The Post's hideous new PBPulse is DOA. (And if we're lucky, it'll stay that way.)

What's more embarrassing that rolling out a brand new website and having readers complain about the excessive use of animation and graphics?

Having that website collapse from trying to serve out its excessive animation and graphics in less than 24 hours:



Do you see the gaping flaw in the logic? If it were traffic causing the problem, then that same traffic should be swamping out the "lite" version of the site. When websites are inundated by traffic, the only solution is increasing the available bandwidth; adding servers.

But the Post webmaster fixed the real problem - the horribly cludgy graphics-intensive web page. He dumped the loathsome slick package for something simple and lo and behold, everything is fine.

As you some of you may know, I maintain a blog about the local theatre scene. That means I read all the major dailies, looking for their reviews or promo pieces. I can't even tell you if there's a place for theatre news and reviews in the lifeless "PBPulse." Stories seem to be haphazardly slapped across the page, with no rhyme or reason. The only theater story shown was from last year - and it was about a show in New York City.

Frankly, if I want to know about shows on Broadway, I'll read the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal. When I read the Post - and the Sun-Sentinel, and the Shiny Sheet, and the Herald - I'm doing it to find out what's going on around me. I don't actually give a rat's ass about what's playing in NYC. I can't afford to go there to see shows.

Even the Post's own site map has been reduced to useless garbage by this half-witted "upgrade." A newspaper that prevents you from reading the stories in it is an exceptionally useless endeavor.

In fact, this lame excuse for the Entertainment section seems to be emulating People Magazine. Now, that's all well and good, but for celebrity gossip, I'll go to People.com. And so will everyone else.

What we need from the Post is Palm Beach - and South Florida - news.

Dump the "Pulse," and whatever dimwitted moron thought it was a good idea to roll out untried technology on a huge festival weekend, put back the old site, and cover more local news.

Remember My Stolen Car?

I sure do. It was a sweet ride; a '97 Honda Accord Special Edition. Custom wheels, sunroof, dual airbags, ABS, power everything.

It looked exactly like this:

Sweet, huh?

As you may recall, I discovered the theft the day before Thanksgiving, 2007. I walked out to discover an empty space.

The reason I bring this up is that this morning the Miami-Dade Police called to tell me that my car has been found.

All I could get out of them is that it had been called in by a security guard who found it "on the property." That it "appeared abandoned" and "had been stripped of VIN and tag." What kind of condition is it in? "We don't know."

I called the towing company that had the car, and asked the same question. "You'll have to come down and see, I dunno."

So I drove to Hialeah, to see what kind of condition it was in. I figured that the wheels had been stripped, and of course the stereo, but held a dim hope that maybe it was salvageable and I could get rid of the Last Chevy I Will Ever Own.

I was sorting through scenarios in my head:
- if they'd taken the wheels, I'd probably have to have brake work done, too, and maybe an exhaust system if it had been dragged onto a flat bed. But that would be totally worth the investment.
- if they'd stripped the seats, I'd have to make some calls to see what replacements would cost, but if the drive train was intact, it might still be worth it.
- of course, if the thing had been picked clean, I'd just scrap it. It's probably been picked over pretty good, I figure.


So, this is what I found:

Ouch! I walked to the other side:

I can't decide if they played "destruction derby" with it, or if they just rammed into something as hard as they could.

But the fuckers probably walked away from it:

Other than the radio and the spare/jack, every part of the car appeared to be there, more or less. The trunk and glove compartment were spotless. But from the rust, they probably wrecked it shortly after they took it from me.

If you'll recall, I was only insured for liability, so I had to replace the car out of my pocket.

So I asked the guy behind the window if I could just sign it over for scrap, since it's never going to be a car again.

"Well, ya still have to pay what you owe on it."

Insult on top of my injury; I owe $265 to the towing company. For a car that's a total loss.

I sigh, and pull out my wallet.

"You'll need the title."

The title was in the glove compartment, so before I can even do that, I have to get a duplicate title.

I have to spend money to get a duplicate title so I can pay them $265 to scrap my stolen car.

[BLEEP]!!!

Here's the thing: the bastards who stole it could have sold it to a chop shop, and I'd have ended up with carcass, but at least these fuckers would have made money off the deal. I'd still be totally screwed, but it would have made some kind of sense.

They just trashed the damned thing for kicks.

And if that weren't bad enough, I'm left driving a fucking Chevrolet.

Swine Flu & Deja Vu..

Swine flu? Didn't I already survive the swine flu epidemic?

I seem to recall....

OF course! How could I forget? But even that commercial seems to remind me of something...earlier.....