Win453 error

Is your computer experiencing an error with Win453 while trying to shut down?  Have you recently installed a Defender Pro Security program?  If you answered yes, the problem is not any kind of spyware or malware.  There is a problem with the Defender Pro program that renders Win453 incapable of automatically shutting down along with your computer.

   After contacting Defender Pro, they informed me that they are aware of the issue and are currently investigating it.  The error seems to be limited to the program’s interaction with the Windows XP operating system.  However, the error message is the only negative effect.  It does not indicate the presence of a virus.

   

   How do you deal with the error while waiting for the issue to be solved?  When the message pops up, simply click the End Now or End Task button.  In most cases, this is all that needs to be done.  In other cases, it may be necessary to exit the Defender Pro Security program before attempting to shut down your computer.  To do this, locate the Defender Pro icon on the system tray next to the clock in the taskbar.  Then, right-click the icon and select the option to exit Defender Pro.

UPDATE!!!!! -WIN453 ERROR FIXED FINALLY!  GO TO DEFENDER-PRO WEBSITE  http://defender-pro.com/support-1/win-453-error-fix/

Hackers Rape Union Bank of Chandler

Union Bank of Chandler got off to a rough start this morning.  Hackers managed to get into their system and steal vital customer information.  One employee from the Oklahoma bank stated that card numbers and expiration dates were stolen and new cards would have to be issued.

 

The employee also stated that the problem was nationwide.  To my knowledge, there are only two Union Banks; one in Chandler and one in Tulsa, OK.  It seems that the problem has been halted for now.  Unfortunately, customers will be waiting ten business days to receive new cards.

 

 

How to Stump Pro-Choice Advocates with One Question

Question:  Are you more human than a fetus?

Answer:  Scientifically, the fetus is more human than you.

Explanation:

Scientifically, a fetus is a living thing at any stage and it is very much human.  In fact, a fetus is FAR MORE HUMAN THAN YOU.  The womb is actually the only place and time in a human being’s life when they are completely human.  Only about 10% of an adult’s cells are human.  The rest of you is comprised of bacteria and microrganisms called “flora” (look it up) that inhabit the body after birth.

The microrganisms can be beneficial or harmful.  That’s why doctors recommend breastmilk over formula.  The first bacteria the baby is exposed to is vitally important because it determines what types of bacteria will inhabit the body for the rest of the person’s life.  In fact, the bacteria cells will soon outnumber the baby’s human cells 10 to 1.

RAPE is horrible.  But pregnant women CANNOT DENY that the fetus inside them is alive and is more human than they are.  They have rights.

YES; I do believe abortion is the killing of an innocent human life.  NO; It is not murder simply because THEY KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO.

No Such Thing as Indian Blood

How dare the Federal Government!  I’m not a Native American but this is disturbing.  Every identification card issued by the Department of the Interior to Native Americans has a number, a measurement, a percentage that tells how much Indian blood each individual has.  There is no such thing as Indian blood!

            The blood in their bodies is no different from anyone else’s blood!  It is all transferable.  White people can get a blood transfusion from an Indian and Indians can get blood from a white person.  For the Department of the Interior to say there is something in their blood that makes them different is wrong!  It is a harmful form of stereotyping and, coming from the government, it is a degrading measurement.

            In fact, if you are a member of one of the hundreds of Indian tribes and nations that have not made a treaty with the federal government, they will not even acknowledge you as Indian.  Please understand that I only use the term “Indian” so that this disgrace can be explained.  I clarify this because labeling a group of people with a single term, such as “Indian,” can be a form of hurtful stereotyping as well.

            As I said, if you don’t have a federally issued card saying you carry a certain percentage of federally recognized Indian blood, the government does not consider you an Indian.  So what happens to those who aren’t federally recognized?  Are they still Indians?  Of course they are.  They don’t care what the government says and you shouldn’t either.

            There are over 50 definitions for the word “Indian” and each one was created by institutions.  According to the federal government’s definition, Indians are people who must be members of one of the federally recognized tribes or nations.  Since only 39 tribes and nations have signed treaties with the government, they only recognize 39 out of the hundreds that actually exist.  And, full-blood or not, it’s the exact same blood that runs through all of our veins.

*Special Thanks to Bob Fields.

An Admittedly One-Sided Look At Slobodan Milosevic

Fully understanding the history of Yugoslavia is a task that few could ever hope to achieve.  Some parts of its history are more well-known than others.  Perhaps no single person is more recognized or has had a greater impact on Yugoslavia than Slobodan Milosevic.  Milosevic was the Serbian leader who is known, mostly, for having presided over the violent erosion of what was once known as Yugoslavia.  This is a closer look at the man, the positions he took, the decisions he made, and his never-ending impact on the world.

