spent yesterday too far in the weeds to manage a post, and I wanted to have something entertaining.

I got home.  I read for a while.  I went to sleep.  I slept longer than usual (thanks in part to a wonderful pattering rain that started some time in the night) and got to the office bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and ready for action – but without a thought in my shaggy head.

Figures.

So today’s lead post ends up being a reading from The Yak’s Little Book of Ideas And What Happens To Them.  We will start at chapter 2, line 12:

The shelf-life of an idea is inversely proportional to its entertainment value.  (the “Good Ones Expire Quickly” Rule)

Bad ideas, like crabgrass, solicitors and dust bunnies, stick around forever.  (the “Life is Like a Box of Tax Collectors” Rule)

Unfortunately, this has somewhat negative consequences for practical application.  If you have a good idea, you should sleep on it.  If it’s still there in the morning, it’s probably a bad idea, but you might as well do it anyway because the good ones all took off in the night to find someone more spontaneous.

Enjoy the day.

(Another good thing: not losing to myself in public…)

Today’s Random Thought/One Good Thing brought to you by: the two-headed bobtail lizard of Australia.

Once again, BBC News has published the glorious truth that nothing of note goes on in the UK of a Friday.  Or anywhere else in the world, apparently.  “The Big Picture” of The World as We Know it boils down to this: sometimes the bobtail lizard has babies with two heads.  And sometimes those heads don’t like one another very much.

The twoheaded bobtail (a variety of skink – which might explain the negative attitude, since skinks are notoriously bad-tempered) was “rescued” by a reptile park (U.S. English, read “zoo-like place where animals live in captivity”) in Perth, Australia.  The heads share control of the creature’s back legs, but seem to have completely separate brains.  The larger head also seems less than fond of its conjoined twin, and has attacked it from time to time.  Probably for waking it up for bathroom visits in the middle of the night.  (I told you…no coffee after nine!) Or something.

So if today’s not going well for you, and you’re looking forward to 5:00 because nothing else seems to be going your way, take a moment and ponder the fact that you’re not a short-lived, two-headed skink attached for life to half a creature that wants to kill you just because it finds your potty habits inconvenient.  Makes the rest of it seem a little brighter, no?

To everyone who’s ever caused me lost sleep, lost peace or lost time:

Here’s your payback.

HATETRIS.

Like tetris, but now it’s personal.  Instead of handing you pieces at random, the Hatetris AI evaluates all your options, and gives you the statistical worst-case-scenario…EVERY TIME.  (Remember how you always thought the tetris AI withheld blocks just when you needed them most?  Now it really does.) In other words…if you try to stack up the left side while you wait for that stick to drop and fill the hole on the right…it literally never will.  Why? Because unlike Tetris, which you only thought wanted you to fail, Hatetris does want you to fail.  In fact, it’s designed to ensure that eventually (and usually sooner rather than later) you will.

Ask not for whom the failboat sails.  It sails for thee.

*(On the theory that anything recycled is “green,” and I’m riffing on the contents of the spam folder.)

It’s sometimes interesting to see what the most recent crop of web-crawling spiders tries to do with my topics.  (Note: particularly when we haven’t had any recent bits about naked luge or underpants.  When that’s the case, even I know better than to look at what gets caught in the filter before I empty it.)

The latest news:

1.  The words “golden calf” apparently contain a hidden subtext reading “spam money-and-finance-related comments here.”  For the record, everything that glitters is not an opportunity to advertise your super awesome, better-than-ever, “we know the economy stinks but please please give us the chance to rip you off too” get-rich-quick scheme.  In fact, the golden calf allusion had nothing to do with money (not directly anyway), either in its original source or as posted here.

In short: Webcrawler 1: Mission Fail.  Grade: D- (with partial points for at least seeking out the word ‘gold’).

2.  “Kids love being scared senseless” earned me … an ad for helicopter flying lessons.  Take a minute and think that one through.  Who programs a webcrawler about flight lessons to look for posts about fear?  In some ways, it’s actually kind of clever, though I’m not sure the whole “crazy clown + flight school” thing really inspires me to take a leap of faith.  (Here’s hoping no leaping is actually required.)

