Scene and heard

I don’t usually even bother looking at Spam, but found this one more ridiculous and therefore more interesting than the average Spam.

It comes from someone calling himself continuosities Jacobson with a fake email address of mailto:Ervin_drupiferous@hotmail.com.

Before I paste his email, minus the hyperlink, I have 3 questions:

1. Why do hotmail, yahoo and presumably other providers allow these temporary
addresses? What legitimate reasons might people have for utilising them?

2. If a single person reading this has ever answered such an email, would you please respond to this post with why you did (I’m not asking if you have ED, I’m just curious as to why you would respond to gibberish).

3. If you have ever sent one of these emails, have you had any or much success? ? Did you have more success than when sending emails that actually made sense?

OK. Here goes:


Ereactile Drysfurnctsion Pzreslcrinptioqn ...VIZAGRAVIAGERA Enhabnce Mzen's Pxerflormnanceh

to the Indians, and addressed them
in the most friendly

norant of what can go on in the elegant leisure of a young
lady's mind.

On the eleventh day, however, Lydgate when leaving Stone Court
was requested by Mrs. Vincy

, handsome, black-haired
noncommissioned officer with a bandaged head. He had been wounded in
the head and leg by bullets. Around him, eagerly listening to his
talk, a crowd of wounded and stre

this at first."

"They are lovely," said Dorothea, slipping the ring and bracelet
on her finely turned finger and wrist, and holding them towards
the window on a level with her eyes. All the while her thought
was trying to justify her delight in the colors by merging them
in her mystic religious joy.

"You _would_

Until the 1920’s, bosses really were bosses. Employees worked very long hours for low pay. Along came the unions. It took a while, but across the board, conditions, hours worked and pay all improved.

And so it continued for 4 decades. But something went wrong! They let the power get to them. They didn’t know when to stop demanding more. They weren’t concerned if their demands finally meant the demise of some businesses. Then finally, there was a backlash against hem. It has got so bad, that the majority of people automatically presume that in a dispute between bosses and unions, the union is wrong. In America, and even supposedly liberal New York, the newspapers, sorry to stress the point, even that bastion of ‘liberal’ reporting The New York Times, side against the unions and everyone just believes what they read because hey, everyone knows if it’s in a newspaper it has to be true.

So where are we now? Working hours are increasing rapidly. Pay is increasing slowly. People are scared for their jobs if they don’t do more, more, more. I worked away from home for a short while and it seemed that we were expected to put in 10-11 hours at the office, then go back to the hotel and do more. My boss worked at the weekend and was surprised that I hadn’t. He actually set his alarm one day for 2am so that he could be working by 3. Maybe he’s just a workaholic. Maybe! But I can’t help thinking that if unions hadn’t forgotten their mandate; hadn’t got drunk on power and ultimately committed suicide and almost disappeared, this wouldn’t be happening now. The portion of the pie owned by the rich wouldn’t be the greatest it has been for decades and growing fast; professionals wouldn’t be fearing the sack if they work less than 60 hours a week; huge stores wouldn’t be employing people without benefits and getting away with it.

For all the evolving we Humans have done, the one thing that never changes is our greed. The powerful are always so overcome with it, that they gorge themselves until it kills them. So life continues in cycles. Hopefully, this one won’t last too long. But while people continue to believe what they read in newspapers, with their vested interest in the status quo, things will continue to get worse.

Usually when I go to England, I fly with Virgin Atlantic as they are by just so far, the best airline on the route. But this time I went with Zoom, as they were over $230 cheaper. So it wasn’t as good, but I would do it again. The service is very friendly, the food decent and so what if I wasn’t interested in the movies. On the outbound journey, I was rather spoiled, having been placed in the galley row. Is that what the front row of every section is called? Plenty of legroom there. On the way back, I wasn’t so lucky. There really isn’t much space in the regular rows. When the man in front of me leaned his seat back, it rested against my knees – me of the 29” inside leg! Could Susan be comfortable with her 34” legs? Hmmmm. (That was actually two thoughts I one! :)) It actually got a little worse when the man reached back and gripped the top of his seat, putting the fattest, ugliest fingers I have ever seen within a foot of my face.