            Stanislava, a schoolmistress, gave birth to Milosevic in 1941.  This, of course, was during the Second World War.  He lived in a tiny town called Pozarevac in central Serbia.  While his father was a deacon in the Orthodox Church, his mother became proudly supportive of Tito’s Communists and their fight against the Germans.  His parents did not stay together long, however.  They separated while Milosevic and his brother were still very young.  Perhaps the most difficult thing for Milosevic was the fact that both of his parents eventually committed suicide; first his father, then his mother (Tanner 36).

            A great deal of assumptions can be made as to the state of his psychological well-being given such a childhood.  The lack of care and parenting he received likely created the hardened emotional qualities that are present in so many natural leaders.  His leadership qualities would eventually gain him fame and prestige.  Unfortunately, the respect he built for himself as a leader would not last.  His upbringing made him who he was and, no doubt, influenced the decisions he made.  The world will not remember him for the wise choices he made, however, for the many terrible actions he took as President of Serbia greatly over-shadow the good.

            In 1965, Milosevic married Mirjana Markovic.  Milosevic found comfort in Mirjana’s company.  Mirjana had been his friend since childhood.  Her childhood was nearly as sad as his own.  Her mother was a Partisan and lost her life to a gunshot wound in 1942.  Mirjana was then raised by her aunt, one of Tito’s confidantes.  This made Mirjana part of “the new class.”  She was associated with the blessed Communist Zlite (Tanner 36).

            Mirjana Markovic, however, was not the only influential connection Milosevic had with the Communist Zlite.  He became increasingly close to Ivan Stambolic.  Stambolic, like Mirjana, was also a child of the Communist Zlite.  Stambolic was becoming ever more popular among the ranks of the Zlite within the party’s Serbian branch (Tanner 36).

            Milosevic went to Belgrade University in order to satisfy his interest in the field of Law.  It was after studying Law that Milosevic began climbing the ranks among the League of Communists of Yugoslavia.  He did so using his Zlite connections; Mirjana and Stambolic.  As Stambolic gained recognition, so did Milosevic.  Before running Beobanka, the Serbian state bank, Milosevic was also put in charge of the state gas company.  Before long, Milosevic had proven himself as a leader and found himself in the seat of the President of the Serbian League of Communists.  This move might not have occurred, however, had it not been for Stambolic’s new position as President of Serbia in 1986 (Tanner 36).

            The following year, 1987, would be known as the Stambolic’s presidency would be shaken.  Unknown to Stambolic, Milosevic had been strategically placing people of his own amongst the ranks of the Serbian party and even in the media.  On April 27, Serbian demonstrators were crying out to the leaders about harassment and abuse they received from the Albanian police.   Milosevic saw the opportunity to become loved by the people and he took it.  There, in the crowd of Serbian demonstrators, Milosevic replied to their cries.  He told them, “you will not be beaten again.”  Naturally, Milosevic had his companions from Serbian television news there to film the entire show.  That night, the footage was broadcast for all to see.  The people loved him for what he had said.  Milosevic’s speech, along with his strategically placed allies, created a surge of popularity that put Stambolic to shame.  The media became attached to the nationalist cause and efforts of removing Stambolic went underway immediately following the speech.  Milosevic had all the momentum and took over the Serbian party.  From there, his wish was to have all sections of Yugoslavia.  He built up rallies for the Kosovo issue.  In Vojvodina, a massive crowd of demonstrators, in the city of Novi Sad, threw out the leaders of the province.  The same happened to the republic of Montenegro.  The Albanian leader in Kosovo, Azem Vlassi, had no choice but to resign after Milosevic convinced other republics to send troops and police into area.  Milosevic then claimed Kosovo and Vojvodina as part of Serbia.  The nation of Gazimestan praised Milosevic for his actions (Tanner 36).

            Although Gazimestan praised Milosevic, his popularity finally saw its limits.  Milosevic deeply wanted to gain the rest of Yugoslavia, but the rest of Yugoslavia did not necessarily want him.  His political outlook was not favored by the rest of Yugoslavia.  Perhaps because of his lack of care as a child, he wanted to dump his views of Serbia, as the greatest nation in the world, onto the rest of Yugoslavia.  He wasn’t interested in selling the idea of Yugoslavia nationalism.  Instead, the same media he had once manipulated revealed his strong Serbian allegiance.