Webcrawler 2: Partial Fail (you’re still spam, after all).  Grade: C- for creativity.

The others, sadly, are less-than-printable, but those at least amused me enough to mention.

That said…I’m off to the weeds.

Sometimes, you don’t even know when you need a good laugh.

Sometimes, you do know, but you don’t know where it’s coming from.

As usual, the Universe is only too happy to provide, courtesy of a mischanneled instant message from a friend…talking to another friend…about something really odd.  Like the disproportionately ungrateful and rebellious offspring of a misguided and somewhat geographically challenged potato fly.  Or something.

Which might, or might not actually exist outside the personal reality of the individual in question.

Or something.

At any rate…it just reminded me that random acts of oddness really do make the world go ’round sometimes.  Especially on not-quite-rainy afternoons when I’m trying to figure out the approximate distance between my current location and something approximating normalcy.

The answer, in case you were wondering, is “you can’t get there from here.”

Today would have been the “first mow on the new lawn day,” with a post to match, but as it happens I woke up at 4am to the sound of rain.  Serious rain.  The kind that takes all of four seconds to tell you there won’t be any mowing today, and not tomorrow either.  (As a side note, that also pretty much puts the capper on today’s other post-work chores, “turning on the solar pool heater for the season” and “returning the recyclables to the outdoor recycling center.”)

As of 10am, the rain still falls, but the coffee is warm and the office is peaceful (and mercifully free from solicitors and other things that go bump in the night) and the rain has me reflecting on the kind of job I’ve been doing lately.

In a word or two, not what I’d like it to be.

One of the striking recurring themes in the Old Testament is the inability of Israel to follow relatively simple instructions.  Time and again, they’re told “walk that way…keep walking until I tell you to stop” (or something equally recognizable and understandable) and time and again…Israel screws it up.  Enough so that it becomes fairly easy for modern readers to shake their heads and say “Wow, were they really that dense and stupid?  If I had such clear direction in my life, I’d never mess it up like that.”  But again and again, they do.  And again and again, we shake our heads and sigh at their lack of intelligence and foresight.

And then we look in the mirror.  Or should.   Because the shaggy face staring back at us from the rounded disc of glass can be just as foolish, just as shortsighted, and just as obstinate as the tribes in the desert ever could.

Case in point…me.

I am blessed to have both direction and instruction in my life.  I have a fantastic work environment, in barely-to-be-believed circumstances that permit me almost a full range of normal-for-me behavior with a minimum of stress or inconvenience.  I get to work with one of my best friends, and I work at a calling instead of a “job.”  In my off hours, I have an understanding-if-equally-random spouse, a teenager who rarely acts like one (trust me, that’s a good thing) and friends who not only tolerate my slightly off-center attitude but somehow seem to relate to it.

All of which I regularly take for granted, and as a result treat with less grace and kindness than they deserve.  Now, I know that’s hardly melting down the candlesticks to make a golden calf, but in its way it’s just as great a failing.  You see, I’ve been told to treat them properly.  Told over and over and over again, and when it comes right down to it, that’s not a difficult thing to do – especially when the people in question actually like you a little.

In Church on Sunday morning, someone made a comment about not knowing (or appreciating) what you have until it’s gone.  He related the comment to losing his father, and the amount of his father’s wisdom he squandered over the years, realizing it only when it was too late to change.

That hit home.  Not just because I miss my own father, and wish I’d had more time to spend in his company, but more because I’ve recently fallen back into some negative behavioral patterns that impact not only my life but also the people with whom my life intersects.  I would hate to think they might have regrets when I am gone, but I would hate it more to think they were glad to see me go.  Wherein lies the point.  It was a mistake to let myself slide into patterns that failed to put those people’s interests before my own.  Grumbling through the day seems easy when things aren’t going as I’d like, but that isn’t fair even to me.  With regard to the people around me it’s as stupid as the golden calf, and like that calf it has no chance to save anything.  It can only bring sorrow and shame.

An elderly man I will probably never know walks my neighborhood in the mornings.  He smiles and waves at every car as though it contained a long-lost friend.  When I see him, it makes my day.  That I have done less for people I know, whose friendship means the world to me, is nothing short of pathetic – and it needs to change.  No one is perfect, but that doesn’t mean we have to settle for it.

