Make Friends, Loved Ones Soil Their Pants

A popular scary prank to play on friends and family are these so-called observational things in which you're supposed to stare at something on a screen, only to have some horrific image suddenly pop up, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream.
I've been gotten twice by these things, but I got one via e-mail today that I knew right away was one of these seat-soiling pranks.
Of course, I feel obligated to pass it on. If you've got others, pass 'em along. I'll add as I get 'em.

For the one, set up the victim by explaining that there are 3 differences in the two photos. It helps to tell the victim you only got two, and that brings out the competitive spirit in them and makes them concentrate harder, thereby making the surprise more shocking:

http://members.home.nl/saen/Special/Zoeken.swf

On this one, you tell the victim that this is a car ad, and during the shooting a mysterious vapor, believed to be a ghost, can be seen near the car at one point. This gets their concentration powers flowing, and then AAAAAHHH!!!

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-7481791789247956765

Here's a sick one involving Steve Irwin:

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=1945368730233675374

A very nice piece of prankery involving an alleged color test:

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/vision.php

Here's a whole collection of other ones:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_computer_pranks

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Clarifying The Firefighter Pay Story

Beaumont firefighters lately have gone to the mattresses over their pay.
Their persistence, energy and camaraderie has been admirable. They're passionate about their dangerous work and want to be fairly compensated.
But in some cases it has gone too far, such as when our City Hall reporter got bullied at a meeting, with some firefighters apparently mouthing obscenities regarding her, according to the reporter. They've also been diligent about flooding message boards with their cause.
At least it's just a word war. Decades ago, union fights over pay and benefits often ended in bloodshed and even death.
Firefighters last week won the fight, with a judge upholding an arbitrator's ruling that the city give firefighters an annual 9 percent pay increase for three years.
Under state law, the city is required to pay the firefighters what they would make in the private sector, meaning local refineries, chemical plants and other industries.
From a legal standpoint, the firefighters are on granite, although there are questions over whether their jobs really compare to their industrial counterparts.
On Sunday, the Enterprise wrote a story comparing their salaries - and their pay in three years - to what their counterparts make in similar-sized Texas cities and even pricey New York City.
Compared to the other Texas cities, Beaumont pay now ranks just off the middle of the pack. In three years, they'll be No. 1 almost across the board, and the pay will rival that made by some New York City firefighters.
While some are accusing the Enterprise of taking sides or being negative toward firefighters, that is certainly not the case. Our objective is to present readers with the facts.
Why wouldn't taxpayers want to know how firefighter pay here stacks up?
Where one wheel of the Sunday story fell off the tracks was comparing Beaumont annual pay against New York City annual pay. I should have caught that when editing the story.
As we always do with unclear or incorrect information, we're clarifying the story in tomorrow's newspaper, and the information speaks for itself:

A story on page 1A Sunday comparing the new arbitrated salaries of Beaumont firefighters to those in other cities should have pointed out that New York city firefighters work a 40-hour week. The story compared annual base salaries of the two departments. Because Beaumont firefighters work a 48-hour week, a more accurate comparison would be of hourly wages. Under an annual pay increase of 9 percent for three years, Beaumont firefighters would make more than their FDNY counterparts with fewer than 5½ years experience.
The regular hourly wage for starting New York firefighters is $15.72, compared to the $16.03 Beaumont firefighters would receive. Firefighters with 3-5 years experience make $21.20 to $22.53 an hour in New York, compared to an expected $23.14 an hour in Beaumont. Once New York firefighters have more than 5 years’ experience, they earn $30.44 an hour, surpassing the $23.63 an hour Beaumont firefighters would receive.
The story’s conclusion that Beaumont’s firefighters earn more than New York’s for their first five years was correct, but the difference was not as great as the annual salaries suggested.

SOLD!

It actually happened. The old house sold today.
Of course, there were more last-minute realty pyrotechnics.
We signed the closing papers at 1:30 p.m. today. The buyers' appointment was set for 2:15 p.m.
I thought about engaging in a stakeout to make sure they showed up, but I thought better of it.
Sure enough, at 4 p.m., we hadn't heard a word, so I called my realtor, who told me that a snag had occurred.
I'm not sure of the details, but it involved some panicked bank-to-bank money transfers to get the cashier's check needed to make the closing costs.
The realtor said the buyers had left the bank 20 minutes earlier and were en route to the title company.
An hour later, I got the word that the house had sold.
They're getting a great house, too, and I wish them the best and hope they love it as we did.
We brought our two babies home to that house. They spoke their first words and took their first steps in that house. Knee-high crape myrtles now tower 15 feet tall. A million leaves raked; a billion grass blades cut.
Lots of special moments and great times.
But damn, I'm sure glad to be rid of that %$^%$#@!!!!

Corrected. Inspected. Neglected. Rejected. Dejected.