            In fear of this blind allegiance, Croats turned to Franjo Tudjman.  Centuries of differences separated these two groups.  It would have been a miracle had a massacre not occurred.  Unfortunately, bloodshed did occur on a monumental scale.  The Serbians were mostly Orthodox Christians.  The Croats were mostly Roman Catholic.  The Serbians had come from Ottoman rule and the Croats had come from the Hapsburg rule.  Civil war was imminent.  When the war erupted, violence overflowed into Bosnia-Herzegovina.  In Bosnia-Herzegovina, Alija Izetbegovic directed the Muslim plurality in an attempt to keep the civil war from affecting the state.  However, Milosevic and Tudjman proved too big for Izetbegovic to stop by gaining international support.  Bosnia was pounded by war relentlessly for over three years.  What occurred there during those three years will forever be described as ethnic cleansing.  Around 200,000 were killed and millions were kicked out and away from their homes.  NATO began paying close attention to Milosevic’s power trips.  NATO already held Milosevic responsible for instigating previous violence.  Eventually, Milosevic really set off NATO when he attempted to confront the Albanians of Kosovo.  NATO had seen enough.  In early 1999, NATO rained bombs down upon Milosevic’s Serbia.  Factories and government buildings were reduced to ash in a Serbia that was wounded long before.  Serbia was crushed.  His loyal followers could no longer support him.  Milosevic had to manipulate election after election, yet in the end, not even that could save his position.  In 2000, everyone turned against him.  Milosevic was kicked out of office and placed under house arrest.  Vojislav Kostunica replaced him.  The prime minister, Zoran Djindjic, saw to it that Milosevic was moved to The Hague in 2001 (Simons 34).

            Some Serbs still love Milosevic.  Many Serbs, however, hated him for the shame he brought upon the nation.  He was eventually put on trial for war crimes.  The trial itself was expected to last fourteen months.  What resulted stretched on for four solid years.  Milosevic used many techniques to juice the court of any time he could.  One technique he used was to represent himself in trial.  Also, Milosevic was in very poor health in his 60’s.  He refused to quit smoking and suffered from high blood pressure and heart complications.  He used these things to his advantage and dragged the trial through the four strenuous years.  All the while, the trial was televised in Serbia which he also used to his advantage.  He portrayed himself as being an innocent man being forced to sit on trial for years by a monster of a judicial system that was doing nothing but burning hundreds of millions each year in court costs (Saunders B7).

            Milosevic did not live to see the end of his trial.  The report states that he died of natural causes in his jail cell.  He was found guilty of 66 charges of torture, murder and genocide.  Much confusion surrounded Milosevic’s death, however.  Marko, his son, claimed he had been killed.  A few days before his death, Milosevic had even told people that he had been poisoned.  Despite the suspicions and the confusion, U.N. authorities were completely cleared of any blame.  There were no substances found during the autopsy that contributed to his death.  In fact, there is much evidence that he refused the doctor’s treatments and self-medicated instead (Amsterdam).

            Dutch medical investigators found that a heart attack was the exact cause of death.  Milosevic is now known as the “Butcher of the Balkans.”  Milosevic loyalists, on the other hand, held a candlelight vigil near offices of the Socialist Party to remember him.  Women were seen kissing photographs of him.  U.N. prosecutor, Carla Del Ponte, believed Milosevic’s death was a failure for them and the efforts to secure his conviction.  However, she also believed all of the evidence presented would be enough to show the atrocities for the history books.  Milosevic’s death also buried much of the information about the massacres that only he could have given.  In that sense, his death was a blow to justice and to the countless victims he left in his wake.  Milosevic, no doubt, will be seen as the head figure of Europe’s most grotesquely violent era since World War II (Nickerson).

            Who was Slobodan Milosevic?  He was a troubled, power-hungry man from a broken home.  His leadership qualities and acquaintances lifted him to rule nations.  His character, unfortunately, was not a good match for leadership.  It was a recipe for disaster, but by the time this was realized, the damage was too great to ever be made right again.  He rose to power using Serbian nationalist grudges and enforced his views of a mighty Serbia on all that he could.  He created war after war in the name of Greater Serbia.  He created violence with his own people against Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Kosovo, and all the forces of NATO.

            The Berlin Wall crashed to the ground and Communism fell to pieces.  What should have been a time of celebration for all of Eastern Europe was somehow tainted by the “Butcher of the Balkans.”  The Yugoslav republics were dealt immeasurable damage.  Milosevic had left his mark.  His mark was a bloody, gaping wound that scarred all of twentieth century Europe.

Works Cited

Tanner, Marcus. “Obituaries: SLOBODAN MILOSEVIC Ruthlessly brutal Serbian leader who presided over the bloody disintegration of Yugoslavia.” The Independent 13 Mar. 2006 : 36.

Amsterdam. “Heart Attack Killed Milosevic, Report Says.” Los Angeles Times 1 June 2006 : 27.