Those who clicked in today looking for humor might need to go somewhere else to laugh, but if a rainy-day’s reflections put another smile, another kindness, or a moment’s careful thought into the life of a family outside my own, then my personal resolution to change my attitude toward those around me has borne not only immediate fruit, but spread.  And that, as the saying goes, is a good thing.

I don’t visit libraries much.

It has nothing to do with the books.  As a confessed bibliophile, I love them.  I read often, and I read a lot, and any place I can find interesting books is – almost by definition – a good place.

The problem with libraries isn’t that they have books, or even that they’ll let me take them.  It’s more that they expect me to return them.  And that isn’t exactly my strong suit.

It’s not that I don’t want to give the books back when I’ve finished them.  I don’t mind borrowing and returning (though I do have to remind myself not to read them in my usual fashion – pen in hand and notes in margin).  I don’t even mind buying the ones I want to keep.  It’s more that I’m forgetful by nature, and the idea of “read this now and return it in two weeks, on a date certain for our purposes but not necessarily fitting easily into your schedule (yeah, I wander)” – well, nice in theory, but years of practice prove otherwise.

I’m not normally an irresponsible yak, but among My Great Failings is this: I cannot get a library book back on time.  Strange as that seems, it’s true.  Between circumstances conspiring against me, a mind that leaks like a sieve on the best of days and …. (SQUIRREL)

What was I saying?  Oh, right.  I’m also prone to distraction.

At the end of the day, I’m just not good about returning library books.  In fact, “not good about it” seriously understates the problem.  I crouch and run past libraries – even ones I’ve never visited before – because I’m sure when they institute the Library Sniper Program to Eliminate Unexcused Tardiness in Returns, I’ll be the first one between the crosshairs.  Public (Library) Enemy #1.

All of which is a very long setup to a relatively short payoff for you, but a lifetime’s worth of consolation for me.

I’m in better company than I thought.

In October 1789, George Washington borrowed two books from the New York library (one on International law and the other containing debate transcripts from the British House of Commons). Although the books were due back in November (1789…), the library recently reported them … still missing.

Making Washington’s books approximately 220 years overdue.

Suddenly, that 4-month late fee I ran up the last time I thought I’d prove I could actually borrow a book and return it on time doesn’t look so bad.  In fact, nothing I could possibly do would equal Washington’s colossal late fees (estimated at somewhere between $90,000 and $300,000, depending on how you adjust for inflation and whether or not there’s compounded interest involved).  Of course, he could decide to just pay for the books, but antique manuscripts like those sell for a pretty penny these days.  Either way, he’s in more trouble than I am.

Even putting to rest the jokes about the deceased I find it strangely comforting to learn that I’m not alone in this difficulty.  Ironically, Washington may have failed to return them for exactly the same reason I do … he got started on something else, and the books got forgotten in the process.  It probably wasn’t intentional, and almost certainly would have embarrassed him if he knew.  Which, being George Washington, he probably did.

In fact, I bet he ducked when he went by the library too.  In his day, they did still use snipers.

(Tip of the horns, Lowering the Bar)

Yeah, right.  And Yaks love solicitors.

Reality aside, a man in Lucerne, Switzerland recently set up a business that provides “evil clown” services for children’s birthdays.

Not familiar with the evil clown?  It works something like this:

Step 1: Deranged Loving parents contact Evil Clown company to arrange a surprise for the birthday boy or girl.

Step 2: Throughout the week leading up to the victim torturee child’s birthday, said child receives threatening text messages, telephone calls and “traps in letterboxes” (no idea what that last bit entails, not sure I want to) from an unnamed …adult … individual.

Step 3: At some point during the seven-day period, an evil clown jumps out from behind an otherwise innocent object and smashes a birthday cake into the child’s face.

Step 4: Therapy ensues.

(OK…I admit, I made the last one up.  But the rest of it is real.)

Any child who manages to avoid being smacked with a cake “gets the cake as a birthday present.”

Ooo. Cake from a stalker.  Just what I always wanted.