After this past year of craziness, which I've blogged incessantly about, I thought we were within spitting distance of selling our old house without any more mind-numbing obstacles.
Of course, that would not be the Pearson way.
So on Friday, my realtor calls in a panic, saying the buyers can't get insurance because there is no wind storm inspection report filed with the state.
I felt my ears burning, much like they burned when I couldn't get my FEMA money, much like they burned during the hassles of getting my home repaired, much like they burned when we moved into a house with far too many hidden surprises.
With closing set for Tuesday, I had seen the light at the end of the double-mortgage cave, only to see a boulder fall and block the exit at last minute.
Without the inspection, the buyers couldn't get insurance. And without insurance, the buyers simply couldn't buy. And the contract expires tomorrow.
I'd never received the papers on the windstorm inspection after last year's roof repairs. The contractor assured me several times that it had been done, and I should have followed up on that, gotten the paperwork and made sure that it had been filed with the state.
Also, I was ignorant about it factoring into the home sale.
With my stomach in a knot, I desperately tried to call the contractor. He didn't answer his cell or home phone numbers.
So I went to his house. His daughter answered the door.
"WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS?" I asked.
"Mexico," she said.

< : - 0

I managed to get her mother's cell phone and contact the contractor in Mexico. Again, he assured me that the inspection had taken place, and all was well. However, he didn't have the inspector's contract information handy and said it would have to wait until Monday.
But with the Tuesday closing date looming, I could not wait.
Luckily, I managed to find an inspector who could check the roof today, and he came out bright and early.
And he found a problem.
Apparently, at least in Jefferson County, roofers are required to glue down the shingles along the roof's edge. The rest of the roof was not only fine but had six nails, instead of the required four, per shingle, which is a great thing. It's a sturdy roof.
However, no glue, no inspection pass.
Mercifully, the contractor was back in town and answering his cell phone. He said he would send a crew immediately to take care of the roof. Then the roof can pass inspection, the insurance company can get its paperwork, the buyers can get their insurance, and I can get this residential monkey off my back.
However, I'm fully prepared for more disaster and mayhem in the next 26 hours leading up to the closing time.
After all, that is the Pearson way.

Walking Into A Story

The incessant pounding of rain all day yesterday and overnight had already ensured a busy news day, with the downpour conjuring images of Tropical Storm Allison five years ago.
Nevertheless, I managed to get my son, Curt, to school without a problem today, and the fact that school buses were out told me that the district was running on schedule.
I should have turned on the radio.
When I got to China Elementary School, the parking lot was almost empty, and the lights were out in Curt's class. We got into the school and were told to head to the office, where we found dozens of elementary school children huddled in a hallway.
Apparently, one tornado had swept by earlier in the morning, and another one was believed to be on its way.
Soon, the hallways were full of junior high and high schoolers as well. Hardin-Jefferson bus drivers picking up kids in China were instructed to take them straight to the elementary school, which would serve as a shelter until the tornado threat passed.
Curt didn't seem to understand the disruption in his schedule, but he seemed to enjoy, rather than feel anxious about, the excitement.
Making a quick call to The Enterprise newsroom, I learned that China had become Ground Zero for breaking news. A tornado had nailed a nearby subdivision.
So I became rather torn. I didn't want to just leave my son and go, but I also felt compelled to do something while being in the story's center.
With Curt my shadow, I swiped a notepad and pen out of the library (the librarian said it was OK) and started interviewing the principal and writing down observations about what was going on at the school.
Soon, the tornado danger had passed, so I left Curt with his teachers and took off to check out twister damage and do some reporting, seeing as I was already there.
The scene along Westbury Road was kind of like Hurricane Rita Light. Metal roofing material lay scattered in fields. Toys and other items were strewn in yards. Power lines were down.
One house had a collapsed roof, and down the street, the tornado had picked up a children's play fort and tossed into a back bedroom.
Tornado power certainly is impressive. I've covered many a tornado aftermath, and twisters never fail to amaze. I've seen homes reduced to a clean concrete slab, with no evidence of the building anywhere in sight. I've seen refrigerator parts lodged so deep into trees that they can't be pulled out by hand.
By comparison, the damage along Westbury Road was minor. No one was hurt, based on the latest reports, and no houses were obliterated.
But I learned a valuable lesson: Next time I'm either going online, flicking on the TV or listening to the radio before I set out into another one of these Southeast Texas rain and wind festivals.

