Who doesn't like a double-post?
Recently, I had a person comment to me that they hated those Microsoft commercials where it shows the little 4-year-old downloading and emailing pictures. To them, this was Microsoft's way of snubbing all those people who can't work a computer.
The person commenting actually thought Microsoft was offending them by showing a little girl doing something this person couldn't.
Here's the deal: this commercial is only one of like a dozen like it, most are shown on the web. That little girl was the first -- a 4-year-old who was sending a picture she had taken of her fish to her mom. The other commercials consist of other kids doing easy picture and picture slideshow-projects using Windows Photo Gallery. The 4-year-old was to show how easy it is to use Windows Vista Photo Gallery because if a 4-year-old can do it and you can't, obviously, Windows is wanting to alienate you from its market so you will never want to buy one of their computers. Yeah right. This has nothing to do with the fact that the person commenting about the commercial was an idiot.
If you've seen all the commercials, one here or there/know anything about what I am rambling about, or, at least can figure out the gist of this latest commercial campaign, you will have then figured out that Windows is holding this benign contest where a 7-year-old goes up against a 70-year-old trying to do a task in Vista, an 8-year-old and her/his 72 years-older counterpart, and a 9 and 90-year-old, battling to the death.
The commenting person asked me, "Then why haven't I seen the older folks' commercials," where I said immediately after his comment, "because they probably died mid-way through their task." I don't know, and I don't care. So a little kid can do something on Vista that takes us incompetent people with computers 10x as much time to do. I have some pretty awesome (ossom, or l337) computer skills, and Windows Photo Gallery, I could most likely, work with in my sleep. It is what is expected of a person who has worked around various computer systems his whole junior high/high school/college/employed-life. And by person, I mean myself. Plus, I take the advice of friends, and what they've done with computers, and added that to my experience after learning said-skills through advice.
I'm really glad a 4-year-old can work a camera and computer in the same day/time-frame. I was beside myself after hearing that Japan once again beat the U.S. out of the World Baseball Classic. No I wasn't. I could care less, but I did theorize that Japan took the title for the second consecutive year because they play with honor, and most likely practice way more hours than we do. Hell, they go to school longer than we do, study more than we do - out-performing us academically each year - and to really kick us in the balls, their children can dismantle-then-rebuild a plane using no instructions. If you are 3 years-old, you can build a plane in Japan. So, to see Americans aged 4-9 working a computer like a pro makes me feel less depressed when I think of our country's standing in education. We're not even in the top 10 on that list.
Am I apart of any worthwhile causes? Absolutely not. So where do I get off commenting on our country's education-system? Let's see, the past couple of weeks, me and Nathan have been playing Resident Evil 5. I like to play as Sheva, the badass female mercenary. Check out these moves.
God, those are some shitty videos. So pixellated. Thanks youtube! You'll also notice not much action from Sheva - most of the time, the camera system is tracking Chris, the dude, but she's back there, and she's tough! Most of all, in my opinion, she's the best character in the game, maybe even the best protagonist in the whole series of games. The girl has some pretty fantastic knife-skills. A lot more versatility than Chris Redfield. Yep, that was a video of the chick hopping on the shoulders of the majini and crushing the infected-man's head into the ground.
Not to say Mr. Redfield doesn't have any game. The guy punches through heads!
So that game is a lot of fun, and so are the prequels I'm playing through again.
I'm starting a writing project. Don't know what it'll be yet - an idea I've been toying with for 2 years now, and I'm finding a medium in which to do it in, but I'm not sure what to classify it, so it's just a writing project.
My hands smell like chicken. It's hard for me to get behind a good-flavored grape pop. A lot of it tastes like Dimetapp back-in-the-day, and not to be confused with today's Dimetapp. Today's Dimetapp could be cherry or that disgusting yellow, with that I don't know what that flavor is, but I don't want it in, or near, my mouth-taste. Or the almost as dreadful orange. There used to be a sweet orange flavor, until people started drinking cough medicine for fun. Our day's Dimetapp was grape. And no matter how hard you convince me, no one can stand to drink grape pop all-the-time, even if it kicks ass and tastes like back-in-the-day Dimetapp. No sir, or madam.
I have found a grape pop that I can stand to sip on once and awhile, but not chug or depend on for the rest of my days. It's Welch's and it's a pop that tastes like juice. I will get it occasionally, and on that note, whenever I rarely drink soda. Spontaneously, I might prefer a Coke over all else, or even Dr. Pepper, diet or regular. I can stand to drink just water or ice tea all week, sometimes all month. That, and the occasional booze. Coincidentally, I am a grown-up.
It's sickening how some people have to depend so heavily on pop or sugar. Sometimes it's beneficiary especially with diabetics. Blood sugars low - what's this? - GUMMY BEARS! A couple minutes later, you're bending cars in half once more! Other times, a person isn't consciously thinking about how much sugar they ingest, and tis not good.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Night Vision Goggles
You know you're a geek when someone catches you browsing night vision goggles on the internet, and you're actually serious about buying them. I fuckin' hate stubbing my toe late at night because I had to walk from the kitchen to my room in pitch black darkness, trying desperately to avoid obstacles and failing; I don't want to wake anyone up from their precious sleep by turning on lights. I do, however, end up waking everyone up when I stub my toe on the dishwasher, and exclaim, "FUCK" in the middle of the night.
These are called the NIGHT OWL
The NOTG2 is one of the most advanced commercial night vision units around...and blah blah blah - what bothers me is the price of these goggles: 2,000 to 3,000 dollars!
Well, I guess I can't be too surprised. These look like what are issued to Splinter Cells.
And then there's these. Jesus - you'd look like the fuckin' Borg from Star Trek: TNG wearing these fuckin' things! I realize these are the kiddie-type night vision goggles, but Christ, I don't think I've ever laid eyes on something I could break easier; one misstep and oops, butterfingers, I've broken this headgear. I'd hold a contest where we'd see how long, or how short of time it takes to destroy these goggles. I reckon 10 seconds for me, in a room with a hardwood floor. $70 for goggles that take like 6-7 D-Cell batteries. Oh, sorry, 5 AA batteries, so these things can power up and be useful for an hour and a half. What a fantastic value!
No, I'm not going to buy Night Vision goggles. For one thing, I'd look like Buffalo Bill stalking Clarice Starling in Night Vision goggles. I'll save my $3,000 and try and lease a car! Show me a pair of night vision goggles that doubles-up as a vehicle I could drive to work in, for $3,000, and maybe we'd have a deal. I'll more or less rip off my pinkie-toe by stubbing it so many times than lay down that kind of money for something I'd maybe use for 5-10 minutes a night. And even then, I'd probably be stupid enough to flip on the kitchen or bathroom light wearing these fuckers and half-blind myself. I wonder if there is a way to make night vision contact lens???
These are called the NIGHT OWLTACTICAL GOGGLES NOTG2
"The shit, in night vision-technology." - Stephen HawkingThe NOTG2 is one of the most advanced commercial night vision units around...and blah blah blah - what bothers me is the price of these goggles: 2,000 to 3,000 dollars!
Well, I guess I can't be too surprised. These look like what are issued to Splinter Cells.
And then there's these. Jesus - you'd look like the fuckin' Borg from Star Trek: TNG wearing these fuckin' things! I realize these are the kiddie-type night vision goggles, but Christ, I don't think I've ever laid eyes on something I could break easier; one misstep and oops, butterfingers, I've broken this headgear. I'd hold a contest where we'd see how long, or how short of time it takes to destroy these goggles. I reckon 10 seconds for me, in a room with a hardwood floor. $70 for goggles that take like 6-7 D-Cell batteries. Oh, sorry, 5 AA batteries, so these things can power up and be useful for an hour and a half. What a fantastic value!
No, I'm not going to buy Night Vision goggles. For one thing, I'd look like Buffalo Bill stalking Clarice Starling in Night Vision goggles. I'll save my $3,000 and try and lease a car! Show me a pair of night vision goggles that doubles-up as a vehicle I could drive to work in, for $3,000, and maybe we'd have a deal. I'll more or less rip off my pinkie-toe by stubbing it so many times than lay down that kind of money for something I'd maybe use for 5-10 minutes a night. And even then, I'd probably be stupid enough to flip on the kitchen or bathroom light wearing these fuckers and half-blind myself. I wonder if there is a way to make night vision contact lens???
Monday, March 02, 2009
A Snowball in Summer
This guy sweats way too much. He's the men's college basketball coach for Marquette - Buzz Williams - and the reason why he's so down-dressed is because he sweats too much. At the start of the the Marquette/Louisville game yesterday where the Louisville Cardinals fought hard and won with a 58-62 victory over the Marquette Golden Eagles, Buzz Williams had a snazzy dark sport coat on. Then he threw it off, perhaps in a fit of rage. While his back was turned at the end of the 2nd half, with a minute or so left in the game, I noticed why he displaced his sport coat - his back was almost entirely covered with dampness; it was a sight I'll never forget! Just imagine a wet stain on your clothes, about the size of Asia...he had that on his back; it was unforeseeable and devastatingly noticeable.
I've come to realize there are some pretty wet-looking people out there, or, at the very least, some people with overactive sweat glands. I had a problem with this back in high school; I don't know if it was the lights in the old gymnasium or what - because that was usually when I'd be the sweatiest, or if it was because I was playing a musical instrument; again, it seemed like I would sweat more in the old gym while playing in a music recital, or just stand sweating it out under those fucking old gym lights. And maybe it was not a conscious thing. Maybe deep down, I would sweat more in the old gym because it was a gymnasium, where most people would go for P.E. class or to work out or have sex... Or, again, maybe it was the lights. They were suspended from the ceiling and looked as though one might fall at any moment. And the heat omitted from them could easily start a fire if the light were enclosed in a small room full of flammable material. Yes, I was a person who should have used clinical-strength deodorant - all over his body - in that old gym. Buzz Williams would've melted in that old gym, and would here-on-out have to coach from a glass his coaching assistants would have to pour him in. The glass would most likely have a tiny sport coat around it, complete with a tie, to look professional.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Humpdy Dumpdy
We depend too much on technology. Way too fucking much! I feel sorry for those of us who aren't ready to take the leap in to the techno-emergent-multimedia and informational-universe known as computer science, and for those who really have no reason to do so, are being forced into such a dilemma because their medicare is organized and supplied online, or, like one shriveling, pruney-old man - Jesus, his credit card company was forcing him to pay his credit bill off online. Unemployment benefits are dealt with the same way - sure, they give you a number to call, but the person on the other line is just feeding these callers with bullshit, to force them to file through the internet. And to do so over such a fragile infrastructure like the internet...that's so awful.
I work around computers constantly, 22 to be exact, sometimes, at one time, and the internet times-out a good 3-4 times a day on a minimum...
I used to think it was malarkey when people would say, "One day, the internet will have so much bandwidth running through it at one time, it will clog the pipes, and you know what happens with clog pipes - no information goes through," but I've got to say, from the experience I've had with it, that days coming. Especially in this day-and-age where we depend too much on something that's not what would be described as a fail-safe. The internet is just as fragile as the world market, and look what's going on there...we've literally whored out the internet so much, she's cryin'...and we've just explored the first of many possibilities the internet has, and like most resources we get our greedy little fingers on, the internet will tap-out.
I work around computers constantly, 22 to be exact, sometimes, at one time, and the internet times-out a good 3-4 times a day on a minimum...
I used to think it was malarkey when people would say, "One day, the internet will have so much bandwidth running through it at one time, it will clog the pipes, and you know what happens with clog pipes - no information goes through," but I've got to say, from the experience I've had with it, that days coming. Especially in this day-and-age where we depend too much on something that's not what would be described as a fail-safe. The internet is just as fragile as the world market, and look what's going on there...we've literally whored out the internet so much, she's cryin'...and we've just explored the first of many possibilities the internet has, and like most resources we get our greedy little fingers on, the internet will tap-out.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
A Work Post
All last week was staff training where I work. Basically, everyone in the Tech department were assigned 5 or so employees to train on the new database/security system we will be implementing within the first quarter of this year. So for a whole week, my department was scattered to all the other departments, and then the staff training portion took place up in the computer lab because we had the space. And computers. And a Rancor. But mostly computers and the space-thing.
Steve, my boss, thought five days would probably be sufficient enough time to train the employees. I got mine done in two. That's right, two. My boss got his done in four. Loser.
His training did consist of one or two days of setting up the computers so they'd run for his trainees. I just stepped in, trained my people, and left, leaving him and Gina to answer questions, while they phoned around, looking for me. I wasn't gonna sit around answering questions.
The first day of not doing work, I did work - I worked on a presentation for my group (in November, we had an all-staff day full of festivities...and work, and some exercise where we played with Legos and Play-Doh. We were put in "groups" and were given a problem that needed a solution)
This "problem/solution-thing" consisted of feedback from a survey we had given out to the public last summer. And the public bitched and complained, as usual, about the most ignorant shit you could possibly imagine. Your library should be open 24 hrs. Mainly the computer lab-area, not necessarily the library itself. Thanks for the feedback; okay everyone, the library will now be open 24 hours, 7 days a week, running up our utility bill, not to mention all the money we'd have to pay employees to be here that long, hiring more staff, cleaning up after selfish people who fuck up anything that's not their property. Not gonna happen. And yes, if the lab were open 24 hours as well, we'd have people here ALL NIGHT. And then it would be, well, since the library is open 24 hours, and the computer lab is opened 24 hours, then patrons of the computer lab shouldn't have a time period on the computer like they do now. Basically, I don't have a home, so I'll live in a library like FUCKING From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler only, in a fucking library because I'm homeless; I want hand-outs! I'll live on crackers and soda pop!
My "group's" problem was to come up with ways to make our library quiet because someone had wrote on their survey that libraries used to be quiet, and ours wasn't, and it needs to be quiet again; people who live in this town don't understand the word "advancement." The presentation I was working on that day included everything my group had discussed and debated in our meetings, plus my own ideas and data I had collected from other libraries; it was legit work, and it didn't take me very long to complete, either. That was the first day of not doing work, and the explanation of the work I was doing.