My neighbours on the outbound and inbound journeys had something in common. I remember neither of their names, by the way. The guy on the way to London now builds motorbikes and runs a fright company with a fleet of lorries. We swapped driving stories. I mentioned about how inconsiderate taxi drivers are towards bus drivers I Central London, and they guy behind turned out to be a Taxi Driver. He came over and proudly stated that at least once a day, he makes sure that a Bus Driver misses his light: “The highlight of my day!” F#&$er!!

Before he got into haulage, my neighbour was a rally cross driver who rode for Great Britain. My neighbour on the journey back was employed by the Welsh National Opera as a Modern Dance. What do these two professions have I common? Both are prone to serious injury and both lead to early retirement. The young lady I journeyed back with was looking forward to her retirement in 2 years time – at the age of 30.

My journey started with a cab ride from my sister’s place to Gants Hill Underground Station. I switched from the Central Line to the District Line at Mile End, in the heart of cockney East London. While getting on that train, a woman who got up from her seat rather late, gave everyone already getting on very dirty looks. Apparently, we were supposed to know that this was her stop and wait, first for her to stand up, then alight, before we entered!

The next leg was the Gatwick Express train. It’s a great service, if rather expensive. But EVERY announcement they make is repeated in 6 bloody languages! Very nice if you are German or Italian or Spanish or French or I don’t even know what the sixth one was. But irritating when you know these preternaturally happy voices are going to cascade one after the other every time an announcement is made. With how many Russians and Arabs there are living in London, and how many Japanese visit, how long before there are 9 or more languages! Good thing that Indian, African and Dutch people all speak English, or there would be no peace at all on the journey!!

Gatwick is nice now! I hadn’t been there for years. I noticed 2 restaurants and 3 coffee places: Frankie and Benny’s New York Italian Restaurant and Bar had far more people in it than Burger King, and Café Nero and Costa Coffee were more crowded than Starbucks. Quite heartening! Could that ever happen here? I somehow doubt it. From what I can tell, a majority of Americans mistake brand names for quality.

For the last couple of months or so, a constantly running ad had has a cartoon fox claiming that you’d have to be “crazy like a fox” to start your own home based business. 'He' is supported by the obligatory bad actor claiming to have made over a hundred thousand last year and the equally obligatory bobbing-head blonde who put a down payment on a holiday home by working part time. She made FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS yesterday. (Paraphrase of the bottom of the screen small print: 'Results are for illustration only and cannot be guaranteed'. For this, read: 'this commercial is a bald faced lie')

OK. Either, the owners of this crazyfox enterprise are keen to make a tax loss, or there are enough greedy, stupid people in this world to warm the heart of con merchants everywhere. They will get what they deserve. The question is, will they learn?

I took a Martz/Trailways bus from New York to Scranton last Friday, so that I could be there for Susan. I didn’t much feel like listening to music, so I left my iPod in my suitcase, which was loaded into the baggage compartment. If I ever go on another lengthy journey by bus, I will not make the same mistake again.

I was one of the last on the bus, which was packed. Directly behind me, a young woman sat next to a young guy. They were strangers, but talked most of the time when she wasn’t on the phone. Every time the guy had an idea for a new line of conversation, he got louder.

Within minutes of the journey starting, a man sitting across from me started snoring, and didn’t stop until he got off, half an hour from the end of the 3 hour journey. More precisely, he did stop briefly when the baby exercising his lungs was taken into the toilet by his parents. The baby continued crying on and off, loudly enough for me to hear him from 15 rows away. And the young lad behind me continued talking loudly enough for me to hear him from 8 rows away, where I moved when the space opened up.

The iPod wouldn’t have drowned it all out, any more than it drowns out all of the noise on the New York City Subway. But it certainly would have made it less irritating!

The United States ‘Permanent Resident Card’, commonly known as the Green Card, was, until quite recently called the ‘Resident Alien’ card. I always found this highly amusing. Being that 29 of the 30 teams eligible to win the Baseball ‘World Series’ are from the USA, me being an alien seemed confirmation that some people here, apparently the government included, think of America as the world. By definition, therefore, other countries are not of this Earth, so yes, as a Brit, I must surely be an alien.