Goofy Stuff In The Mail

A newspaper, particularly one the size of The Beaumont Enterprise, receives a tremendous amount of mail.
Hundreds of letters, packages, news releases, boxes and whatnot pour into the newsroom weekly. Some of it is useful. Most of it is not. But we look at every bit of it to make sure we're not missing an important meeting or event.
I get lots of letters, at least three a week, from prison inmates, claiming their innocence, complaining about prison life or just penning bizarre thoughts. One frequent inmate writer claims the prison is using some kind of machine to alter his thoughts and force him to do naughty things behind bars.
Occasionally, we'll follow up on an inmate letter, asking investigators about a case, but in every instance so far, the person appears to be overwhelmingly guilty. The letter then goes right into the trash.
A quick look at today's mail reveals the usual oddities.
I got a postcard from California promoting National Punctuation Day. However, the day of celebration was supposed to be Sept. 24, almost three weeks ago. Perhaps they should focus more on punctual than punctuation. Or maybe proper punctuation should be a year-round thing.
Not one but three invitations to the grand re-opening of a local hotel found their way into my mail inbox. One of the invitations was addressed to me. A second was addressed to a reporter who left the paper years ago, and the third was addressed to an editor who passed away years ago.
This kind of bombardment underscores how much paper - and money - gets wasted on a daily basis.
I also received a big package from the Association to Advance Collegiate Schools of Business. Included was some kind of magazine with a lot of thickly worded stuff that I'm not going to bother to read. I'm certain other editors out there won't give it a thorough read, either.
Other inbox items included: a flyer from the Wisconsin Center for Education Research, a quarterly from the College of the Ozarks, a slick magazine from Tyler Junior College, a news release from The Council of Insurance Agents and Brokers and something from the Equity Center in Austin.
Not one of those things had any kind of local tie, as far as I could tell. Considering the cost of print and postage, why did they even bother?
I did receive two useful items: a board meeting agenda for the Jefferson County Drainage District No. 6 and an NAACP news release touting a national plan to reduce high school dropouts.
The drainage district agenda might have an item regarding two things people care about around here: property taxes and drainage. As for the latter, it gave me a story idea about high school dropouts.
So two things out of the 2-inch-thick stack of mail panned out.
If nothing else, the mail has a better batting average than my e-mail inbox, unless you count correspondence regarding African money scams, mindless politicking and medical miracles that can enhance certain body parts.

Friday Night Frights

I was really looking forward to taking the two boys to their first football game. I didn't want to risk the time and expense of going to a pro or college game, so I figured a small-town football game would be the best place to start.
So weeks ago I picked out this past Friday on the calendar, when the Hardin-Jefferson High School Hawks were slated to play their homecoming game.
We'd talked it up all week, so the boys were really looking forward to going.
What we didn't expect is that the boys also were really looking forward to playing.
That's right. Playing.
We got to the stadium well before kickoff and found a seat, but Curt, 4, was bouncing around so much that I decided to take him down on the track and find ways for him to burn off energy.
On the field, there was a blow-up tunnel filled with lights and fake smoke, so the players could make a grand, spectacular entrace. Near the exit, a bunch of kids had formed lines for the players to run by.
And that's where I took Curt. He ran around with the other kids but sat in my lap when the players came out, because he was concerned about being trampled.
With the players on the field, we tried to head back to the seats, but Curt wanted to go the other way. He wanted to play.
I managed to prevail and get him back to the stands to join his mom and younger brother, but he became so unruly that we had to go back down to the track, where the two now-very-fussy kids fought to get on the field and play.
Finally, with halftime approaching, we threw in the towel, got the kids out of there and treated them to some Dairy Queen ice cream.
I might try again later this season, but for now, a trip to an Aggie or Texans game is nowhere near being in the cards.

Weekend Sports Disasters

At least once about this time of year, all my favorite teams go down in flames over the weekend.
It started Friday, when my newly adopted high school football team, the Hardin-Jefferson Hawks, lost yet another squeaker, this time to Bridge City.
I root for the Hawks because that's the sole high school for the school district in which I live. I haven't been able to root for my high school alma mater, Westchester High School in Houston, because the evil Spring Branch school board closed it in 1995.
The Houston Astros, for whom I committed my loyalty in the late 1960s, went into Friday only a half game out of first place. It was a remarkable late-season run, winning game after game while the division-leading St. Louis Cardinals kept losing game after game in what sports experts were saying could be the greatest meltdown in baseball history.
However, the Astros lost Friday, and the Cardinals won, so that put my team 1.5 games out going into Saturday, when both the Astros and Cardinals won.
So it boiled down to Sunday. An Astros win and a Cardinals loss would have forced the Cardinals to play a makeup game with the San Francisco Giants. A Cardinals win over the Giants would have given them the pennant, while a loss would have forced a one-game playoff with the Astros.
It was an exciting prospect, but the Astros lost. The Cardinals lost, too, but it didn't matter.
Another sports heartbreaker came Saturday, when the Texas A&M Aggies, my favorite of all sports teams, narrowly lost to the Texas Tech Red Raiders thanks to one of those last-minute, white-knuckle offensive drives ending in a bomb to a receiver in the end zone.
I've seen this too many times before when the Aggies play the Red Raiders, and this loss particularly hurt, because the Aggies were undefeated and had such high hopes for a successful season.
But at least there is still plenty of football ahead for the Aggies.
On Sunday, the Houston Texans, for whom I have luke-warm loyalty, won their first game, which was nice but didn't make up for the combined pain of the Hawks, Aggies and Astros losses.
Going into Monday Night Football, my fantasy football team is down 20 points, with my hopes pinned on Donovan McNabb of the Eagles and Donald Driver of the Packers. My opponent has wide receiver Reggie Brown of the Eagles. That means that every time McNabb throws to Brown, it's points for both sides. However, quarterbacks get only 1 point per 25 yards throwing and 4 points per touchdown, while a receiver gets 1 point per 10 yards and 6 points per touchdown.
That means McNabb throwing passes to Brown actually hurts me.
Either one of my players could score 20 fantasy points in a game, but after a weekend of endless sports disappointments, I fully expect my fantasy team to follow suit.
Oh well, I guess there's always next weekend.