The second day was the 20th; Inauguration Day for President Obama. I talked to my supervisor for about thirty minutes and kidded around a bit, checked some email and some internets, then went to the business office, sifted through a desk drawer until I found a familiar-looking silver key, then walked across the library, unlocked one of the conference rooms, and played my Nintendo DS for twenty minutes. Then I remembered there was a television in the basement, that was never used, except for meetings. This is one of three down there, so if there happened to be people wanting a set for the Inauguration, there was one everyone was enjoying in the staff room, and one that had been moved to the auditorium (that one is a BEAST) with chairs outlined adjacent to it for the public to come in and watch the Inauguration. Not many people were in that room. With that in mind, I knew the last set was unoccupied, and so I commandeered a dolly, and went down in the elevator to retrieve it. Did so without any one asking me questions. By the way, my conference room was wired, most are, so I had limited cable. I trucked that set up to my conference room, shut the door, turned out the lights after plugging shit in, and tuned in C-SPAN for Inauguration coverage. After that was all said and done, and the Inauguration was winding down, it was 12:30ish, so said my clock in the conference room, so I unplugged everything, moved the television on a dolly to the auditorium; I DID NOT put it back where I found it because then it looked like someone had moved it in to the auditorium (because we have stupid people on staff who would do this) figuring that no one had taken the time to set up a television in the auditorium, which they had with THE BEAST, so that imaginary person, who our maintenance supervisor Kevin would assume worked in Reference, just decided to leave the television in the auditorium because they had done all the work to get it upstairs where it wasn't needed, and were too lazy to take it back downstairs. I know -- this clever, improvised scheme I had concocted sounds like it took a lot of thought, it didn't. I just know people. Kevin is against Reference, and the Reference department doesn't give a shit about anyone, so I played the two forces off each other. Office politics can work in your favor.
By 12:30ish, this meant I only had a half-hour left in my shift. And since I was still on the clock, technically working, I was entitled to a break. So I took mine. I went down to the staff room and one of my co-workers asked if I had gotten the message to talk to Gina. How could I have gotten that message, I was hiding out. I took a twenty minute break, eating leftover Chile from a Chile-cook off the staff had the previous week, and then I talked to Gina who wanted to know where I was at. I told her Children's had a security threat on their computer that I handled, then I went down to the Tech office for CD's, which, by the way, was a problem we had in the lab last week; one of the part-timers left a note saying we had run out of CD's in the lab, and I told Gina I thought we might have had some down there. After finding out we hadn't, I went up to the Business Office, where they informed me CD's had been ordered, then I helped Steve make cable (Steve wasn't actually there, I had told Gina, but I knew he needed to make some for the wiring-changes because of the new security system, so I volunteered)
That excuse covered my ass for about two hours, and it was bullshit! Steve needed wiring, but fuck, I wasn't gonna strip it. And I was out the door in 30 anyway, it didn't matter what I told her. Then I told her the rest of the time was spent on working on my presentation for my group, and then taking a break, and watching the Inauguration. She didn't take too kindly to me working on this "presentation" - apparently, they (she) had stuff I was supposed to be doing for them (her). I didn't like how she was ordering me around like her subordinate, so I went over her authority and talked to Steve. He told me to work on the presentation because I mentioned my "group" was holding a meeting that week Thursday afternoon, which they were.
And Steve also told me not to listen to Gina.
I walked out at 12:54, clocked out at 12:55 right as the time clock switched to the next hour, and went to my grandma's to take a nap, and watch some college basketball.
Editor's note*** Wednesday-Thursday I trained my people; yeah, you thought I had done that before the shit with the TV in the conference room...haha. That Friday, I was called in to work, which corresponds with my last post about talking with my boss about voicemail.
Steve, my boss, thought five days would probably be sufficient enough time to train the employees. I got mine done in two. That's right, two. My boss got his done in four. Loser.
His training did consist of one or two days of setting up the computers so they'd run for his trainees. I just stepped in, trained my people, and left, leaving him and Gina to answer questions, while they phoned around, looking for me. I wasn't gonna sit around answering questions.
The first day of not doing work, I did work - I worked on a presentation for my group (in November, we had an all-staff day full of festivities...and work, and some exercise where we played with Legos and Play-Doh. We were put in "groups" and were given a problem that needed a solution)
This "problem/solution-thing" consisted of feedback from a survey we had given out to the public last summer. And the public bitched and complained, as usual, about the most ignorant shit you could possibly imagine. Your library should be open 24 hrs. Mainly the computer lab-area, not necessarily the library itself. Thanks for the feedback; okay everyone, the library will now be open 24 hours, 7 days a week, running up our utility bill, not to mention all the money we'd have to pay employees to be here that long, hiring more staff, cleaning up after selfish people who fuck up anything that's not their property. Not gonna happen. And yes, if the lab were open 24 hours as well, we'd have people here ALL NIGHT. And then it would be, well, since the library is open 24 hours, and the computer lab is opened 24 hours, then patrons of the computer lab shouldn't have a time period on the computer like they do now. Basically, I don't have a home, so I'll live in a library like FUCKING From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler only, in a fucking library because I'm homeless; I want hand-outs! I'll live on crackers and soda pop!
My "group's" problem was to come up with ways to make our library quiet because someone had wrote on their survey that libraries used to be quiet, and ours wasn't, and it needs to be quiet again; people who live in this town don't understand the word "advancement." The presentation I was working on that day included everything my group had discussed and debated in our meetings, plus my own ideas and data I had collected from other libraries; it was legit work, and it didn't take me very long to complete, either. That was the first day of not doing work, and the explanation of the work I was doing.
The second day was the 20th; Inauguration Day for President Obama. I talked to my supervisor for about thirty minutes and kidded around a bit, checked some email and some internets, then went to the business office, sifted through a desk drawer until I found a familiar-looking silver key, then walked across the library, unlocked one of the conference rooms, and played my Nintendo DS for twenty minutes. Then I remembered there was a television in the basement, that was never used, except for meetings. This is one of three down there, so if there happened to be people wanting a set for the Inauguration, there was one everyone was enjoying in the staff room, and one that had been moved to the auditorium (that one is a BEAST) with chairs outlined adjacent to it for the public to come in and watch the Inauguration. Not many people were in that room. With that in mind, I knew the last set was unoccupied, and so I commandeered a dolly, and went down in the elevator to retrieve it. Did so without any one asking me questions. By the way, my conference room was wired, most are, so I had limited cable. I trucked that set up to my conference room, shut the door, turned out the lights after plugging shit in, and tuned in C-SPAN for Inauguration coverage. After that was all said and done, and the Inauguration was winding down, it was 12:30ish, so said my clock in the conference room, so I unplugged everything, moved the television on a dolly to the auditorium; I DID NOT put it back where I found it because then it looked like someone had moved it in to the auditorium (because we have stupid people on staff who would do this) figuring that no one had taken the time to set up a television in the auditorium, which they had with THE BEAST, so that imaginary person, who our maintenance supervisor Kevin would assume worked in Reference, just decided to leave the television in the auditorium because they had done all the work to get it upstairs where it wasn't needed, and were too lazy to take it back downstairs. I know -- this clever, improvised scheme I had concocted sounds like it took a lot of thought, it didn't. I just know people. Kevin is against Reference, and the Reference department doesn't give a shit about anyone, so I played the two forces off each other. Office politics can work in your favor.
By 12:30ish, this meant I only had a half-hour left in my shift. And since I was still on the clock, technically working, I was entitled to a break. So I took mine. I went down to the staff room and one of my co-workers asked if I had gotten the message to talk to Gina. How could I have gotten that message, I was hiding out. I took a twenty minute break, eating leftover Chile from a Chile-cook off the staff had the previous week, and then I talked to Gina who wanted to know where I was at. I told her Children's had a security threat on their computer that I handled, then I went down to the Tech office for CD's, which, by the way, was a problem we had in the lab last week; one of the part-timers left a note saying we had run out of CD's in the lab, and I told Gina I thought we might have had some down there. After finding out we hadn't, I went up to the Business Office, where they informed me CD's had been ordered, then I helped Steve make cable (Steve wasn't actually there, I had told Gina, but I knew he needed to make some for the wiring-changes because of the new security system, so I volunteered)
That excuse covered my ass for about two hours, and it was bullshit! Steve needed wiring, but fuck, I wasn't gonna strip it. And I was out the door in 30 anyway, it didn't matter what I told her. Then I told her the rest of the time was spent on working on my presentation for my group, and then taking a break, and watching the Inauguration. She didn't take too kindly to me working on this "presentation" - apparently, they (she) had stuff I was supposed to be doing for them (her). I didn't like how she was ordering me around like her subordinate, so I went over her authority and talked to Steve. He told me to work on the presentation because I mentioned my "group" was holding a meeting that week Thursday afternoon, which they were.
And Steve also told me not to listen to Gina.
I walked out at 12:54, clocked out at 12:55 right as the time clock switched to the next hour, and went to my grandma's to take a nap, and watch some college basketball.
Editor's note*** Wednesday-Thursday I trained my people; yeah, you thought I had done that before the shit with the TV in the conference room...haha. That Friday, I was called in to work, which corresponds with my last post about talking with my boss about voicemail.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Something Discussed, Followed by Something Else with Sprinkles of Random Somethings in the Middle...like Nuget
My supervisor was hacked off at me the other day because he tried to call me, to ask if I could work for another employee, and I didn't answer my phone. At the time, I was sleeping because that's what I do when I don't have to be at work in the morning...is sleep. It's a whole new concept; I wouldn't expect anyone else to know about sleeping in on days when you don't have to work...
His name is Steve. He has a mind much like my own, only, he actually enjoyed math back in high school, excelled at it, and now has a job where people who aren't as smart as he is bug him with questions all damn day. His hobbies include, but are not limited to, listening to an instruction one time, and fully understanding it, answering other people's stupid questions, drinking coffee out of a ceramic mug that says, "Monday Mug" on it -- when it's Thursday; re-wiring the building on a wobbly ladder that will one day split in half and most likely kill him or impale a sharpened bit of shrapnel through his abdomen, not killing him, but damaging his pancreas, which will later kill him. If he subscribed to social networks, that would be his description for his hobbies, not including others I have opted to not mention.
Steve wanted to know why I didn't have voicemail on my phone. He could've easily left a message and I could've gotten that later in the day. I told him I wasn't a big fan of voicemail because I hate getting the alert on my phone, punching in a code to get the message and then having that message be a "hang-up" where the person stayed on the line (God knows why!) I guess to listen to the lady feed him instructions on how to use voicemail, and then that person hung up when that ladies' voice wasn't followed by my own. I mean, what else do you expect -- you think I'm gonna magically answer, and be like, "Hello. I felt my phone vibrate; knew it was probably you!!" New rule: if you get to the voicemail options and the person hasn't answered, hang up, don't leave a hang-up voicemail. Or the, sigh, mumble a curse word, then hang-up-voicemail. Steve then said, "it's a lot easier to reach you if you have voicemail." Where I parried, "What's the point!? The odds are still against you that I would even reply to your voicemail message." Seriously, if I had voicemail on my phone, I still wouldn't answer it. No matter how annoying the alerts got, I wouldn't check my voicemail because I know that only my friends leave a voicemail, then follow it up with a text message; only work would leave a voicemail and leave it at that. Which I told my supervisor, so he'd say, "you purposefully ignore calls from work?" "Yes."
Steve would do that same thing if he had a more competent work staff, or a clone. Steve 2 would be assigned to the dirty work, and Steve 1 would smoke cigars and drink all day. And if he cloned Steve 2, Steve 3 With Avengence would clean shit up, and be responsible for Steve 1's girlfriend, except for encounters with her, of the intimate nature. Steve 3 houses the feminine-side of Steve 1, so he'd cook and clean to his heart's content and be able to express himself emotionally with Steve 1's girlfriend. Basically, the plot for the movie Multiplicity with Michael Keaton.
And with voicemail, and this is the funnest thing with all answering-machines, you get to come up with a message all your own. What sucks ass are the people who act like they answered the phone, so their message might be, "Hello?" and you say, "Hey, it's *so-and-so* what's up," and they're like, "Huh?" so you repeat, "It's *so-and-so*, how's it going..." and about this time, they say, "You reached my answering machine, I'm not actually here..." Son of a bitch! Why'd you trick me!? Those people never get called by me again. If that's your idea of creativity than here's my idea for excluding your creative upheaval -- I don't call your ass anymore!
I can't think of one thing I'd put as my answering-machine message. Just some dull salutation and a number in which you can call me back at. That's a true test of creative integrity, and those people who fake you out, have failed the test. And the punishment for such failure is the removal of that person's tongue. Since I don't "subscribe" to any type of voice-messaging service, I get to keep my tongue...and my dignity.
His name is Steve. He has a mind much like my own, only, he actually enjoyed math back in high school, excelled at it, and now has a job where people who aren't as smart as he is bug him with questions all damn day. His hobbies include, but are not limited to, listening to an instruction one time, and fully understanding it, answering other people's stupid questions, drinking coffee out of a ceramic mug that says, "Monday Mug" on it -- when it's Thursday; re-wiring the building on a wobbly ladder that will one day split in half and most likely kill him or impale a sharpened bit of shrapnel through his abdomen, not killing him, but damaging his pancreas, which will later kill him. If he subscribed to social networks, that would be his description for his hobbies, not including others I have opted to not mention.
Steve wanted to know why I didn't have voicemail on my phone. He could've easily left a message and I could've gotten that later in the day. I told him I wasn't a big fan of voicemail because I hate getting the alert on my phone, punching in a code to get the message and then having that message be a "hang-up" where the person stayed on the line (God knows why!) I guess to listen to the lady feed him instructions on how to use voicemail, and then that person hung up when that ladies' voice wasn't followed by my own. I mean, what else do you expect -- you think I'm gonna magically answer, and be like, "Hello. I felt my phone vibrate; knew it was probably you!!" New rule: if you get to the voicemail options and the person hasn't answered, hang up, don't leave a hang-up voicemail. Or the, sigh, mumble a curse word, then hang-up-voicemail. Steve then said, "it's a lot easier to reach you if you have voicemail." Where I parried, "What's the point!? The odds are still against you that I would even reply to your voicemail message." Seriously, if I had voicemail on my phone, I still wouldn't answer it. No matter how annoying the alerts got, I wouldn't check my voicemail because I know that only my friends leave a voicemail, then follow it up with a text message; only work would leave a voicemail and leave it at that. Which I told my supervisor, so he'd say, "you purposefully ignore calls from work?" "Yes."
Steve would do that same thing if he had a more competent work staff, or a clone. Steve 2 would be assigned to the dirty work, and Steve 1 would smoke cigars and drink all day. And if he cloned Steve 2, Steve 3 With Avengence would clean shit up, and be responsible for Steve 1's girlfriend, except for encounters with her, of the intimate nature. Steve 3 houses the feminine-side of Steve 1, so he'd cook and clean to his heart's content and be able to express himself emotionally with Steve 1's girlfriend. Basically, the plot for the movie Multiplicity with Michael Keaton.
And with voicemail, and this is the funnest thing with all answering-machines, you get to come up with a message all your own. What sucks ass are the people who act like they answered the phone, so their message might be, "Hello?" and you say, "Hey, it's *so-and-so* what's up," and they're like, "Huh?" so you repeat, "It's *so-and-so*, how's it going..." and about this time, they say, "You reached my answering machine, I'm not actually here..." Son of a bitch! Why'd you trick me!? Those people never get called by me again. If that's your idea of creativity than here's my idea for excluding your creative upheaval -- I don't call your ass anymore!