I do have to ask, though: when did stalking become a party game?  Last I checked, children grow up fast enough in this less-than-perfect world.  Do we really have to hasten the process?  On the one hand, it’s probably good news that there are so few pedophilic stalkers in Switzerland that parents have to go out and pay for the privilege, just to ensure their little ones won’t miss out on this vital childhood experience.  On the other…this is one sort of surprise I think we can do without.

For the record, when my parents asked me what I wanted for my birthday, “the feeling that I’m being pursued by a projectile-wielding  maniac” really wasn’t all that high on my list.  In fact, it didn’t make THAT list at all.  Threats, stalking, and unexpected attacks in public generally get filed under “things I’d rather save for never, but thanks for asking.”

According to the company founder, “Kids absolutely love being scared senseless,” and, “It’s all in fun and if, at any point, the kids get scared or their parents are concerned, we stop right there.”  Sorry, I’m calling shenanigans on this one.  Viewed side by side, the problem should be clear.  “We’re here to scare you…until you get scared.”

Of course, that’s probably exactly the message we should expect from Crazy Stalker Clown.

Who, incidentally, is standing right behind you.

April 14, 2010 is official “Be Kind to Lawyers Day.”

In honor of the occasion, and in the interest of everyone’s safety, I’d like to explain a bit about the species.  Otherwise, attempts to show kindness to these particular creatures could end up causing everyone a lot of grief.

When looking for something to show kindness, it’s important to distinguish the common “lawyer” (Legalus litigis) from its more rare cousin, the Attorney (Legalus professionalis).  Unfortunately, they’re virtually indistinguishable from coloration alone.  Base plumage coloration in both species tends to run in the spectrum of black, blue and grey, probably from a desire to blend in with the different varieties of Businessmen (Dollarus ownerus) among whom they seek to camouflage  themselves.

Don’t be fooled by this behavior.  Legalus litigis, in particular, is a dangerous predator and not to be trusted.  Even Legalus professionalis will bite when cornered, or when facing a natural enemy, chief among them the North American Solicitor (Annoyingus maximii).

So, how can you tell the relatively harmless Attorney from the more dangerous variety of Lawyer?  Only time and a willingness to risk your personal health and financial well-being will tell for sure, but here are a few important tips:

1.  The ratio is against you, so approach every one with care.  (Remember: 99% of lawyers give the rest of us a bad name.)

2.  Do not ever, ever try to sell them something.  (Both varieties are known to attack without mercy when annoyed, particularly in their lairs.)

3.  Take a careful look at the creature’s lair.  If it features expensive furnishings, clean surfaces and only a token book or two (which show no signs of real use)…beware.

4.  If you get billed for the time spent explaining how to find the law firm’s bathroom … you’re dealing with a lawyer.  (And we won’t even discuss what the bill means by “legal papers.”)

These tips alone won’t keep you safe.  Not even careful investigation  can do that 100% of the time.  These are wild animals, after all, and sometimes “kindness” is better done hands-off.

But if you can manage to differentiate the species enough to know that you’ve found an Attorney and not a Lawyer, please do be kind to it.

They’re a vanishing breed.

Suddenly, it all becomes so clear.

It’s a cat toy.

Link is safe for work (and kids).  I rarely suggest videos, but this one is pretty entertaining, at least if you’re interested in seeing what the iPad was really designed for.

Tip of the horns, Boingboing.

April 4-10 was official hate week.

I missed it.

I would hate it when that happens, but it’s apparently too late for that now.

As the title suggests…I’m a little preoccupied today.  It originally seemed fitting that I’d pick today to do the taxes – seeing as April 13, 2010 was the originally-scheduled Tax Freedom Day.  But as it happens, certain tax cuts (though not any I noticed impacting my life…) scooted the day up to April 9.

The good news?  You’re no longer working for Uncle Sam.  As of the 9th, you’re earning income for yourself and your family.

The bad news?  He let you keep part of it during the first three months, so you have to keep sending him part of it now.

Off to the salt mines.  I’ll let you know if I find any diamonds – but don’t hold your breath.

Updated:  Work complete!

That doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll have more to say, but at least I’ve got that task done for another year.