Saunders, Debra. “Slobo’s trying moments in The Hague.” The San Francisco Chronicle 21 Mar. 2006, Final Ed. : B7.

Simons, Marlise and Smale, Alison. “Slobodan Milosevic, 64, Former Yugoslav Leader Accused of War Crimes, Dies .” The New York Times 12 Mar. 2006, Late Ed. : 34.

Nickerson, Colin. “Autopsy Cites Milosevic Heart Attack.” The Boston Globe 13 Mar. 2006, Third Ed. : A8.

Review of Silverchair’s “Young Modern”

Silverchair’s new album “Young Modern” has fallen well short of my expectations.  I have been a passionate Silverchair fan since their debut album released in 1995.  Their previous albums gave me no reason to hesitate before purchasing “Young Modern.”  Unfortunately, I find myself looking at the disc in disgust as it sleeps within the sleeve of my CD case. 

Silverchair will always be one of my favorite bands.  Prior to “Young Modern,” I had never met a Silverchair song I didn’t like.  It hurts me to say this, but this is one album to leave on the store shelves.  My best advice is to try not to buy it.  I know it is Silverchair.  I know they rock.  Truth is, “Young Modern” contains nothing that Silverchair fans really desire. 

The members of the brand grew up in Australia.  As childhood friends, they formed a band out of boredom.  While still very young, their song “Tomorrow” began gaining attention and eventually launched their careers.  After a couple changes to the band’s name, the Australian-based group invaded the shores of America in 1995 when “Tomorrow” became the most played song of the year by U.S. modern rock radio.           

It’s no secret Silverchair has recently undergone a serious makeover.  I can’t even imagine who their target audience is now.  Let’s just say, it isn’t me.  With the exception of “Straight Lines,” the songs are immature, pointless, and just plain annoying.  “Straight Lines” is a beautiful tune but is drastically over-dramatized by the voice of Daniel Johns.  The song would be amazing if it weren’t for the awkward whining noises the singer adds in an attempt to sound emotional.  It bothers me to think that someone in the studio thought it sounded well enough to sell.             

There is no shame in being a Silverchair fan, but “Young Modern” is awful.  I’d be embarrassed to listen to this one in public.  Times change and Siverchair has changed along with it.  The hard rock they were once known for is nowhere to be found.  Although a few songs attempt to pick up the pace, the lyrics remain too childish and dumb to make it an enjoyable experience.           

The band has experienced a few health fluctuations, but I feel let down.  When trying to think of whom Silverchair sounds like now, the name Elton John keeps coming to mind.  I can appreciate some Elton John now and then, but that is not the sound I want from a Silverchair album.           

The gap of difference between this album and previous albums is immense.  It is like nothing they have done before.  I have listened to “Young Modern” many, many times now in hopes that it would grow on me.  Bands should always try new things, but they shouldn’t sell garbage simply because they have generated a large fan base that isn’t hesitant to buy.

How To Get Fired

“How am I going to get fired? If you were any more of a douche, you’d be in my mother’s cupboard!”

I didn’t need to look up from sacking the old lady’s groceries in order to know who had just yelled this across the entire store. It was Davy, my friend and fellow employee. He had projected the vulgar statement over eight bustling checkout lines to another employee working the produce.

It was another miserably repetitive day of sacking groceries in the small town grocery store, and Davy, like so many times before, had his heart set on saving his fellow employees from the ordinary. Most of the customers in the checkout lines were unfazed by Davy’s remark because they were regulars and had experienced him before. Davy was a tall, well-dressed 22 year old who habitually beat his fist against his hip whenever he talked. He always spoke his mind, and he did so in a voice nearly identical to that of James Stewart.

Having heard what Davy said, our manager, John, approached. His bald scalp glistened as he seized the opportunity to treat one of us badly. John was the stereotypical grumpy grocery store manager and he proceeded to stare a hole through the back of Davy’s head.

Davy sensed his presence, delicately placed one hand down the front of his pants, and turned to face him.

“You have any idea just what it is I’m fondling at this very moment, John? You may be surprised to learn that it’s the very same gun I pulled upon your father that fateful summer day when you were just a boy playing in the meadows.”

Davy slapped John’s shoulder and began laughing hysterically. John didn’t flinch.

“Oh come now, John, it’s not like I would really shoot you between those God-fearing Jewish eyes!”

“I’m a Methodist,” John replied.

“A Methodist! You wish!” Davy announced. “You forget that I’ve tasted your mother’s blood, the same blood you carry in those old rusty veins, and I see right through it!”