I can't think of one thing I'd put as my answering-machine message. Just some dull salutation and a number in which you can call me back at. That's a true test of creative integrity, and those people who fake you out, have failed the test. And the punishment for such failure is the removal of that person's tongue. Since I don't "subscribe" to any type of voice-messaging service, I get to keep my tongue...and my dignity.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Babies and the Other Side of the Spectrum
I hate the elderly and babies. My grandma is elderly...don't worry, I don't hate her. But old people are fucking helpless sometimes. Especially the elderly in front of computers. You pretty much have to lead them by the hand when they are on a computer. And they always use the same excuse. "I'm so used to a typewriter. That's how we typed anything, is with a typewriter." I used a typewriter before I used a computer. Before my parents got our Gateway with Windows ME loaded on it which was bullshit; I hated that fucking operating system! Before the parentals bought their Gateway machine, we had a Hewlett Packard because that's what it was known as before HP - we had a Hewlett Packard piece of shit with Windows 3.1. It would freeze up loading Minesweeper. And before that, we had an electric typewriter that was my mom's when she was in college in 1978.
I remember writing short stories and then typing them on that old typewriter. The type bars would always get stuck on the platen, and the ink ribbon, if this ever occurred, would smear and make a god-awful mess on the paper...it was ALL bullshit! That machine was frustrating, not a computer. To be honest with you, because I've worked with both, I prefer the computer over the typewriter, hands down! It's more convenient, and if you think about it, because I write all the time, and rarely print off, I've saved money with a computer compared to a typewriter. Try finding an ink ribbon for a typewriter NOW! Jesus Christ! Paper is so much cheaper than a new ink ribbon, or repairs to a sticking type bar(s). I just can't comprehend how it's so difficult for the elderly to get behind computers.
I guess there is too much of a generation gap, which again, is bullshit. The term generation gap was made up by the elderly as an excuse to be lazy and not learn technology. You've gotta keep up with the times, no matter how stubborn you are or how thick-headed your disposition is.
Here are your two tools when controlling a computer; your mouse and a keyboard -- which should be familiar to all those in allegiance to the typewriter. It's the same damn standard keyboard as before. I don't get it. How simple does it have to be for an elderly person to just get it? Windows Vista has a program for people who hate using their fingers or hands to manipulate the computer -- or for elderly people whose brains are covered in cobwebs -- where you speak a command and the computer complies. That is ridiculous! And you're cheating if you subscribe to it. What!? -- you have a hand wrapped around your cock when you're on a computer, and the other is holding a Kleenex -- you don't want to have to dismount to switch to another porn file, you'd rather speak to your computer and say, "Open Gushing Twats Gangbang!" And bam! A nice, quivering vagina leaking clemen in to a pool, and a loud, orgasmic scream of pleasure...fantastic!
I already know that if I live to be an elderly-person, I'm gonna be tech-savvy.
Babies. I don't get it. You might as well get a cat, preferably one that's sick and vomits too much, and howls for no reason, oh, and wears a diaper which is always filled with a huge load. Don't get me wrong, babies can be fun. You teach them everything you were taught -- there's a whole tradition-thing goin' on with babies and toddlers and adolescence and tweenies and teenagers -- with toddlers, when they first begin to talk, you can teach them bad things to say; I don't condone you do this because once they learn something, they say it, even when you don't want them to say it, and it spoils their minds, and usually these kids are assholes and you find yourself wanting to stab them. Babies are funny. They make noises like R2-D2, they like games -- it's like a little person high; they're always doing something silly and outrageous. I LOVE those babies. I hate babies who are tired, but their parents don't seem to get that they are tired, and drag them around all afternoon without a nap. I hate babies who cry for no reason. Oh, my juice spilled -- oh, I hit myself with a toy I shouldn't have been flinging around -- oh, my bath-water is scolding hot and I now have a third-degree burn -- waa, I'm being abducted! Those babies suck! I like babies who like to rub it in my face that they can get away with sucking on boob all day -- it pisses me off, but I'm relieved that the baby wasn't born gay. I don't think I've ever seen a gay baby. Damn gay-community and their myths...
So, with babies, the good outweighs the bad. With the elderly -- they are just a nuisance, all of them, except my Nana. She's too sweet to be rotten. And now I'm done rambling. Look forward to another post by me here in a month or so about nothing.
I remember writing short stories and then typing them on that old typewriter. The type bars would always get stuck on the platen, and the ink ribbon, if this ever occurred, would smear and make a god-awful mess on the paper...it was ALL bullshit! That machine was frustrating, not a computer. To be honest with you, because I've worked with both, I prefer the computer over the typewriter, hands down! It's more convenient, and if you think about it, because I write all the time, and rarely print off, I've saved money with a computer compared to a typewriter. Try finding an ink ribbon for a typewriter NOW! Jesus Christ! Paper is so much cheaper than a new ink ribbon, or repairs to a sticking type bar(s). I just can't comprehend how it's so difficult for the elderly to get behind computers.
I guess there is too much of a generation gap, which again, is bullshit. The term generation gap was made up by the elderly as an excuse to be lazy and not learn technology. You've gotta keep up with the times, no matter how stubborn you are or how thick-headed your disposition is.
Here are your two tools when controlling a computer; your mouse and a keyboard -- which should be familiar to all those in allegiance to the typewriter. It's the same damn standard keyboard as before. I don't get it. How simple does it have to be for an elderly person to just get it? Windows Vista has a program for people who hate using their fingers or hands to manipulate the computer -- or for elderly people whose brains are covered in cobwebs -- where you speak a command and the computer complies. That is ridiculous! And you're cheating if you subscribe to it. What!? -- you have a hand wrapped around your cock when you're on a computer, and the other is holding a Kleenex -- you don't want to have to dismount to switch to another porn file, you'd rather speak to your computer and say, "Open Gushing Twats Gangbang!" And bam! A nice, quivering vagina leaking clemen in to a pool, and a loud, orgasmic scream of pleasure...fantastic!
I already know that if I live to be an elderly-person, I'm gonna be tech-savvy.
Babies. I don't get it. You might as well get a cat, preferably one that's sick and vomits too much, and howls for no reason, oh, and wears a diaper which is always filled with a huge load. Don't get me wrong, babies can be fun. You teach them everything you were taught -- there's a whole tradition-thing goin' on with babies and toddlers and adolescence and tweenies and teenagers -- with toddlers, when they first begin to talk, you can teach them bad things to say; I don't condone you do this because once they learn something, they say it, even when you don't want them to say it, and it spoils their minds, and usually these kids are assholes and you find yourself wanting to stab them. Babies are funny. They make noises like R2-D2, they like games -- it's like a little person high; they're always doing something silly and outrageous. I LOVE those babies. I hate babies who are tired, but their parents don't seem to get that they are tired, and drag them around all afternoon without a nap. I hate babies who cry for no reason. Oh, my juice spilled -- oh, I hit myself with a toy I shouldn't have been flinging around -- oh, my bath-water is scolding hot and I now have a third-degree burn -- waa, I'm being abducted! Those babies suck! I like babies who like to rub it in my face that they can get away with sucking on boob all day -- it pisses me off, but I'm relieved that the baby wasn't born gay. I don't think I've ever seen a gay baby. Damn gay-community and their myths...
So, with babies, the good outweighs the bad. With the elderly -- they are just a nuisance, all of them, except my Nana. She's too sweet to be rotten. And now I'm done rambling. Look forward to another post by me here in a month or so about nothing.
Monday, December 22, 2008
A Short Post About Winter Weather and Gloves
This is one of my only personal posts I have on my blog. My life is uneventful, I've discussed this many many times before. But sometimes I'm just so content that I have nothing to argue or complain about....
Let me revoke that last statement because I still have things to complain about.
It is cold, and I mean cold!! It could be colder, and for the love of God let's hope it doesn't get any colder. This morning, the temperature was in the single digits. Now, let me just put this out there, the temperature could be in the negative single digits...this is not to jinx myself or the good folks of south-central Kansas. What I don't like about the cold is the cold. It hurts my face. My hands, when I step outside, freeze and contort into these talons and they stay in that grappling, claw-like position the rest of the day. I can't pick anything up - if I had a baby boy or girl, I would not be able to hold him or her in my arms, in fact, he or she would probably turn in to a block of ice and crumble in my palms. Damn these hooks!
We have too much moisture in the air. Every damn morning, I have to scrape off the windows of my car -- I have to maneuver my hands in such an unnatural way because they are talons at this point to open the driver's side door of my car. I don't know if anyone else has had this problem, but -- nylon gloves -- I don't really know if that is the material these gloves are made of, but to describe them, they are heavily-fibered, stiff-bear-traps for your hands with little-to-absolutely-no-mobility. Without them, my hands are talons, with them, my hands are stiff, mannequin's hands. My house is an obstacle course because if I have to open doors with these gloves, shit doesn't work. My grip just continues to slide on the surface of the doorknob. I would burn alive if their were a fire in my home and, for some unexplained reason, I was wearing these gloves. Just these gloves alone; no pants, no shoes, no shirt, no service!
For some of yous, yous is thinking I'm fucking nuts! Felted gloves are absolutely mobile, they don't transform your hands in to useless dead trout-hands or turn yous in to a mannequin -- they are comfy, they are all-around versatile, and if you're lucky, JC Penneys has them on sale for like $5. Ever tried brushing your car of snow caked on your hood and roof, not to mention, your windows with felted gloves? They're like a god damned sponge! Snow gets on them and melts, and the fabric absorbs the water, and stepping out in this kind of weather with wet gloves is 10x worse than no gloves-at-all. So your choices of hand-ware in temperatures as low as these are few and far between. If they could make a glove from the total opposite of the ShamWOW! material, that would be uber-bitchin'! You could pour a 24-cube of Mountain Dew on the carpet, and the ShamWOW! which is wizardry-all-in-its-own would absorb that shit up by you just placing the fabric over the wet area, no pressure applied whatsoever. If the glove I was speaking about earlier were to be made from the opposite material as the ShamWOW! not only could liquid not get in, but heat could not escape, which means once you start sweating in your gloves, your hands slick with sweat, the glove would become almost vacuum sealed, and now you always have gloves on your hands; never can they be removed or even cut from your hands because the fabric is indestructible. Obviously, because of these conditions, no such glove will ever be made, and I would never wear it.
*Side-note*
It is already duly-noted that some people in this world are so fucking cold, they have transformed themselves in to yetis, and that maybe I should be grateful that I don't have to experience that kind of hellish weather.
Let me revoke that last statement because I still have things to complain about.
It is cold, and I mean cold!! It could be colder, and for the love of God let's hope it doesn't get any colder. This morning, the temperature was in the single digits. Now, let me just put this out there, the temperature could be in the negative single digits...this is not to jinx myself or the good folks of south-central Kansas. What I don't like about the cold is the cold. It hurts my face. My hands, when I step outside, freeze and contort into these talons and they stay in that grappling, claw-like position the rest of the day. I can't pick anything up - if I had a baby boy or girl, I would not be able to hold him or her in my arms, in fact, he or she would probably turn in to a block of ice and crumble in my palms. Damn these hooks!
We have too much moisture in the air. Every damn morning, I have to scrape off the windows of my car -- I have to maneuver my hands in such an unnatural way because they are talons at this point to open the driver's side door of my car. I don't know if anyone else has had this problem, but -- nylon gloves -- I don't really know if that is the material these gloves are made of, but to describe them, they are heavily-fibered, stiff-bear-traps for your hands with little-to-absolutely-no-mobility. Without them, my hands are talons, with them, my hands are stiff, mannequin's hands. My house is an obstacle course because if I have to open doors with these gloves, shit doesn't work. My grip just continues to slide on the surface of the doorknob. I would burn alive if their were a fire in my home and, for some unexplained reason, I was wearing these gloves. Just these gloves alone; no pants, no shoes, no shirt, no service!
For some of yous, yous is thinking I'm fucking nuts! Felted gloves are absolutely mobile, they don't transform your hands in to useless dead trout-hands or turn yous in to a mannequin -- they are comfy, they are all-around versatile, and if you're lucky, JC Penneys has them on sale for like $5. Ever tried brushing your car of snow caked on your hood and roof, not to mention, your windows with felted gloves? They're like a god damned sponge! Snow gets on them and melts, and the fabric absorbs the water, and stepping out in this kind of weather with wet gloves is 10x worse than no gloves-at-all. So your choices of hand-ware in temperatures as low as these are few and far between. If they could make a glove from the total opposite of the ShamWOW! material, that would be uber-bitchin'! You could pour a 24-cube of Mountain Dew on the carpet, and the ShamWOW! which is wizardry-all-in-its-own would absorb that shit up by you just placing the fabric over the wet area, no pressure applied whatsoever. If the glove I was speaking about earlier were to be made from the opposite material as the ShamWOW! not only could liquid not get in, but heat could not escape, which means once you start sweating in your gloves, your hands slick with sweat, the glove would become almost vacuum sealed, and now you always have gloves on your hands; never can they be removed or even cut from your hands because the fabric is indestructible. Obviously, because of these conditions, no such glove will ever be made, and I would never wear it.
*Side-note*
It is already duly-noted that some people in this world are so fucking cold, they have transformed themselves in to yetis, and that maybe I should be grateful that I don't have to experience that kind of hellish weather.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Barely Baring my Soul; Bare with Me!
I need a vacation. A long, long, long sunny and not windy or cold or frosted, but not exactly snowing-vacation...near a beach with a wide assortment of alcoholic beverages, and maybe a thick book. Yes...some reading and drinking...and if a bikini-clad woman were to lounge next to me, I'd accept her company...with opened arms. It's been a while since I had a day off work. Here's how annoying it gets when you've worked as much as I have, with no relief, and bare with me - I realize my job isn't what most people might call hard or, in a better adjective, excruciating; I'd describe what I do as a walk in the park. But it's the attitude I get from the people who come in, or simply, the amount of the same people I have to see every day of my life, that gets me down. The same caliber of people I have to see every day...EVERY DAY, those same buffoons come in here, do the same thing on the computer as the day before...people, do you not have anything better to do with your time!? So again, as an example of how trite this job can be, last night I was supposed to chill with a few of my friends, and I didn't get to because I fell asleep at like 8:30-9 p.m. That is absurd! I couldn't keep my eyes open that early in the night, and so regardless of how many times my friends tried to get a hold of me, I was out! My one break away from work and doing nothing, and work, and coming back home and being so bored I just stare at a television to pass the time, was ruined because I was so, either exhausted from my mundane atmosphere or quiescent by the stupidity of these people. I think my mind was fried. I mentioned above in this somewhat-similar-to-all-my-posts-diatribe that I'd rather take a vacation, away from all this vexatious shit; I have plenty of stuff I'd rather do than babysit these adults! I need to explore my calming center...that sounded really gay.