When my niece Rebecca was about 6 years old, I told her that I was an alien and at first, she didn’t believe me! But when I showed her my card she did believe me. I was told that a few weeks later, she was walking with a couple of her friends, and she said: “Do you believe in aliens? Well I do and I know they exist, because my Uncle’s one!” Apparently, she was very proud when telling her friends this. So cute!

Considering that the elevator in my section of the Braintree Sheraton only has 5 floors, it was certainly taking it’s time coming to the lobby floor. I turned to the couple that arrived just after me, rolling their suitcases:

Me: Never arrive at an elevator hungry.
Southern Couple: Or tired.
Me: They always take longer to come.

Inevitably, it came.

Me: I’ll get in first, as I’m getting out at the top (4th) floor
SC: We’re getting out at the 2nd floor.
Me: (entering lift) Oh! The second floor is already lit! It must have known you were coming!
SC: Must have done!
ME: Actually, the first couple of times I got in this elevator, the 3rd floor was lit and nobody else got on. So it isn’t psychic.
Passer By: (Talking into phone) It is!
Me: (chuckling) Yes it is psychic!

This is one of the declarations that everyone must make when entering this country, whether they are citizens, resident or tourists:

“I am (we are) bringing:

….(c) Disease Agents, Cultures, Snails.”

(b) was “nuts, animals, animal/wildlife products”.

Poor snails! Why are they linked with Disease agents and cultures, and not animals? Escargot, anyone?

Making my way to Passport Control at JFK on Monday, there were 3 women a few yards ahead of me, with nobody else between them and the Customs Officers. That they bypassed walking 50 yards by ducking under two tape barriers, seemed perfectly reasonable to me. But not to the woman ‘keeping order’. She insisted that they duck back to where they started, and then walk around in the prescribed manner. They were sensible enough not to argue. But what a ridiculous woman! I wonder if she felt powerful pushing these people from 1st to perhaps 8th in line as punishment for their terrible transgression! Pathetic!!

I bought a 16 oz bottle of Dole Orange Juice. Or, as it proudly proclaims at the top of the label, 100% Orange Juice. Towards the bottom of the label, in much larger writing, this claim is shortened to 100% Juice. Immediately below it, in very small writing, is the following: “From concentrate with other natural flavors”.

So, the juice part is 100% Orange, but there’s other stuff in it! If I had the time during the workday, I would call Dole to determine their definition of pure juice and if all 16 ounces don’t have to be actual juice. I’m sure they’ve had lawyers looking into whether their semantic mischief is legal. If it is, it would be more proof that the law can certainly be an ass.

I had hardly arrived back from my holiday in England (more entries to follow), when I had to head out for a new work assignment in Boston.

The Flight Attendant gave instructions to the people in row 8 of our little plane, this being where the over-wing emergency exits were located. “You should be able to take instructions; you should be able bodied; you” she broke off; looked to her right, then at the sign a little to her left, reading it, “should not get distracted”.

Classic!

On Monday, October 1st, I went to visit my old friend Pinchos, formerly Tony. We came from similar families, but as I continued as a Secular Jew, he became Orthodox and joined the Lubavitch. Our friendship has remained strong and I love going round to his house, full of loud, usually happy playing kids – he has 11, aged from 3 to 17. Eeek!!

After spending time in his home, telling stories to and playing with his kids, and talking with him in his Succah, I went off to the Tottenham Hotspur 125th Birthday match with Aston Villa. It was wonderful seeing so many of my old heroes, dating back to the 1960’s – brought tears to my eyes and cheers and clapping mingled while tens of thousands of flags were waved – there was one at each seat.

The match itself left me hoarse! There was tremendous pressure from Spurs as we were so clearly the better team. But I liken Spurs to everyone’s favourite uncle; the one who slips kids a fiver or tenner while the parents aren’t looking. And from a position of superior play, the defence contrived so that we went in 3-1 down at half time. We were 4-1 down before a rousing comeback that had almost everyone in the crowd ecstatic and hugging complete strangers.

The half time chant came from Aston Villa fans. They were singing Happy Birthday Tottenham Hotspur. Yes, we were very giving birthday boys. The full time chant came from Spurs: “4-1, and you fvcked it up”, repeated over and again to the tune of The Pet Shop Boys song, Go West.