The Oregon Humane Society knows we are suckers and so when they sent pictures of this litter of puppies:

we immediately agreed to foster a pair of them for the couple of weeks it’ll take before they’re old enough to go back to the shelter and be adopted.  Right now it is almost certain that Mrs The Fyd is rolling around on the floor with them, the only sound coming from her a high-pitched “SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE”.  I hope Vinnie and Boris don’t die of jealousy.

In other OHS news, my pickup truck has crossed the threshold from crappy but reliable to crappy and a money pit.  So I’ll be donating that to OHS soon.

Haven’t updated in awhile?  Uninspired?  Brain fried by contemplating spreads between Treasury and prime money market funds?  Then there are only two options left; typing in the first ten songs that come up when you shuffle your iPod, or copying in the most recent top search queries for your blog.  I am sure the former would come up all Napalm Death, so here goes the latter:

Society will have crossed another Rubicon if, at the next Apple shareholders’ conference, some investors with an errant notion of disclosure rights demand to know if Steve Jobs has suffered massive diarrhea recently.

That entire ridiculous article should have been edited down to the last paragraph (excluding the last sentence, because it’s none of our business):

Asked whether armchair diagnoses are reasonable or productive, Skarulis replied, “Unfortunately, no. There are so many processes that lead to the final common pathway of weight loss, and the metabolic processes (hormonal and otherwise) that lead to [nutrient breakdown] are complicated. Need more data!”

Tomorrow is Epiphany.  And, perhaps because I’m listening to it right now, but I just had the epiphany that my favorite song is “The 500 Club” by Steel Pole Bath Tub.

The new gadget below left, showing a random sampling from the Library Thing database of the books that I and Mrs The Fyd own, makes me want to visit my own blog just to see what books pop up.   Which, since I could just sit in the basement and randomly pull books off shelves for the same effect, must mean something, in some meaningful way.

In other news, Happy New Year to yiz.

I thought this was more snow than I’d seen in my 20+ years in Stumptown.  Nice to know it’s not observational bias.  Nicer would be if we could get a newspaper delivered.  And here I amagain at work, despite the fact that the company is closed.  At least I didn’t get yelled at by a cop this time.  And at least the newspaper racks are selling today’s paper.

And for those living in their solipsistic nightmares: please don’t bitch at the bus drivers on days like today (or most other days, actually).  They’re obviously doing the best they can.  I walked past two busses stuck in snowdrifts downtown earlier this morning.  There was also a set of tire chains abandoned in the snow on the sidewalk.  I wonder if those were like the chains we bought, supposedly the right size according to the label on the case, but with the habit of popping off when you hit deep snow.

Portland continues its inability to properly cope with snow.  I’ve read that some schools will be closed all week, thus giving the kids an extra week of Christmas vacation.  Fools in 4-wheel drive vehicles think they don’t need to change their driving habits for the snow.  I have yet to remove the chains from the car, despite the roads being clear of snow and ice, because the forecast promises more snow and I don’t want to deal with putting them on again.  It’s all very risible.  But at least we have not yet descended to national ridicule for our response to winter weather, unlike a certain city to the North.

What I like about the recent $50 billion Ponzi scheme, other than the opportunity to make puns, is what it reveals about the due diligence of the rich and stupid.  From a Wall Street Journal article:

Membership rosters at a number of Florida country clubs could be particularly hard hit by Mr. Madoff’s alleged scheme, including Boca Rio Golf Club in Boca Raton and the Palm Beach Country Club in Palm Beach. Members of these clubs helped promote Mr. Madoff’s services to the clubs’ membership, though the clubs themselves weren’t involved, club members said. Having money with Mr. Madoff was a symbol of prestige within these clubs, several members said.

Fucking brilliant.

Today as I got off the bus, I noticed that the time & temperature sign of the KeyBank branch was claiming it to be 40 degrees.  Maybe in Cleveland, but not here.

As I walked along the frigid streets, I said to myself I very much doubted that sign.  The temperature sign on the building where I work told me that it considered us to be enjoying a brisk 15 degrees.  That sounded more like it but once again technology is letting me down.

So I get into work and only then do I find out that yesterday’s snowfall has indeed blown the city’s gasket and the company I work for has closed for the day, along with apparently most of the rest of downtown businesses, given how deserted it was when I got off the bus. That actually doesn’t matter; even if I’d known about the closure I would have come in, as there are some market-dependent things I have to take care of anyway. Mostly I’m disappointed in this response to what was really not all that much snow. I suppose the very cold temperatures make the roads too dangerous for commuting, but more likely it’s an indictment of the moral fibre of my fellow citizens.

What actually pissed me off this morning occurred as I was crossing the street in front of our office building. “The light says don’t walk!” someone shouted behind me. I turned and saw a cop giving me the stink-eye. So I stepped back on the curb and waited beside the cop for the twenty seconds or so until the light changed. There was not a car in sight on any street around us; there weren’t even any other people. And I don’t think he appreciated it when I joked, “I thought when snow fell that there was no law.”