TV Land has been rerunning episodes of The Cosby Show at about 10 or 11 o'clock at night. That's a fantastic show to fall asleep to. I caught it on the network about three days ago, and can't get enough of it. About a year or so ago, any time I just wanted to veg or chill to the television, while channel-surfing, I'd miraculously come across The Cosby Show on like Nick at Nite (I think it was Nick @ Nite) Aside from the ridiculous Cosby sweaters, and his goofy, shuffling dancing at the beginning of each episode, the show is just so chalk-full of heart! YAY! Actually, Bill Cosby is very funny in his role as Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable; this was still before he became embittered by the death of his only son, and became the douche bag he is today, demanding a lapse of violence and sexuality in all forms of media, particularly television and video games. I'm almost willing to go out and buy The Cosby Show on DVD, considering at Target I can get the entire series for like $70. Just depends if I want to spend $70 on something I can watch on cable for free.
What else? I never have anything good to talk about. Which is why I'm so quiet if I go out to dinner with people, or go over to someones house where people I know are at, chilling. Or, if I run in to someone out-and-about and we get to talking, I'm always the one shaking my head in agreement or going, "uh-huh...uh-huh...yeah, that's true....really!?" like I'm actually fucking shocked; "Really!? You don't say!" The bad that comes with that is I then sound like I'm uninterested in what the other person is talking about or I seem distracted. Folks, that's my A.D.D. kicking in, and my lack of social skills; I'm sociable, but I've also been flung bullshit all day while at work, and had to deal with some pretty crappy people, so bare with me if I don't speak up. Like, for instance, about a week ago, I went over to a friend's house and my friend's sister - my friend wasn't there at the time - her sister decided to color a 'Welcome Home' dangling banner, with the letters 'Welcome Home' or whatever the fuck it said, dangling and separate from one another. Good for her, right? Wrong. Everyone in the room had to color a letter, now, I don't know about you, but coloring or doing anything creative, being forced in to doing creative-things is not my favorite thing to do. Especially after I had to work. But there was no talking my way out of this one, and arguing seemed trivial, so I sucked it up, grabbed a letter, and went to town, as the saying goes. Only my way-to-town was through a briar patch, or in sensible-terms, I was thoroughly stumped on how I wanted to decorate my letter. In fact, my friend's mom even noted that I looked stumped. So, instead of coloring, I just drew a slack-jawed, whimsical character I refer to as "The Rambling Man" peeking over the letter 'O'. And that ended my participation in coloring letters for a banner. Again, not that I didn't care, I was inebriated and unable to be sparked by creativity. As we all attempted to start a conversation, our attempts were futile. I had nothing interesting to say, and it didn't seem right for the parents of my friend to carry all of the conversation - it got awkward.
I'm amazed I've been able to supply this blog with a post just about every month! I was thinking about how stupid people are any more. Like this morning, I had a guy come in who wanted headphones while he "worked"/played around on the computer. See, we rent out headphones as well. The only problem is, like everything you give other people, they break it, or in this sense, break the headphones. The funny thing is, we have a whole cabinet to the back of the room full of the headphones we use. I tell people whenever I run out of headphones that they will have to wait until someone returns a pair, when in fact, they could have a pair of headphones right now if I wasn't lazy and didn't want to walk over to the cabinet to grab a few pairs. What made this incident "stupid" was what the guy said to me when I told him I didn't have a pair of headphones for him to rent. He asked, how could I run out of headphones? And I told him I had a limited amount of headphones to give out, and all of my pairs are in use at the moment. He then said, that's dumb...you need to buy more headphones then..., where, upon him saying that, I thought, no, what you need to do is bring your own headphones with you if you are planning on using them with one of our computers. This fuck is so acclimated to using a pair of our headphones that, once we ran out of them like we did today, he wasn't satisfied without headphones. Let's do a little math to further ridicule this creature; each day he comes in and gives me a quarter for headphones. If he were to come in for seven days straight, or a full-week, he has spent a $1.75 on headphones alone. And he's a regular, so tally that up for a month, that's $7 a month. He could have bought his own headphones, headphones only he is using, headphones that will always be there and never taken by another person, we hope, and we need to buy more headphones...but I don't tell him that.
Some of our practices here in the lab, and by that I mean our list of rules we have compiled, have different variations in other fields of work, but otherwise, they are unique. We have a 60-70 page report just on people we've had to warn for unacceptable behavior. A lot of the people on that list are repeat offenders. We have an equally compromising not-paid list. There's a person in here now, no matter who you are, if he sees you coming up to him, he says hello. Doesn't matter that it's the fifth or sixth time I have had to come up to him, to either give him a pair of headphones that have just become available or to tell him his time is up, each time a person comes up to him, it's hello. And it's not because he's nice; he's just weird, but has a good attitude on life. A lot of these people who come in I know on a first and last name-basis; now that's sad, and it's all because they come in so often. Whenever we have a problem-patron come in, and our newest employee is unsure of who it is, they come to me. Because I've seen them all, dealt with them all, know how to deal with them, hate to deal with them, but don't have a choice in the matter. All it takes are a few haphazard descriptions from a co-worker of how the person acted or looked, and I'll instantly know who they are talking about. One time, it was simply one of my co-workers saying the person was incredibly loud, no matter what his demeanor was, meaning, even if he was being nice, he could not control the volume of his voice - that and the fact that he always carried around a neck pillow, and a large quilt. Instantly, I knew who my co-worker was referring to. I mean seriously, I could bring along a camcorder with me to work for 2 or so months, and have an interesting story to tell. From the assortment of posters we have tacked to the walls to make the place "homey"-to- the oddest part of this room; how, some days during the summer we are stuffy as hell and so damn hot up here, and then the next day, freezing cold...I can almost state that I like my job...
TV Land has been rerunning episodes of The Cosby Show at about 10 or 11 o'clock at night. That's a fantastic show to fall asleep to. I caught it on the network about three days ago, and can't get enough of it. About a year or so ago, any time I just wanted to veg or chill to the television, while channel-surfing, I'd miraculously come across The Cosby Show on like Nick at Nite (I think it was Nick @ Nite) Aside from the ridiculous Cosby sweaters, and his goofy, shuffling dancing at the beginning of each episode, the show is just so chalk-full of heart! YAY! Actually, Bill Cosby is very funny in his role as Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable; this was still before he became embittered by the death of his only son, and became the douche bag he is today, demanding a lapse of violence and sexuality in all forms of media, particularly television and video games. I'm almost willing to go out and buy The Cosby Show on DVD, considering at Target I can get the entire series for like $70. Just depends if I want to spend $70 on something I can watch on cable for free.
What else? I never have anything good to talk about. Which is why I'm so quiet if I go out to dinner with people, or go over to someones house where people I know are at, chilling. Or, if I run in to someone out-and-about and we get to talking, I'm always the one shaking my head in agreement or going, "uh-huh...uh-huh...yeah, that's true....really!?" like I'm actually fucking shocked; "Really!? You don't say!" The bad that comes with that is I then sound like I'm uninterested in what the other person is talking about or I seem distracted. Folks, that's my A.D.D. kicking in, and my lack of social skills; I'm sociable, but I've also been flung bullshit all day while at work, and had to deal with some pretty crappy people, so bare with me if I don't speak up. Like, for instance, about a week ago, I went over to a friend's house and my friend's sister - my friend wasn't there at the time - her sister decided to color a 'Welcome Home' dangling banner, with the letters 'Welcome Home' or whatever the fuck it said, dangling and separate from one another. Good for her, right? Wrong. Everyone in the room had to color a letter, now, I don't know about you, but coloring or doing anything creative, being forced in to doing creative-things is not my favorite thing to do. Especially after I had to work. But there was no talking my way out of this one, and arguing seemed trivial, so I sucked it up, grabbed a letter, and went to town, as the saying goes. Only my way-to-town was through a briar patch, or in sensible-terms, I was thoroughly stumped on how I wanted to decorate my letter. In fact, my friend's mom even noted that I looked stumped. So, instead of coloring, I just drew a slack-jawed, whimsical character I refer to as "The Rambling Man" peeking over the letter 'O'. And that ended my participation in coloring letters for a banner. Again, not that I didn't care, I was inebriated and unable to be sparked by creativity. As we all attempted to start a conversation, our attempts were futile. I had nothing interesting to say, and it didn't seem right for the parents of my friend to carry all of the conversation - it got awkward.
I'm amazed I've been able to supply this blog with a post just about every month! I was thinking about how stupid people are any more. Like this morning, I had a guy come in who wanted headphones while he "worked"/played around on the computer. See, we rent out headphones as well. The only problem is, like everything you give other people, they break it, or in this sense, break the headphones. The funny thing is, we have a whole cabinet to the back of the room full of the headphones we use. I tell people whenever I run out of headphones that they will have to wait until someone returns a pair, when in fact, they could have a pair of headphones right now if I wasn't lazy and didn't want to walk over to the cabinet to grab a few pairs. What made this incident "stupid" was what the guy said to me when I told him I didn't have a pair of headphones for him to rent. He asked, how could I run out of headphones? And I told him I had a limited amount of headphones to give out, and all of my pairs are in use at the moment. He then said, that's dumb...you need to buy more headphones then..., where, upon him saying that, I thought, no, what you need to do is bring your own headphones with you if you are planning on using them with one of our computers. This fuck is so acclimated to using a pair of our headphones that, once we ran out of them like we did today, he wasn't satisfied without headphones. Let's do a little math to further ridicule this creature; each day he comes in and gives me a quarter for headphones. If he were to come in for seven days straight, or a full-week, he has spent a $1.75 on headphones alone. And he's a regular, so tally that up for a month, that's $7 a month. He could have bought his own headphones, headphones only he is using, headphones that will always be there and never taken by another person, we hope, and we need to buy more headphones...but I don't tell him that.
Some of our practices here in the lab, and by that I mean our list of rules we have compiled, have different variations in other fields of work, but otherwise, they are unique. We have a 60-70 page report just on people we've had to warn for unacceptable behavior. A lot of the people on that list are repeat offenders. We have an equally compromising not-paid list. There's a person in here now, no matter who you are, if he sees you coming up to him, he says hello. Doesn't matter that it's the fifth or sixth time I have had to come up to him, to either give him a pair of headphones that have just become available or to tell him his time is up, each time a person comes up to him, it's hello. And it's not because he's nice; he's just weird, but has a good attitude on life. A lot of these people who come in I know on a first and last name-basis; now that's sad, and it's all because they come in so often. Whenever we have a problem-patron come in, and our newest employee is unsure of who it is, they come to me. Because I've seen them all, dealt with them all, know how to deal with them, hate to deal with them, but don't have a choice in the matter. All it takes are a few haphazard descriptions from a co-worker of how the person acted or looked, and I'll instantly know who they are talking about. One time, it was simply one of my co-workers saying the person was incredibly loud, no matter what his demeanor was, meaning, even if he was being nice, he could not control the volume of his voice - that and the fact that he always carried around a neck pillow, and a large quilt. Instantly, I knew who my co-worker was referring to. I mean seriously, I could bring along a camcorder with me to work for 2 or so months, and have an interesting story to tell. From the assortment of posters we have tacked to the walls to make the place "homey"-to- the oddest part of this room; how, some days during the summer we are stuffy as hell and so damn hot up here, and then the next day, freezing cold...I can almost state that I like my job...
Monday, November 24, 2008
Results and Aftermath
The United States Presidential Elections have been concluded for awhile now, and Sir Barack Obama is now president-elect; I don't like that term, one bit. President-elect -- I realize Bush still retains office, but people, stop saying President-elect - it's annoying. I'd rather have them say newly-elected president, or, better yet, all you news-sites, come up with your own term for a person who has been elected president, but does not hold office. Everyone uses president-elect, and if one news source uses it, all of them start using it. Fact: if you hear a news cast on one station, flip to all the others - they all repeat the same shit, only a few twist the facts to their liking (ahem, Fox News; anymore even MSNBC) And yes, President-elect might be the official term used, but Jesus, every sentence is the president-elect-this-and-this, and, oh, Mr. President-elect; you can't just refer to him as Barack Obama, or Obama? Hell, I remember when former-President Bill Clinton was referred to as Governor Clinton before he took command, why not Senator Obama? We fucking get it -- he's president! Great! I know I'm really scrounging for this one, but isn't it referred to as reverse racism if you constantly insist on drawing all your attention on one aspect of a different race, for instance, the fact that Obama is the first black president? Hear me out: it would be like the news stations constantly referring to Obama as, "In today's news, first-elected-black President Obama issued..." (I realize by saying President-elect you aren't acknowledging any ethnicity, but it seems like it's almost alluding to an assured uncertainty of whether or not the guy was actually elected president, like we are in some kind of dream) Personal story, I was riding in a car from Wichita, and a black Toyota pickup passed us, and I just happened to glance at its bumper and saw the words 'Kill Obama' in silver paint. That guy's life is a fucking nightmare now that Obama is president, and I say, fuck that slanderous, outrageously racist dick! - Bush might have left a bad taste in my mouth, but I never wanted to kill the guy (yes, that pun was intended)
I like newly-elected president; I also like president-in-waiting...I'm sure if I had the time, I'd have more terms for you. What I don't like is how this post-election has been treated. Obama is a normal person, and he hasn't even been in office yet, and he's donned already as this savior. I was walking through an aisle at Target the other day - the coloring book aisle or whatever, with all the children's books and puzzle books - one of the books there was a children's book on Obama. I imagine it was full of pictures of him beating up ruffians, and returning the purse of an elderly lady before flying off to his ice-palace on Antarctica, or using his power-breath to blow away the next Katrina back to the middle of the ocean, saving some coastal providence. An infomercial was on the other day, which was trying to persuade me to order a golden coin with the image of Obama etched on it, and some bullshit drawn on the back of it, all for only 19.95! On The Daily Show, on a segment they like to call Back in Black with comedian Lewis Black, I heard people are selling t-shirts, decorative plates depicting Obama, other shit that will linger in a storage closet here in the next ten years. Come on, really?!? My God, you're really exploiting the next president of the United States; shame on you! Marvin, you genius son of a bitch, you've done it again! First, it was the 'I Survived Katrina by Floating on my Drowned Neighbor's Body' t-shirts, and then the 'Earthquake! in Indonesia Electric Toothbrush' that, once vibrating and the picture of a tropical resort village shakes, the buildings begin to crack; now, the Obama commemorative plate, with stand. I could do this my whole fucking life!
