Ventings

52 years ago, on March 17, 1956, two young, healthy humans, freshly-married only two months before, went to a St. Patrick’s Day party. Afterwards, slightly tipsy and not-so-slightly horny, they went home and conceived a child who would grow up to be at a keyboard 52 years later to type these words.

“Went home and conceived a child.” That sounds so clinical, so Biblical. They went home and did the hunka-chunka, the horizontal Mambo, and became the Beast with Two Backs. Knowing my parents, it was probably a wild and crazy boinkfest, one that culminated in a lot of muscle contractions, screaming, stretching and emerging the following December.

Not all people know the day of their conception. I do, and I revel in it. Every March 17, I call my parents and wish them Happy Conception Day. Mom usually gets flustered and Dad laughs and joins in the joke.

Dad is a veteran of WW-II and the Korean Conflict. He suffered a number of injuries during his service, including a few while diving for cover, exposing regions of his body that when damaged, would not allow him to father children, or so said the Army medics; two children later, he was pretty well justified in giving the finger to that dire medical prediction.

Happy Conception Day, Mom and Dad. Thanks for making me possible.

Sent to me by a friend back East…

ELECTILE DYSFUNCTION: the inability to become aroused over any of the choices for President put forth by any party in the 2008 election year.

The Republicans are dropping like flies or are not actively campaigning other than via “Blair Witch” Internet hype. Bill Clinton, good little dog that he is, is nipping at the heels of Barack Obama, diverting him from doing a full frontal barrage on Hillary. Cackling Hillary is being all things to all people, is obviously supported by various media outlets and makes me want to move to some place more sane, such as Darfur.

WTF? When did I cross over to Bizarro World?

We need a Viagra Candidate, one who makes us all politically erect and ready to drive deep into the problems we face as a country. Someone who can make us come once and then come again to our senses. Someone who can plant their seed of hope in our quivering expectations.

We need a Harry S. Truman-Kennedy-Reagan to stop the buck, take us to Mars in nine years and not take shit from anyone. None of our current candidates come close to that ideal, or even know its zip code.

Sigh….

Yes, pwned.  It’s a video gaming term meaning total and complete vanquishment of your opponent, or at least total domination over them in a game.

I’m usually the Bird Keeper in our home. My wife is physically disabled and while not un-able to care for the birds, the physical exertion of the process makes it a multi-hour, exhausting task for her.

This past week, I took a five-day “vacation” to visit friends and family in the Portland, Oregon and Vancouver, Washington areas. Unable to get the services of our normal bird helpers, my wife had to take on the task of daily care and feeding of our flock. It was difficult, but she got the job done.

Of course for the parrots, this was a Golden Opportunity: my wife was a totally new human playground to manipulate and abuse.  The small birds (‘tiels and Indian Ringnecks) were pretty well-behaved, as were our macaws who were already familiar with Mom.

My African Grey hates my wife like grim death, so their relationship was a known quantity from the beginning. Our male Blue Front Amazon loves her, so no problems there. My flock of four, young sibling Amazons were sure she was there to beat them and eat them, but calmed down after a few days of getting food from the new Monkey Girl.

Pandora, our Umbrella Cockatoo, was a good girl…until today.

I returned from my trip in the wee hours of the morning today. My wife volunteered to take care of the morning feeding so I could sleep in before going to work. Two hours into my workday, I got a frantic phone call from home. Pandora was at the bottom of her cage, panting, with one leg stuck out to the side. When my wife wrapped her hands around her to pick her up, she didn’t fight and just turned into a giant bag of meat and bones. When she finally perched, Pandora moved in slow-motion and acted as though she had suffered some kind of painful brain infarct. She would not eat nor drink and could only pant and sit nearly motionless.

When my wife called back to report that Pandora was open-mouth breathing and hardly able to move, I rushed home expecting to find a bird staring into The Light, ready to hop across the Rainbow Bridge.

What I found was a very horny cockatoo.

She was soliciting and submitting to the touch of my wife. When I came into the house, the cockatoo perked right up and became Normal ‘Too instantly. When offered food, she ate voraciously. When handled by me, she bounced and played as I would expect from a healthy bird. When held by my wife, she became a squishy love sponge.

Thinking Pandora was about to slip the surly bonds of Earth, my wife held her, comforted her, and played right into her hands…errr, feet. Once Dad was on the scene, life went back to normal because Dad knew this game and wouldn’t play.

While mom was relieved Pandora was OK and not taking her last rattling breaths, she was also pretty pissed off that she had been taken in by psittacine wiles.