I missed the rest of what happened because I had to carry the lady’s groceries to her car. She was old enough to have no input on what had just occurred. When I returned, Davy was waiting for me. He put both hands on my shoulders and looked me right in the eye.

“This job makes me want to send cheeseburger scratch and sniff stickers to starving children in Africa . Come hither, for the day has come to make you a man!”

I anxiously followed him to the pasta aisle where he began inspecting the jars of spaghetti sauce. He compared ounce for ounce until he located the largest glass jar. He caressed it tenderly and gave me that look I knew all too well.

“Today we celebrate divorce as you move from boyhood to manhood! Today we celebrate you, as you exist for the first time in a state entirely independent from your mother’s breast.”

And with a little help from Davy, the jar left the shelf, and shattered at our feet.

“One more thing to remember,” he said. “Give a girl a back rub and she’ll love you forever, but lick your grandmother’s elbow just once and she’ll call the police.” As he turned from me, he muttered, “I’ll never forgive you for that, Gramma,never.”

Then I heard my manager’s terrifying voice.

“Davy!”

It was John. He was standing at the end of the aisle with his arms crossed. He had seen the whole thing.

“Davy! You’re fired!” John yelled.

“So that makes me a customer, right?” Davy replied. “Would you be so kind as to show me your tuna fish?”

Davy is now manager at competing grocery store, a quarter mile away.

Elders in the Mayo

There was a time in my life when I thought that nothing bad could ever happen in a Taco Mayo.  In fact, both prescription and nonprescription drugs could be purchased via drive-thru at the Taco Mayo located in my hometown.  I felt the same way about Taco Mayo as Jim Varney once said he felt in a commercial about natural gas.

“Hot, fast, cheap; kinda like your first wife.”

This visit was different.  As soon as I walked into the restaurant, I was met by two very powerful odors.  By itself, the smell of cheap, unauthentic Mexican food can be a wonderful thing.  However, it was intermingled with the scent of old people.  The place was packed with them.  The death-like odor of the ancient people mixed with spicy food was a slap to the face.  The pungency had to be nearly equivalent to that of a crematorium.  I would have left, but I knew the chances of me seeing someone die that day would be increased exponentially if I were to stay.

I was waiting in line to make my drink when an old lady in front of me turned and asked me in a helpless voice, “Where is the water?”

I pointed to the selection on the drink dispenser labeled “WATER.”

“Thank you sweetheart,” she squeaked.

I watched in amazement as she slowly turned her brittle bones back toward the machine and filled her cup to the rim with pink lemonade.

I received my tray of tacos and proceeded to a booth.  That’s when I noticed the painted figures on the walls.  There were dancing totem poles and grinning chili peppers complete with arms and legs.  The hellish creatures had surrounded me.

Then I remembered the old lady.  Where was she?  Had she taken a drink yet?

I spotted her sitting at a booth with three other decaying elders.  She was pointing to her cup as she gossiped to the others.  I knew what that dinosaur was up to.  She was blaming her drink all on me!

I bit into my crispy tacos as loudly as possible hopes of riling up the tooth-envying heart inside that antique of a woman.  By the time I finished, the whole experience had left me with the urge to bathe.

Sacking for the Unique Customer

I sacked groceries at a small town grocery store for over a year. In that time, I saw a lot of unique people come and go. Some of the customers were residents of the town and showed their faces often, while others visited the store only once. It was the summer of 2003 when I met an elderly gentleman that I’ve since referred to as “Morris.” Morris was one of those one-time customers whose very appearance and character burns his memory into your mind.

I stood at the end of the conveyor belt that sent me the grocery items to be sacked. The cashier was scanning canned beans while the customer remained motionless. He was a tall, thin, dark-complected man. He looked filthy. His t-shirt was no longer white, his jeans were weathered, and his wrinkled head was topped off with scraggly black hair with mysterious white particles.

An encyclopedia of history that my generation couldn’t possibly imagine lay just behind his tired black eyes. His hands must have labored for most of his life yet they appeared soft with age. I didn’t see any way they would be able to open the canned goods he was purchasing.

“You doin’ all right today?” I asked.

Instead of answering, he just stood there, staring at me with his mouth open.

“Paper or plastic?”

Again, there was no response.

“Would you like your groceries in paper or plastic?” I inquired as clearly as possible.

Then something amazing happened. As we peered into each other’s eyes, the stars aligned and he drooled. But this was no ordinary slobber. We’re talking about five to six inches of black tobacco sludge that landed gracefully upon his chest. I was so impressed. He didn’t even flinch. I put his canned goods in a paper bag and handed it to him as he reached out his hand. That was the last time I saw Morris but he remains in my mind, drooling for an eternity.