So, since the president has been decided, who else has heard the claims of Sarah Palin throwing fits after reading each briefing every morning? It's fact -- actually, Fox News were the ones who ran the story. It appears she didn't know basic Civics, or many of the responsibilities of the vice-president. She actually threw -- what her staff referred-to-as -- tantrums. I FUCKING CALLED THAT! If you remember, or paid attention while reading my last post, or read it at all - because I don't have readers, I know that, it's a fact; nobody reads this garbage -- I stated that I believed Sarah Palin looked like the type of person who would start screaming uncontrollably if put in a compromising situation. And it's true! What integrity, indeed! Wow, three times, Mr. McCain, and still NOTHING!
I just realized, at work, when people are talking to me, I don't fucking listen. A girl asked me if she could get on a computer, just as someone else was getting off and exiting the lab, I asked her name (I was typing a sentence in here, my blog, at the time) I even had the girl repeat her name, separate, starting with first then last, and still, when I switched over to my Excel spreadsheet, I couldn't remember it. In fact, before she even gave me her name, she asked if she could get on a specific computer, one that just so happened to be next to her friend, and after taking her name and forgetting it instantly because I don't fucking listen to these people, I told her to pick whichever was open, a complete contradiction to me letting her know it was okay for her to sit next to her friend. To quote musician Phil Collins, "I don't care anymore... ..no'mo, no'more...no'mo...no'more...no'mo, no'more..."
I'll leave you all with one of my favorite poems:
Hey Tony,
I like the things you do.
HEY TONY!
If I could I would be you.
The one and only tiger
with the one and only taste.
You know how to take a breakfast and make it, mmmm'GREAT!
Frosted Flakes are more than good; THEY'RE GREAT!
I like newly-elected president; I also like president-in-waiting...I'm sure if I had the time, I'd have more terms for you. What I don't like is how this post-election has been treated. Obama is a normal person, and he hasn't even been in office yet, and he's donned already as this savior. I was walking through an aisle at Target the other day - the coloring book aisle or whatever, with all the children's books and puzzle books - one of the books there was a children's book on Obama. I imagine it was full of pictures of him beating up ruffians, and returning the purse of an elderly lady before flying off to his ice-palace on Antarctica, or using his power-breath to blow away the next Katrina back to the middle of the ocean, saving some coastal providence. An infomercial was on the other day, which was trying to persuade me to order a golden coin with the image of Obama etched on it, and some bullshit drawn on the back of it, all for only 19.95! On The Daily Show, on a segment they like to call Back in Black with comedian Lewis Black, I heard people are selling t-shirts, decorative plates depicting Obama, other shit that will linger in a storage closet here in the next ten years. Come on, really?!? My God, you're really exploiting the next president of the United States; shame on you! Marvin, you genius son of a bitch, you've done it again! First, it was the 'I Survived Katrina by Floating on my Drowned Neighbor's Body' t-shirts, and then the 'Earthquake! in Indonesia Electric Toothbrush' that, once vibrating and the picture of a tropical resort village shakes, the buildings begin to crack; now, the Obama commemorative plate, with stand. I could do this my whole fucking life!
So, since the president has been decided, who else has heard the claims of Sarah Palin throwing fits after reading each briefing every morning? It's fact -- actually, Fox News were the ones who ran the story. It appears she didn't know basic Civics, or many of the responsibilities of the vice-president. She actually threw -- what her staff referred-to-as -- tantrums. I FUCKING CALLED THAT! If you remember, or paid attention while reading my last post, or read it at all - because I don't have readers, I know that, it's a fact; nobody reads this garbage -- I stated that I believed Sarah Palin looked like the type of person who would start screaming uncontrollably if put in a compromising situation. And it's true! What integrity, indeed! Wow, three times, Mr. McCain, and still NOTHING!
I just realized, at work, when people are talking to me, I don't fucking listen. A girl asked me if she could get on a computer, just as someone else was getting off and exiting the lab, I asked her name (I was typing a sentence in here, my blog, at the time) I even had the girl repeat her name, separate, starting with first then last, and still, when I switched over to my Excel spreadsheet, I couldn't remember it. In fact, before she even gave me her name, she asked if she could get on a specific computer, one that just so happened to be next to her friend, and after taking her name and forgetting it instantly because I don't fucking listen to these people, I told her to pick whichever was open, a complete contradiction to me letting her know it was okay for her to sit next to her friend. To quote musician Phil Collins, "I don't care anymore... ..no'mo, no'more...no'mo...no'more...no'mo, no'more..."
I'll leave you all with one of my favorite poems:
Hey Tony,
I like the things you do.
HEY TONY!
If I could I would be you.
The one and only tiger
with the one and only taste.
You know how to take a breakfast and make it, mmmm'GREAT!
Frosted Flakes are more than good; THEY'RE GREAT!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Retraction, Reshmraction
In my last post, I stated that the R.M.S. Titanic sunk in 1917...fuck me, I was wrong! I meant 1912, but in my defense, 1917 and 1912 look a lot alike, and, in my grandmother's cursive handwriting, they are the same. How she writes cursive, clearly, it's because she's old and lazy. A straight line with a bump in it equals, "I went to a hair appointment; there's pot roast in the fridge."
I also related that Martin Scorcese's masterpiece (best movie - whatever) was Good Fellas. Wrong again, Joe - oh Sarah Palin, you dumb ballsy-bimbo of the Republican party - excuse me, I was wrong stating Good Fellas was his best picture because I completely left out Raging Bull, the better picture compared to Good Fellas. Both are extraordinary, but Raging Bull is truly a masterpiece.
Does anybody else think Sarah Palin is the kind of person who would start shrieking uncontrollably if put in a really compromising and high-stressed situation? She already shakes during her interviews, and it almost seems like she's collecting all her inner strength to suppress herself if tempers flair in a debate/ice cream shoppe/supermarket self-checkout when the credit card machine won't scan her American Express. Just let it out, Sarah. Scream fuck you! at a defenseless animal who wet on the carpet; Joe Biden needs to be called a big nippled, old shit from time-to-time. He deserves it - in fact, while he was smirking like a jackass during the vice-presidential debates, you should have whipped a Duracel battery at his behemoth five-head. I wanted to! He thinks he's soo clever for naming his son Beau?! So smug! Beau and Joe Biden - HEY! Well I'll be a son of a bitch, that rhymes! THAT'S SOO FUCKING CLEVER!!! How in the hell did you come up with that one, Joe?
I think Sarah Palin should start carrying around a massive ruler, or maybe a riding crop. When somebody gets out of line - maybe reports that she abused her power as Governor, grills/reams her like Charlie Gibson did - she can slap that down on a hard surface and yell, "THAT'S ENOUGH!" I would have a chubby for weeks! What does that even mean, any ways? Pssh! Abuse of power; we had eight years of abused power in the highest position in government; Sarah Palin abused her power as Governor...in Alaska...oh dear! If the McCain ticket wins the election, her brim ass will rest comfortably in the awkward, bulbous ass indention left behind by Dick Cheney in his old leather seat. She can gawk at Cheney's claw marks on the edges of his desk where he used to perch and take his meals - some bloodied animal carcass - and be shocked at finding the remnants of egg shells where Dick Cheney birthed Karl Rove. As far as corruption in a state office goes, hers wasn't the first and won't be the last, and, not as I see it, but as the media and especially those who would reside over the case surely will see it, it's not severe enough for prosecution. But for the love of God, keep your hair down, Sarah...could you show some cleavage as well? What are your views on fish-nets? How about candy-apple red nail polish, and undoing two top buttons on your blouse? I like boots...
I wish I would've written this post when the Charles Gibson interview with Palin was fresh in our minds, but I was working, so, you know...shit.
If auto racing would do something other than just have challenges where cars go around on a circular track, or a straight line, then I could embrace the so-called sport. Rally racing is pretty badass, where two people, usually a navigator and driver, take up residence of a suped-up Lancer or Subaru and hit the off-road trails some place in another country. Dune-buggies hitting the dunes; now that's fun because who knows what bodily harm can and eventually will be done. That makes sense because people do stupid things. Here's a sport with cars I'd watch if it existed.
Welcome back from clicking the link! IF you haven't clicked the link, you hate the troops!
The link was of a video from the popular BBC programme "Top Gear" - it's a damn good show; I watch it just about every Monday night. Compared to NASCAR, it's more appealing as well as entertaining, plus the cars they use reserve gas (38+ mpg) and aren't emitting as harmful of toxins. I have a feeling soccer is probably the only game a car could play, unless you had car-chess, but that's just wasteful, and stupid IMO. I say, since the housing market is in such rough shape, and apparently Ed McMahon is having quite the pickle selling his mansion in Beverly Hills, we all take a couple Aygos and play a game of "Clue" in his home. Miss Scarlet, in the Conservatory, with a length of rope! SMASH! We just drove a fucking car in to Ed McMahon's library!
I also related that Martin Scorcese's masterpiece (best movie - whatever) was Good Fellas. Wrong again, Joe - oh Sarah Palin, you dumb ballsy-bimbo of the Republican party - excuse me, I was wrong stating Good Fellas was his best picture because I completely left out Raging Bull, the better picture compared to Good Fellas. Both are extraordinary, but Raging Bull is truly a masterpiece.
Does anybody else think Sarah Palin is the kind of person who would start shrieking uncontrollably if put in a really compromising and high-stressed situation? She already shakes during her interviews, and it almost seems like she's collecting all her inner strength to suppress herself if tempers flair in a debate/ice cream shoppe/supermarket self-checkout when the credit card machine won't scan her American Express. Just let it out, Sarah. Scream fuck you! at a defenseless animal who wet on the carpet; Joe Biden needs to be called a big nippled, old shit from time-to-time. He deserves it - in fact, while he was smirking like a jackass during the vice-presidential debates, you should have whipped a Duracel battery at his behemoth five-head. I wanted to! He thinks he's soo clever for naming his son Beau?! So smug! Beau and Joe Biden - HEY! Well I'll be a son of a bitch, that rhymes! THAT'S SOO FUCKING CLEVER!!! How in the hell did you come up with that one, Joe?
I think Sarah Palin should start carrying around a massive ruler, or maybe a riding crop. When somebody gets out of line - maybe reports that she abused her power as Governor, grills/reams her like Charlie Gibson did - she can slap that down on a hard surface and yell, "THAT'S ENOUGH!" I would have a chubby for weeks! What does that even mean, any ways? Pssh! Abuse of power; we had eight years of abused power in the highest position in government; Sarah Palin abused her power as Governor...in Alaska...oh dear! If the McCain ticket wins the election, her brim ass will rest comfortably in the awkward, bulbous ass indention left behind by Dick Cheney in his old leather seat. She can gawk at Cheney's claw marks on the edges of his desk where he used to perch and take his meals - some bloodied animal carcass - and be shocked at finding the remnants of egg shells where Dick Cheney birthed Karl Rove. As far as corruption in a state office goes, hers wasn't the first and won't be the last, and, not as I see it, but as the media and especially those who would reside over the case surely will see it, it's not severe enough for prosecution. But for the love of God, keep your hair down, Sarah...could you show some cleavage as well? What are your views on fish-nets? How about candy-apple red nail polish, and undoing two top buttons on your blouse? I like boots...
I wish I would've written this post when the Charles Gibson interview with Palin was fresh in our minds, but I was working, so, you know...shit.
If auto racing would do something other than just have challenges where cars go around on a circular track, or a straight line, then I could embrace the so-called sport. Rally racing is pretty badass, where two people, usually a navigator and driver, take up residence of a suped-up Lancer or Subaru and hit the off-road trails some place in another country. Dune-buggies hitting the dunes; now that's fun because who knows what bodily harm can and eventually will be done. That makes sense because people do stupid things. Here's a sport with cars I'd watch if it existed.
Welcome back from clicking the link! IF you haven't clicked the link, you hate the troops!
The link was of a video from the popular BBC programme "Top Gear" - it's a damn good show; I watch it just about every Monday night. Compared to NASCAR, it's more appealing as well as entertaining, plus the cars they use reserve gas (38+ mpg) and aren't emitting as harmful of toxins. I have a feeling soccer is probably the only game a car could play, unless you had car-chess, but that's just wasteful, and stupid IMO. I say, since the housing market is in such rough shape, and apparently Ed McMahon is having quite the pickle selling his mansion in Beverly Hills, we all take a couple Aygos and play a game of "Clue" in his home. Miss Scarlet, in the Conservatory, with a length of rope! SMASH! We just drove a fucking car in to Ed McMahon's library!
Monday, August 25, 2008
My Life Continued
So, like I stated before, I'm doing nothing with my life at this point. Let me just figure some shit out, and sit back to take a few things in to consideration, and maybe I'll spark some transformation in to a more active lifestyle.
This "nothingness" I excel in consists of playing around on my computer, getting on Xbox 360/Xboxlive - when playing 360, I typically play a racing game known as 'Grid', or, I just cause total mass-destruction, namely, against the po-leese in 'GTA IV'; I have yet to buy Too Human, and Star Wars: The Force Unleashed hasn't come out yet. I've been watching movies; this month, I've watched The Dark Knight about 5-6 times, not paying to witness it in a stuffy theater, but in the comfort of my own home. It's not hard to get a copy of that film. Now I know - there's probably a good handful of people thinking to themselves, "I could think of 20 better movies than The Dark Knight to watch over-and-over again." I guess it's just the fan boy in me, and the fact that the movie is pretty damn good. Then, there is a whole different breed of individuals thinking to themselves, "The Dark Knight - this, The Dark Knight - that! I am getting sick of hearing about The Dark Knight" - I remember being sick of hearing about Titanic; that, to me, seemed like a pointless movie. Oh, but the love-story was so romantic - yeah, well, if Billy Zane's character wasn't a wife-beater, the plot would have been virtually unrealistic. No sane woman, back in that time, would have rebelled against her family and a rich husband for a real-life gay stowaway played by Leo Di "Crap"-rio. I guess that is my own bias, but think about that, realistically. It was 1917...I know you want to portray an independent woman, but... Historically, the divorce-rate was almost nonexistent, and family values were something you kept sacred; you didn't sass back to your mother, not to say it didn't happen. Chances are, Rose would've stayed with Billy Zane's character. Those of you who just love The Departed, another movie with DiCaprio in it - my ass, if that's the best Scorsese film! Two words - Good Fellas. He got rewarded the best director because he's old! People love that whole life-time achievement crock of shit! And Good Fellas is by-far the better picture. What Titanic had going for it was the heart-throb. You had a bunch of pre-teen-to-teenaged girls flocking to the theater to see Jack, and you had horrible people like myself watching that film to see him die. James Cameron knew he was swimming in moolah, naked with pre-teen boys standing around him, after signing that pretty face-fuck! for the lead male. And that's essentially why Titanic is still the highest grossing movie of all-time, and, to be honest, it's pathetic that there hasn't been a movie since The Dark Knight that has threatened that title. It's been eleven-fucking-years!!! I guess Hollywood does churn out loads of crap anymore.