I wonder if that technique would work for me?  “Kaff, kaff…oh, my strength is fading fast…I’m so cold…I see a bright light…there’s grandma and grandpa…hold me…no, not like that, like this…no, hold me HERE…”

It’s a sad day for me today because a friend I never met died this morning. Alex was fine yesterday and was found dead this morning of unknown causes.

I’ve followed the story of Alex for years. I even met his research partner, Dr. Irene Pepperberg, at a conference in San Diego years ago. Together and with research assistants, Alex and Dr. Pepperberg broke new ground in the the areas of cognitive processing and learning. Some of their research has been applied in cases of autistic and learning-deficit children.

Alex was a prodigy and held a special place in the various universities and labs in which he worked and sometimes lived. He was involved in much of Dr. Pepperberg’s research and was integral in determining which of the rotating flock of graduate students got to join the team; if Alex did not like them, he simply turned his back to them and their future with the team was in grave doubt.

Over the years, Alex learned to differentiate between different colors, different shapes, and different materials of objects offered to him. When two red objects of different shapes were offered to Alex and he was asked “Alex, what different?” Alex would respond “Shape.” If two plastic keys of different color were offered to Alex and he was asked “Alex, what different?” he would respond “Color.” When then asked “What color red?” Alex would select the red object. When asked “What different?” when offered a cloth square and a wooden square, Alex would respond “Matter.”

Alex could also understand the abstract concept of numbers. He not only knew that six objects on the table meant “6″ but he also demonstrated that the numeral 6 meant “6″ as well. He stunned his research partners on day recently when he demonstrated the concept of “zero” without any previous training on the subject. A mistaken quantitative question about a missing object got the answer “none” and the researcher had to lift their jaw from the floor. Alex had learned the word from earlier research as a way of indicating “lack of information” and then applied it in a new way.

Language was Alex’s forte. He invented his own words for things in his world. “Banerry” was his word for an apple, which to him was beige on the inside like a banana, but red on the outside like a cherry. “Corknut” was his name for almonds. “Biwi” was the name he applied to another member of the research team who was named something else entirely.

Alex, the remarkable African Grey parrot, was special in these ways and more. He was a nondescript member of his species who hooked-up with Dr. Irene Pepperberg years ago to become both teacher and student.

None of us gets out of here alive, and that goes for parrots, too. I just wish we had more time with Alex to learn more about learning. I never met you, old bird, but I miss you greatly nonetheless.

My thoughts are with Dr. Pepperberg and the entire research team who worked with Alex and continue to work with the other parrot research partners. I am sorry for your loss and can offer no other words of solace than to say Alex will always be with us, in out hearts and memories.

What do you call a company that has a well-endowed web site and gladly takes your money for merchandise, and then, after they send the wrong items, refuses to answer their phone or respond to multiple e-mails?

In my opinion, such a company is either horribly understaffed and disorganized, or they are crooked scam artists, and I’m leaning toward the latter.

I recently discovered that my old microphone doesn’t work worth a damn on my brand new Dell XPS 600 with a SoundBlaster Audigy ZS card. I found out that I needed either a pre-amped microphone, or a USB microphone.

I did some research and settled on a Samson C01U mic. I did some more research and found a vendor with a good price for the mic as part of a whole podcasting kit complete with mic stand, shock mount, and pop filter. Then I discovered the same kit with the newer Samson C03U mic, so that’s what I finally ordered from Skilex.com.

When the box arrived, I eagerly opened it and removed all the wonderful new geekware. Much to my surprise, even though I had ordered the C03U model (and more importantly, paid for the more expensive C03U model), Skilex had sent the C01U model instead.

I tried to call the phone number listed prominently on their web site, only to get a message that “all mailboxes are full.” Over the course of a week, I sent multiple e-mails to their support, sales, and webmaster addresses, hoping for a response from someone. All I got was silence.

Being a smart consumer, I had used a credit card in the transaction, so I disputed the charge and am waiting for the bank to research the dispute. Perhaps they have a magic phone number with which to contact the vendor.

The issue is currently unresolved to my satisfaction, and I have a box full of interesting audio gear that I’m not going to use until I get what I paid for, or are credited for the cheaper model received. Until then, I’m going to publicly slam Skilex “Professional” Audio & Video in as many web locations as I can, in hopes of finally getting some attention, and in hopes of making other consumers shy away from this potentially crooked company.

Remember the name: Skilex Professional Audio & Video, www.skilex.com — save the time and aggravation and spend your money elsewhere.