I enjoyed watching The Dark Knight the first time I saw it, which was when it was first released in theaters. Though, I was late to the screening, so I couldn't sit with the rest of my friends - I ended up sitting next to one of my friends and my brother, who drove us to the theater because he doesn't drive a late-model car. The seating was naturally packed, being a highly anticipated feature, and the last full-length movie for actor Heath Ledger. Again, a well-known heart-throb amongst an all-star cast, attracting many of their loyal fan-base to the film. Yet this time, not such a pretty face...
I didn't admit to my other friends that I really digged the movie; number one, being the bitter person I am - bitter because of my incompetent brother who made us late to the movie - number two, I had to take a leak the second we got in to the theater, and if you've seen the movie, or, at least, read about it, it is a long-one, maxing out at 2 hours and 30-some minutes, and there was no chance in hell I was gonna miss a second of that flick. As I sat in my seat, though, and, while my friend Shaun had an empty-or-near-empty paper bucket that was once full of popcorn, temptation almost grabbed a hold of me to ask Shaun for that bucket, so I could kneel in front of my seat, and just piss in the theater, or in said-bucket. I'm not ashamed to do so; if you've gotta go, you gotta go - I'd rather get kicked out of a theater for pissing in an empty popcorn bucket than to have to trek up the aisle, out the exit doors, down a hall, across the entrance-area passed the concession stands, to the Men's room, urinate, wash my hands, then make that same trek back to my seat; not to mention, passing, or, in a sense, shuffling my fat ass in front of total strangers to get out of the row of seats I'm snugly seated in the middle of, telling people, "excuse me...excuse me...sorry, excuse me...I know I'm in the fucking way, and I know how much of an inconvenience this is to ask you to move your feet back to make room for me, but you see, I have a fucking fat everything here, and also a full bladder; I'm trying to make this as easy as I fucking can without losing said bladder on your nice, clean, non-piss-stained shoes..."
See, this is why movie theaters should have a restroom IN the actual theater-part of their building. With, I might add, speakers in the bathroom with the audio of the movie you are watching, so, while you're away from the screen, you have an understanding of what's going on once you return. The theaters around my area don't have this - do other parts of the country?
Like I said before in an earlier post, I've been working. I just love working 40 hours in a room full of the public! Such a fantastic job - it's like the ultimate customer service; I have to answer/pretend to care about the concerns of other people, no matter how insane they are. I'm in a room that's not NOT air conditioned; we might have seven fans running at once, but it's never comfortable. These people have no reasoning for how benign they act. On a related matter, I was coming back from the gas station - I drove three blocks to fill up my car, and purchase a bottle of orange juice because I have been, a bit, under-the-weather this whole week, and I thought the shot of vitamin C would do some good - and, as I drove from the gas station to the library, and was waiting in my car at a stoplight, I hawked a ball of spit-and-mucus out of my mouth on to the street, being as congested as I am today. A black lady who is a frequented visitor of the library, most notably the computer lab, noticed this from the side of the street, and irately asked if I had spat at her. I said no, I was just spitting, and, from what I gathered from her reaction, she didn't believe me, like I'd spit at someone I didn't know; had not even acknowledged I hated or resented. She blew me off, muttering what I interpreted was "asshole," and then she walked down the street. This whole conflict had completed, and still, my light had not turned green. I sat at that fucking light for three more minutes, before blowing through it. I'm one of those people who could give a shit if the light is red. What aggravates me is the fact that she didn't believe that I wasn't spitting at her. What would be my reason for spitting at her; because she's black? Really?! Or could it have been that I thought she was homeless - what kind of person would I have to be to spit at another person? What reasoning is behind her thinking I was spitting at her? Crazy bitch.
Also, since we are on the topic of crazy people, I had a frantic, almost jittery person call me 'sweet' and show me a picture of their daughter, hoping I'd date the pictured girl. Okay, first off, how do you respond to that? "She's...pretty..." She was, in fact, pretty, but by acknowledging that, you come across as a person who is only interested in looks. I'm sorry if I didn't seem too enthused about your daughter, but, seriously - I'm a total stranger, you're a total stranger. Do you always prostitute your daughter like that to strange men? Just because you refer to me as, "sweet" doesn't mean...whatever...one of those unbelievably crazy moments. And hey, maybe the mother realizes her daughter isn't getting any, or perhaps wonders why her daughter doesn't get more people asking her out or she does, just by the wrong people, and I seemed nice. Again, I don't know you, you don't know me. I definitely don't know your daughter. I was just slightly irked by this.
I've been drinking more water these days. What's the point of drinking something sweet all the time; can't you just enjoy water? I love water. I prefer it over other beverages. And for being as sick as I am now, a nice tall one of water really hits the spot. That was one New Year's Eve resolution I could get behind, was drinking more H2O. If you think about it, as far as setting regulations for yourself, 4 liters or so a-day of water is a cake-walk! Better than having to exercise! Somehow, I don't think I'm ready for my transformation in to a more active lifestyle...
On a side note, even though I have just stated drinking more water would be a cake-walk, I can understand how difficult it would be obtaining just water for a full day. Being that I work in a room where I can't leave on my own volition due to how sneaky and crafty-of-fiends the general public are, it would be hard for me to always fulfill that need. Call it paranoia, whatever, I would just rather not have an incident to deal with coming back from drinking six-ounces of water.
I wish I had more interesting things to talk about. I was thinking last night of a few things that would really blow people's mind. For instance, if a random act of kindness, on my part, were to reward me with huge sums of cash. Like, let's say, I were to drive a person to their house - just randomly pick someone up off the street and drive them home without them slitting my throat, and they were one of these people who are downtrodden that society is as fucked up as it is - that, especially now-a-days, more people are mistrusting of those around them, and chivalry and kindness are on a decline - my random act of thoughtfulness was just enough of a spark to get them out of that void...and then they ask me to write down the amount of money I'd like to have in my bank account...and then they gave it to me...the real moral of that story is that I'm not financially stable, and a tad-bit selfish for wanting someone to hand me money I should be earning myself.
A near-death experience would be another interesting topic. I, sort of, had a near-death experience this year. Earlier this month, I contracted MRSA, a form of staph infection. Here is what I got off of Wikipedia about the nasty, little bugger I had:
MRSA infection is caused by Staphylococcus aureus bacteria — often called "staph." MRSA stands for methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. It's a strain of staph that's resistant to the broad-spectrum antibiotics commonly used to treat it. MRSA can be fatal.
*I bolded the fatality of this condition.
Let's read on:
Most MRSA infections occur in hospitals or other health care settings, such as nursing homes and dialysis centers. It's known as health care-associated MRSA, or HA-MRSA. Older adults and people with weakened immune systems are at most risk of HA-MRSA. More recently, another type of MRSA has occurred among otherwise healthy people in the wider community. This form, community-associated MRSA, or CA-MRSA, is responsible for serious skin and soft tissue infections and for a serious form of pneumonia.
*I did not bold whatever is bolded in that paragraph; I cannot take credit for that.
**Does anybody else watch re-runs of Becker early in the mornings on the USA network? It's actually a funny show! Ted Danson plays Dr. John Becker, who operates a small practice in The Bronx (a place in New York City where a lot of people are murdered) and is constantly annoyed by his patients, co-workers, friends, and practically everything and everybody else in his world. As a result of his outspoken nature, Becker is inaccessible to most people that do not know him. He still knows people who like him because inside his rough exterior, is a kind-hearted man. (Courtesy of Wikipedia, though tweaked by Mr. Austin Smith)
I lost the page I was on explaining MRSA because I navigated away from it to look up information on Becker. Well any who, blah blah blah, more nonsense, skin-condition, could be fatal...and, take in to consideration that a person, like myself, who has a heart murmur, is more at risk due to the bacteria traveling down in to my heart, I had a good chance of death if I hadn't gone to the doctor at the time I did. What an interesting story! Not. I would've preferred telling a near-death experience-story which involved me, hanging off the side of a cliff from my car, and being rescued via helicopter, before a mining company blew out that portion of the mountain, for diamonds.
That's another thing the Croc-Hunter had going for him. You could invite that fucker to a party, and just being the Croc-Hunter, he'd be the most popular person there, but also, just imagine all the wicked stories he had! The guy had people eating out of his hand!
Pete: "I was eating a hot dog at the ball park, and choked on someone's wedding ring they were going to give their wife by hiding it in her food...the guy at the stand fucked it up, and got the weiners mixed up! Needless-to-say, we located the disgruntled couple who was supposed to have the hot dog I was inhaling; they just had their second child!"
Then, the Croc-Hunter steps up. "I was down in Belize, a part of South America, trying to reintroduce these little spider monkeys back in to their natural habitat, after they were malnourished, and had to be treated at a nearby reserve. As I helped little Ernesto in to the canopy - we named the monkeys to tell them apart; we also color-coordinated little collars that went around their necks..."
Pete: "I thought we were talking about near-death experiences; I almost died choking on a hot dog...not playing around with monkeys in a rainforest..." (snickering like an idiot, smart-alic bastard)
Croc-Hunter (unamused) "As I was saying, just as I helped little Ernesto in to the canopy, a ferocious Pit-Viper slunk down from a branch to nab the little bugger! I immediately withdrew the spider monkey from harm, but took a venomous strike right to my shoulder! I was rushed to a medical team on-hand, but at this moment, knew I was in trouble - the nearest village was more than sixteen kilometers..." (Pete walks off)
Many o'times I reference the Croc-Hunter Steve Irwin. He's deceased now, but, as far as interesting characters in the media and pop-culture, he was a gim! I, personally, found it insane that he did the things he did, but, as I've expressed before, he benefited the animal kingdom, and the guy was seriously, an animal himself. That dude loved life, literally, loved life; nature, animals, being among animals, eating with animals, driving around town with various animal-life in his Jeep...hanging with his posse of animal-experts and, most likely, a few crocodiles. I promise you, I won't bring Steve Irwin back up in any more future blog posts. Where can I go from here? I've discussed interesting topics, from life-threatening to my selfish want for someone to selflessly give me a shit-load of money, and the interesting tale that would be, to a person who lived their life in the wild.
I realize that a lot of people now-a-days would like to dry-hump Michael Phelps, the gold-medal-winning fish-boy, because he has transcended from star-athlete to phenomenon, but do you really think it's necessary to berate him with comments on his Facebook every half-second? It's gonna take that guy a millennium to read all those, if he ever does, and you know by now, sitting at his computer and reading your comments is not his first priority. I'd be absolutely burned-out if I was him! He's going to be overwhelmed. But that's celebrity for ya; his life has completely changed from here-on-out; well, not really changed. It was probably more of a change taking something he enjoyed casually, like swimming, to making it his career, then eventually accomplishing his goal of winning every swimming event he was in at the Beijing Olympics. But now, he's a celebrity, which means promotion, life in the limelight, and various reaction from fans. I don't know - I'd be worn thin, but that's just me. Maybe he's taking it in stride; I don't know the guy. I guess it would be fucking awesome to have millions-upon-millions-upon-millions of fans; let's just hope they don't scrutinize him too severe if he flubs up. I mean, THAT NEVER HAPPENS.
Celebrity, in itself, is an interesting topic. I wish I had more interesting things to talk about... I've talked about regulations for yourself, like mine for drinking several liters of water a day, and I used to have one for my blog. This is a clear sign that I have nothing interesting to say, or more evidence of my idiocy.
This "nothingness" I excel in consists of playing around on my computer, getting on Xbox 360/Xboxlive - when playing 360, I typically play a racing game known as 'Grid', or, I just cause total mass-destruction, namely, against the po-leese in 'GTA IV'; I have yet to buy Too Human, and Star Wars: The Force Unleashed hasn't come out yet. I've been watching movies; this month, I've watched The Dark Knight about 5-6 times, not paying to witness it in a stuffy theater, but in the comfort of my own home. It's not hard to get a copy of that film. Now I know - there's probably a good handful of people thinking to themselves, "I could think of 20 better movies than The Dark Knight to watch over-and-over again." I guess it's just the fan boy in me, and the fact that the movie is pretty damn good. Then, there is a whole different breed of individuals thinking to themselves, "The Dark Knight - this, The Dark Knight - that! I am getting sick of hearing about The Dark Knight" - I remember being sick of hearing about Titanic; that, to me, seemed like a pointless movie. Oh, but the love-story was so romantic - yeah, well, if Billy Zane's character wasn't a wife-beater, the plot would have been virtually unrealistic. No sane woman, back in that time, would have rebelled against her family and a rich husband for a real-life gay stowaway played by Leo Di "Crap"-rio. I guess that is my own bias, but think about that, realistically. It was 1917...I know you want to portray an independent woman, but... Historically, the divorce-rate was almost nonexistent, and family values were something you kept sacred; you didn't sass back to your mother, not to say it didn't happen. Chances are, Rose would've stayed with Billy Zane's character. Those of you who just love The Departed, another movie with DiCaprio in it - my ass, if that's the best Scorsese film! Two words - Good Fellas. He got rewarded the best director because he's old! People love that whole life-time achievement crock of shit! And Good Fellas is by-far the better picture. What Titanic had going for it was the heart-throb. You had a bunch of pre-teen-to-teenaged girls flocking to the theater to see Jack, and you had horrible people like myself watching that film to see him die. James Cameron knew he was swimming in moolah, naked with pre-teen boys standing around him, after signing that pretty face-fuck! for the lead male. And that's essentially why Titanic is still the highest grossing movie of all-time, and, to be honest, it's pathetic that there hasn't been a movie since The Dark Knight that has threatened that title. It's been eleven-fucking-years!!! I guess Hollywood does churn out loads of crap anymore.
I enjoyed watching The Dark Knight the first time I saw it, which was when it was first released in theaters. Though, I was late to the screening, so I couldn't sit with the rest of my friends - I ended up sitting next to one of my friends and my brother, who drove us to the theater because he doesn't drive a late-model car. The seating was naturally packed, being a highly anticipated feature, and the last full-length movie for actor Heath Ledger. Again, a well-known heart-throb amongst an all-star cast, attracting many of their loyal fan-base to the film. Yet this time, not such a pretty face...
I didn't admit to my other friends that I really digged the movie; number one, being the bitter person I am - bitter because of my incompetent brother who made us late to the movie - number two, I had to take a leak the second we got in to the theater, and if you've seen the movie, or, at least, read about it, it is a long-one, maxing out at 2 hours and 30-some minutes, and there was no chance in hell I was gonna miss a second of that flick. As I sat in my seat, though, and, while my friend Shaun had an empty-or-near-empty paper bucket that was once full of popcorn, temptation almost grabbed a hold of me to ask Shaun for that bucket, so I could kneel in front of my seat, and just piss in the theater, or in said-bucket. I'm not ashamed to do so; if you've gotta go, you gotta go - I'd rather get kicked out of a theater for pissing in an empty popcorn bucket than to have to trek up the aisle, out the exit doors, down a hall, across the entrance-area passed the concession stands, to the Men's room, urinate, wash my hands, then make that same trek back to my seat; not to mention, passing, or, in a sense, shuffling my fat ass in front of total strangers to get out of the row of seats I'm snugly seated in the middle of, telling people, "excuse me...excuse me...sorry, excuse me...I know I'm in the fucking way, and I know how much of an inconvenience this is to ask you to move your feet back to make room for me, but you see, I have a fucking fat everything here, and also a full bladder; I'm trying to make this as easy as I fucking can without losing said bladder on your nice, clean, non-piss-stained shoes..."
See, this is why movie theaters should have a restroom IN the actual theater-part of their building. With, I might add, speakers in the bathroom with the audio of the movie you are watching, so, while you're away from the screen, you have an understanding of what's going on once you return. The theaters around my area don't have this - do other parts of the country?
Like I said before in an earlier post, I've been working. I just love working 40 hours in a room full of the public! Such a fantastic job - it's like the ultimate customer service; I have to answer/pretend to care about the concerns of other people, no matter how insane they are. I'm in a room that's not NOT air conditioned; we might have seven fans running at once, but it's never comfortable. These people have no reasoning for how benign they act. On a related matter, I was coming back from the gas station - I drove three blocks to fill up my car, and purchase a bottle of orange juice because I have been, a bit, under-the-weather this whole week, and I thought the shot of vitamin C would do some good - and, as I drove from the gas station to the library, and was waiting in my car at a stoplight, I hawked a ball of spit-and-mucus out of my mouth on to the street, being as congested as I am today. A black lady who is a frequented visitor of the library, most notably the computer lab, noticed this from the side of the street, and irately asked if I had spat at her. I said no, I was just spitting, and, from what I gathered from her reaction, she didn't believe me, like I'd spit at someone I didn't know; had not even acknowledged I hated or resented. She blew me off, muttering what I interpreted was "asshole," and then she walked down the street. This whole conflict had completed, and still, my light had not turned green. I sat at that fucking light for three more minutes, before blowing through it. I'm one of those people who could give a shit if the light is red. What aggravates me is the fact that she didn't believe that I wasn't spitting at her. What would be my reason for spitting at her; because she's black? Really?! Or could it have been that I thought she was homeless - what kind of person would I have to be to spit at another person? What reasoning is behind her thinking I was spitting at her? Crazy bitch.
Also, since we are on the topic of crazy people, I had a frantic, almost jittery person call me 'sweet' and show me a picture of their daughter, hoping I'd date the pictured girl. Okay, first off, how do you respond to that? "She's...pretty..." She was, in fact, pretty, but by acknowledging that, you come across as a person who is only interested in looks. I'm sorry if I didn't seem too enthused about your daughter, but, seriously - I'm a total stranger, you're a total stranger. Do you always prostitute your daughter like that to strange men? Just because you refer to me as, "sweet" doesn't mean...whatever...one of those unbelievably crazy moments. And hey, maybe the mother realizes her daughter isn't getting any, or perhaps wonders why her daughter doesn't get more people asking her out or she does, just by the wrong people, and I seemed nice. Again, I don't know you, you don't know me. I definitely don't know your daughter. I was just slightly irked by this.
I've been drinking more water these days. What's the point of drinking something sweet all the time; can't you just enjoy water? I love water. I prefer it over other beverages. And for being as sick as I am now, a nice tall one of water really hits the spot. That was one New Year's Eve resolution I could get behind, was drinking more H2O. If you think about it, as far as setting regulations for yourself, 4 liters or so a-day of water is a cake-walk! Better than having to exercise! Somehow, I don't think I'm ready for my transformation in to a more active lifestyle...
On a side note, even though I have just stated drinking more water would be a cake-walk, I can understand how difficult it would be obtaining just water for a full day. Being that I work in a room where I can't leave on my own volition due to how sneaky and crafty-of-fiends the general public are, it would be hard for me to always fulfill that need. Call it paranoia, whatever, I would just rather not have an incident to deal with coming back from drinking six-ounces of water.
I wish I had more interesting things to talk about. I was thinking last night of a few things that would really blow people's mind. For instance, if a random act of kindness, on my part, were to reward me with huge sums of cash. Like, let's say, I were to drive a person to their house - just randomly pick someone up off the street and drive them home without them slitting my throat, and they were one of these people who are downtrodden that society is as fucked up as it is - that, especially now-a-days, more people are mistrusting of those around them, and chivalry and kindness are on a decline - my random act of thoughtfulness was just enough of a spark to get them out of that void...and then they ask me to write down the amount of money I'd like to have in my bank account...and then they gave it to me...the real moral of that story is that I'm not financially stable, and a tad-bit selfish for wanting someone to hand me money I should be earning myself.
A near-death experience would be another interesting topic. I, sort of, had a near-death experience this year. Earlier this month, I contracted MRSA, a form of staph infection. Here is what I got off of Wikipedia about the nasty, little bugger I had:
MRSA infection is caused by Staphylococcus aureus bacteria — often called "staph." MRSA stands for methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. It's a strain of staph that's resistant to the broad-spectrum antibiotics commonly used to treat it. MRSA can be fatal.
*I bolded the fatality of this condition.
Let's read on:
Most MRSA infections occur in hospitals or other health care settings, such as nursing homes and dialysis centers. It's known as health care-associated MRSA, or HA-MRSA. Older adults and people with weakened immune systems are at most risk of HA-MRSA. More recently, another type of MRSA has occurred among otherwise healthy people in the wider community. This form, community-associated MRSA, or CA-MRSA, is responsible for serious skin and soft tissue infections and for a serious form of pneumonia.
*I did not bold whatever is bolded in that paragraph; I cannot take credit for that.
**Does anybody else watch re-runs of Becker early in the mornings on the USA network? It's actually a funny show! Ted Danson plays Dr. John Becker, who operates a small practice in The Bronx (a place in New York City where a lot of people are murdered) and is constantly annoyed by his patients, co-workers, friends, and practically everything and everybody else in his world. As a result of his outspoken nature, Becker is inaccessible to most people that do not know him. He still knows people who like him because inside his rough exterior, is a kind-hearted man. (Courtesy of Wikipedia, though tweaked by Mr. Austin Smith)
I lost the page I was on explaining MRSA because I navigated away from it to look up information on Becker. Well any who, blah blah blah, more nonsense, skin-condition, could be fatal...and, take in to consideration that a person, like myself, who has a heart murmur, is more at risk due to the bacteria traveling down in to my heart, I had a good chance of death if I hadn't gone to the doctor at the time I did. What an interesting story! Not. I would've preferred telling a near-death experience-story which involved me, hanging off the side of a cliff from my car, and being rescued via helicopter, before a mining company blew out that portion of the mountain, for diamonds.
That's another thing the Croc-Hunter had going for him. You could invite that fucker to a party, and just being the Croc-Hunter, he'd be the most popular person there, but also, just imagine all the wicked stories he had! The guy had people eating out of his hand!
Pete: "I was eating a hot dog at the ball park, and choked on someone's wedding ring they were going to give their wife by hiding it in her food...the guy at the stand fucked it up, and got the weiners mixed up! Needless-to-say, we located the disgruntled couple who was supposed to have the hot dog I was inhaling; they just had their second child!"
Then, the Croc-Hunter steps up. "I was down in Belize, a part of South America, trying to reintroduce these little spider monkeys back in to their natural habitat, after they were malnourished, and had to be treated at a nearby reserve. As I helped little Ernesto in to the canopy - we named the monkeys to tell them apart; we also color-coordinated little collars that went around their necks..."
Pete: "I thought we were talking about near-death experiences; I almost died choking on a hot dog...not playing around with monkeys in a rainforest..." (snickering like an idiot, smart-alic bastard)
Croc-Hunter (unamused) "As I was saying, just as I helped little Ernesto in to the canopy, a ferocious Pit-Viper slunk down from a branch to nab the little bugger! I immediately withdrew the spider monkey from harm, but took a venomous strike right to my shoulder! I was rushed to a medical team on-hand, but at this moment, knew I was in trouble - the nearest village was more than sixteen kilometers..." (Pete walks off)
Many o'times I reference the Croc-Hunter Steve Irwin. He's deceased now, but, as far as interesting characters in the media and pop-culture, he was a gim! I, personally, found it insane that he did the things he did, but, as I've expressed before, he benefited the animal kingdom, and the guy was seriously, an animal himself. That dude loved life, literally, loved life; nature, animals, being among animals, eating with animals, driving around town with various animal-life in his Jeep...hanging with his posse of animal-experts and, most likely, a few crocodiles. I promise you, I won't bring Steve Irwin back up in any more future blog posts. Where can I go from here? I've discussed interesting topics, from life-threatening to my selfish want for someone to selflessly give me a shit-load of money, and the interesting tale that would be, to a person who lived their life in the wild.
I realize that a lot of people now-a-days would like to dry-hump Michael Phelps, the gold-medal-winning fish-boy, because he has transcended from star-athlete to phenomenon, but do you really think it's necessary to berate him with comments on his Facebook every half-second? It's gonna take that guy a millennium to read all those, if he ever does, and you know by now, sitting at his computer and reading your comments is not his first priority. I'd be absolutely burned-out if I was him! He's going to be overwhelmed. But that's celebrity for ya; his life has completely changed from here-on-out; well, not really changed. It was probably more of a change taking something he enjoyed casually, like swimming, to making it his career, then eventually accomplishing his goal of winning every swimming event he was in at the Beijing Olympics. But now, he's a celebrity, which means promotion, life in the limelight, and various reaction from fans. I don't know - I'd be worn thin, but that's just me. Maybe he's taking it in stride; I don't know the guy. I guess it would be fucking awesome to have millions-upon-millions-upon-millions of fans; let's just hope they don't scrutinize him too severe if he flubs up. I mean, THAT NEVER HAPPENS.
Celebrity, in itself, is an interesting topic. I wish I had more interesting things to talk about... I've talked about regulations for yourself, like mine for drinking several liters of water a day, and I used to have one for my blog. This is a clear sign that I have nothing interesting to say, or more evidence of my idiocy.
Friday, August 22, 2008
My Life
I'll just state this bluntly - I don't do much of anything with my life. This past week I've been working. That's it. Working a big ol' fat 40 hour week. It's really not too bad; no complaining there. To be honest, I don't have much to complain about. If I'm not working, I'm at home, being a lazy-shit, and I enjoy just lying around, preferably on a couch, and occasionally I'll pass out and wake up unbeknown to my surroundings. I'm a fucking sloth; not to say I don't get exercise. I jump in the pool from time-to-time and rigorously swim. I also enjoy a walk. Jesus, what am I doing? - writing a fucking profile for eHarmony?
Sometimes when I'm half-asleep down in my basement, on the couch, maybe with a piece of pizza just oozing on to my fat, bare stomach - no, that's never the case - I'll think to myself, 'I could make a lot of money as a competitive-eater.' Or, 'Maybe I should write a book'. Or, 'Eli Sunday should've left Daniel Plainview the fuck alone.' I actually thought that last one this morning. Tonight is sort of, up-in-the-air.
Sometimes when I'm half-asleep down in my basement, on the couch, maybe with a piece of pizza just oozing on to my fat, bare stomach - no, that's never the case - I'll think to myself, 'I could make a lot of money as a competitive-eater.' Or, 'Maybe I should write a book'. Or, 'Eli Sunday should've left Daniel Plainview the fuck alone.' I actually thought that last one this morning. Tonight is sort of, up-in-the-air.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
TMMT
There is a new movie coming out called "The Midnight Meat Train" - which, I don't know if you've read any Clive Barker, but it's supposedly based off his short story with roughly the same name. I just think that movie title is spectacular, considering there are numerous sexually explicit innuendo you could create using that title. Once the movie hits DVD, you would be able to say I have The Midnight Meat Train in my mouth, if you put the DVD cover...in your mouth! Other instances, you could tell a girl - "Now that you've seen The Midnight Meat Train the movie, would you like to see MY Midnight Meat Train...the dick?!"
Yes, we can all have a ball when talking about midnight meat trains, but one serious matter - know when it's appropriate. Strangers do not want to see your midnight meat train, in fact, you might receive a knee in yours if you're not careful. Sexual harassment is a VERY serious matter. As far as plot goes, I would say a meat train is NOT a train full, or made-up of steaks, bräts, tenderloins, cutlets...I WOULD say a meat train is a train of slaughter and mutilation of it's passengers. Think the movie Saw on a subway. Yep.
So, a bloody-thriller about a massacre-train that kills people, and not a killing locomotive; great! Way da go, Hollywood! The Midnight Meat Train is squirting blood - you should probably have a doctor look at that...though a killer locomotive might be interesting.
Have dialog in it like, "As long as we stay off the tracks, we stay alive!"
"Don't you tell me you're going to give up, and let a train run over you!"
Mexican-character: "That's one crazy, fucked-up train (cue "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne) no wonder they call these loco - motives!"
IF you pick this one up, Sci-fi Channel, I demand royalties! No one goes off the rails with my killer-train idea! No one.
How about some more dialog-ideas!
Person one: "How do you stop a killer-train?"
Person two: "...lots and lots of explosives?!"
Person three: "If only we could go back in time, we could be in 1877 during the Great Railroad Strike. All railways were shutdown because of the strike - though - we'd only have 45 days of rest from this demonic locomotive, because the strike was put down by local and state militias, as well as by federal troops 45 days later...in 1877."
A COUPLE IS MAKING OUT IN THEIR CAR, PARKED ON AN ABANDONED STRIP OF RAILROAD TRACKS.
Girl: "Johnny, are you sure we're safe parking in the middle of a railroad crossing?!"
Johnny: "This strip of track isn't used anymore - there's a tiny Christmas-pine growing in the middle of the tracks. That little pine would be crushed if a train were passing through here. It's fine, Cheryl!"
Cheryl: "Okay...I guess I'm paranoid..."
COUPLE STARTS MAKING OUT AGAIN. SUDDENLY, OFF IN THE DISTANCE, WE HEAR A TRAIN WHISTLE.
Cheryl: "No, Johnny, wait! I swear I heard a...train-whistle..."
Johnny: "Would you quit worrying about that, and make out with me?!?? It was probably someone just fooling around..." (THEY'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE)
WE HEAR THE WHISTLE AGAIN, ONLY LOADER.
Cheryl: "You heard it that time, didn't you?"
Johnny: "You mean, the TRAIN-WHISTLE! (TRYING TO SCARE CHERYL) Come on! If I didn't know any better, I'd say that YOU were afraid of trains!"
Cheryl: "Stop it, Johnny! You know as well as I do that my family was involved with that freak train accident fifteen years ago where a runaway train jumped the tracks because kids were putting quarters on the tracks, trying to flatten them, and that train barrelled into the gazebo my family rented for our family reunion....I saw them die, Johnny...luckily for me, I had to go get more ice or I WOULD'VE DIED!!!"
Johnny: "They say that train was a mad-train - forged in the fires of hell! The devil himself drove that train...I've read the news-reels, Cheryl...there wasn't supposed to be a train arriving in to the depot at 11:30, the time that train jumped the tracks and smashed your whole family...no train was supposed to come in to depot. My father worked the lines - NO TRAIN WAS SUPPOSED TO COME IN TO DEPOT..."
TRAIN-WHISTLE IS LOUDER, AND THIS TIME, A FAINT LIGHT CAN BE SEEN DOWN THE TRAIN-TRACKS.
Johnny: "Shit! A train is coming! What should we do?!"
Cheryl: "I thought you said there wouldn't be a train!"
Johnny: "Oh no! The car won't start!" ---and so on.
I'm done rambling for now. Have you enjoyed my insight?
Yes, we can all have a ball when talking about midnight meat trains, but one serious matter - know when it's appropriate. Strangers do not want to see your midnight meat train, in fact, you might receive a knee in yours if you're not careful. Sexual harassment is a VERY serious matter. As far as plot goes, I would say a meat train is NOT a train full, or made-up of steaks, bräts, tenderloins, cutlets...I WOULD say a meat train is a train of slaughter and mutilation of it's passengers. Think the movie Saw on a subway. Yep.
So, a bloody-thriller about a massacre-train that kills people, and not a killing locomotive; great! Way da go, Hollywood! The Midnight Meat Train is squirting blood - you should probably have a doctor look at that...though a killer locomotive might be interesting.
Have dialog in it like, "As long as we stay off the tracks, we stay alive!"
"Don't you tell me you're going to give up, and let a train run over you!"
Mexican-character: "That's one crazy, fucked-up train (cue "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne) no wonder they call these loco - motives!"
IF you pick this one up, Sci-fi Channel, I demand royalties! No one goes off the rails with my killer-train idea! No one.
How about some more dialog-ideas!
Person one: "How do you stop a killer-train?"
Person two: "...lots and lots of explosives?!"
Person three: "If only we could go back in time, we could be in 1877 during the Great Railroad Strike. All railways were shutdown because of the strike - though - we'd only have 45 days of rest from this demonic locomotive, because the strike was put down by local and state militias, as well as by federal troops 45 days later...in 1877."
A COUPLE IS MAKING OUT IN THEIR CAR, PARKED ON AN ABANDONED STRIP OF RAILROAD TRACKS.
Girl: "Johnny, are you sure we're safe parking in the middle of a railroad crossing?!"
Johnny: "This strip of track isn't used anymore - there's a tiny Christmas-pine growing in the middle of the tracks. That little pine would be crushed if a train were passing through here. It's fine, Cheryl!"
Cheryl: "Okay...I guess I'm paranoid..."
COUPLE STARTS MAKING OUT AGAIN. SUDDENLY, OFF IN THE DISTANCE, WE HEAR A TRAIN WHISTLE.
Cheryl: "No, Johnny, wait! I swear I heard a...train-whistle..."
Johnny: "Would you quit worrying about that, and make out with me?!?? It was probably someone just fooling around..." (THEY'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE)
WE HEAR THE WHISTLE AGAIN, ONLY LOADER.
Cheryl: "You heard it that time, didn't you?"
Johnny: "You mean, the TRAIN-WHISTLE! (TRYING TO SCARE CHERYL) Come on! If I didn't know any better, I'd say that YOU were afraid of trains!"
Cheryl: "Stop it, Johnny! You know as well as I do that my family was involved with that freak train accident fifteen years ago where a runaway train jumped the tracks because kids were putting quarters on the tracks, trying to flatten them, and that train barrelled into the gazebo my family rented for our family reunion....I saw them die, Johnny...luckily for me, I had to go get more ice or I WOULD'VE DIED!!!"
Johnny: "They say that train was a mad-train - forged in the fires of hell! The devil himself drove that train...I've read the news-reels, Cheryl...there wasn't supposed to be a train arriving in to the depot at 11:30, the time that train jumped the tracks and smashed your whole family...no train was supposed to come in to depot. My father worked the lines - NO TRAIN WAS SUPPOSED TO COME IN TO DEPOT..."
TRAIN-WHISTLE IS LOUDER, AND THIS TIME, A FAINT LIGHT CAN BE SEEN DOWN THE TRAIN-TRACKS.
Johnny: "Shit! A train is coming! What should we do?!"
Cheryl: "I thought you said there wouldn't be a train!"
Johnny: "Oh no! The car won't start!" ---and so on.
I'm done rambling for now. Have you enjoyed my insight?
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Moderate Comments, Super Powers Revealed, and Effective Housing for Birds in Letters
It has been quite a few weeks since I checked my Blogger. To my surprise, once I got finished signing in, Blogger informed me that I had two, what they like to call, "Moderate Comments".
I'll get back to that topic in a few, right now, I'm going to tell a-bit-of back-story, if-you-will.
Three months ago, or more, I signed in to Blogger to edit my settings, and noticed a few minute details were not checked that needed "checked" - literal "checking" as in, checking a box to the left of something to make it active. Are you following; I know, I word things a bit differently, and a lot of times, I get side-tracked. Right now, is an example of being side-tracked. Any who, let's recap - I signed in to my Blogger initially to edit my settings, and I think, at the time, I also created a new post. Upon checking my Blogger settings, a few settings I wanted literally-checked as in checking a box to the left to make that feature active, were unchecked and thus, inactive.
So I checked them.
In response, my blog was now visible to the general public, which was why I rarely got comments back on my posts - I was invisible. By the way, just in case you were curious, if I had superhuman powers, I would love invisibility or perhaps what The Green Lantern has going for him - a ring or relic of some sorts with powers that come from another planet. Why invisibility? - and no, it's not for anything perverted; get your minds out of the gutter! I would like to be like the Batman, and sneak up on scumbags, and bash them in the head with some blunt object; that's how I would fight crime; they'd call me Nowhere Guy, or The Phantom, or Larry, but hopefully not, The Coward.
As for why I'd want to steal The Green Lantern's powers, it's quite simple - the dude can create force-fields with his ring. Let's say something is out of reach; you just nab it with the force-field you create around the object, and then hover to your fingertips. Why not super strength or invulnerability, you might have asked, or if you had not asked, are probably wondering what happened to the topic of changing my settings in Blogger - in time, my dear...
So why not super strength or invulnerability - well, The Green Lantern can create force-fields that can withstand any force known to mankind, thus, you pretty much already have invulnerability covered, unless your reaction time is a bit off. And super strength is covered as well - ol' GL has a pretty reliable ring that can, once again, create force fields around objects, which can be lifted, and these objects can range from heavy-to-super heavy, and no shape-specifications. If I could be an invisible GL, I'd have it made.
By switching my Blogger settings, I can now receive comments, and last month (May) I had two that Blogger had informed me of. I read them, and enjoyed them. Thank you for leaving comments, I sincerely appreciate them! Even ones criticizing my stuff - really, I do appreciate any feedback. I primarily still sign in and write to this blog because I want an outlet for my views, and, consequently, a lot of my views are what GQ call, "Taboo," or at least that's the "cool" reference-term that I've coined my subject. Some people say controversial, others immature, or sacrilegious (I don't know how to spell that word because I refuse any organized churches; and if I spelled it right, I would never have known) really, call it what you will, I have every right to say what I think, be it outrageous, what-have-you. If you argue right, you're never wrong.
What-have-you: you've probably noticed this phrase, or conjunction of words in many of my posts, if you are an avid reader, which I don't think I have. What-have-you is a conjunction of words I use a lot in every day lingo, and most notably, in my writing. It means "whatever," but it's not, yet, as cliched as "whatever". It's one of my many phrases. I don't use the word taboo that often, mainly because when I was eight-years-old, when I was looking for an old, recorded 'Shamu'-performance at Sea World, I picked out of my dad's secret-stash of video tapes, a pornographic video entitled "Taboo" that I thought said 'Shamu' because my dad's hand-writing is so shitty, and now, since then, Taboo has scarred me for life off chocolate pudding, swings - I'm terrified of swings, anything "swinging" from a ceiling or two poles...and muzzles - I DEFINITELY hate muzzles now because of my dad's sick, perverse collection of pornography...I'm fucking with ya; that whole Taboo thing was a joke.
I don't use the word Taboo because of the double O's at the end of it. Really, I don't like the look of the word - you've got 'T', which is up-and-down, but then a bulbous lower cased 'A' and the straight-and-narrow 'T' before it; then after 'A', you've got a lower cased 'B' which resembles a skinny, anorexic person with a big ass; that's just disproportionate. Finally, just when you think the word is uncharacteristically subjective, two O's bring up the rear...it's a very fat word.
I remember, as a kid - one of the many stupid things I generally did, things that really don't make sense to anyone else, but me - was, whenever I saw a store-front sign, and they were usually big-blocky-looking-letters, I'd count how many of the letters on the sign that could house a bird's nest. It all started when I first went to a 'Target' store in Wichita; it was one of the very first one's built in the area. Typical layout for the store; beige, sort-of "Earthy" flesh-toned foundation, with big, red letters for the store-name, 'Target'. But what interested me the most, was that some sort of birds, maybe robins, had nested in the letters, so there were nests in the letters 'A', 'G', and 'E' - two nests for the letter 'G', being lower cased with two "loops". So I thought of my name, and how many robin's nests could fit within it. Then, I started doing that for every word I saw; again, a stupid thing I did as a small child. If you think about it, birds could nest in four letters of the word 'Taboo'. Now, of course, a bird could nest in all five letters, if Taboo were lower cased-taboo; the birds able to nest, securely, on both sides of the straight t, where it is crossed, and the loop-tail at the end. I even had rules for this thing, whatever you wanna call it - call it insanity, it doesn't matter, we all do little corky-things as children. The rules were as so - birds can only nest in letters that have a roof to them, and can secure the nests. Example: the letter 'S' has two nooks a bird's nest could rest in, the top portion of the 'S', and bottom loop, and obviously, you don't have to take in to consideration if the letter were lower cased or upper cased. Both nooks have what I refer to as a "roof" - the top of the 'S' is the roof of the top portion, and the middle of the 'S' the roof to the bottom. Pretty easy, right? God, I hope you're paying attention - I know this is weird. With the lower cased letter 't', a bird could not house on where the 't' is crossed because that portion of the letter has no roof; the only place a bird could nest in that letter would be the tail-end. An upper cased 'T' is unhousable by birds, unless you count the little corners at the bottom; I excluded the upper cased 'T' from formidable housing for birds. If birds had invented a support-system for themselves, that could be made of spit and twigs, then an upper cased 'T' would work. That technology must be in the pre-or-post-production-stages, and hopefully, cross your fingers, birds will unveil that sometime in the near or distant future. So, if there were one redeemable quality to the word taboo, it is that it can be made into a bird housing complex because of all the round letters. That has to be the single most applicable commodity the word taboo has going for it in this society. I fucking hate the word!
Legal-pads, in my opinion - and let's look at that set of words for a sec. In my opinion, meaning, to me, my thought on this subject, my view, stance, point, in my opinion, legal-pads are the balls! I love 'em! As a journalist, the legal-pad was like the God of Paper; more so then the spiral notepad, that, on one hand, is multifaceted and oh-so convenient, the legal-pad is a beast - this long, lined, yellow bastard, and usually a more sturdier writing surface than anything else, had pack it in! One sheet, alone, is almost enough for a full interview, if you have left your digital voice recorder in your car, or, at home; where it's not on you. Any-sized-legal-pads are in a sense, the greatest innovation in paper-science. Is there a science of paper? We should have paper-scientists, perfecting the paper industry, creating paper so light and durable, it's virtually invisible and invincible at the same time, like an invisible Green Lantern, with phenomenal reflexes; a spidey-sense, if-you-will. If-you-will, and what-have-you; two-in-the-same.
I, actually - the glue, holding together the paper on a legal-pad, which is genius, by-the-way...I like to pull that off once it extends over the paper-portion of the pad. I do that quite frequently; my boss, on the other hand, hates it when I do that because it makes a mess. Really, it's good hygiene for the legal-pad, and, to be honest, these paper-scientists should be working on a product that automatically eliminates the overhang of glue on paper-pads. It seems like the field of science in the paper industry is just lazy anymore...
I'll get back to that topic in a few, right now, I'm going to tell a-bit-of back-story, if-you-will.
Three months ago, or more, I signed in to Blogger to edit my settings, and noticed a few minute details were not checked that needed "checked" - literal "checking" as in, checking a box to the left of something to make it active. Are you following; I know, I word things a bit differently, and a lot of times, I get side-tracked. Right now, is an example of being side-tracked. Any who, let's recap - I signed in to my Blogger initially to edit my settings, and I think, at the time, I also created a new post. Upon checking my Blogger settings, a few settings I wanted literally-checked as in checking a box to the left to make that feature active, were unchecked and thus, inactive.
So I checked them.
In response, my blog was now visible to the general public, which was why I rarely got comments back on my posts - I was invisible. By the way, just in case you were curious, if I had superhuman powers, I would love invisibility or perhaps what The Green Lantern has going for him - a ring or relic of some sorts with powers that come from another planet. Why invisibility? - and no, it's not for anything perverted; get your minds out of the gutter! I would like to be like the Batman, and sneak up on scumbags, and bash them in the head with some blunt object; that's how I would fight crime; they'd call me Nowhere Guy, or The Phantom, or Larry, but hopefully not, The Coward.
As for why I'd want to steal The Green Lantern's powers, it's quite simple - the dude can create force-fields with his ring. Let's say something is out of reach; you just nab it with the force-field you create around the object, and then hover to your fingertips. Why not super strength or invulnerability, you might have asked, or if you had not asked, are probably wondering what happened to the topic of changing my settings in Blogger - in time, my dear...
So why not super strength or invulnerability - well, The Green Lantern can create force-fields that can withstand any force known to mankind, thus, you pretty much already have invulnerability covered, unless your reaction time is a bit off. And super strength is covered as well - ol' GL has a pretty reliable ring that can, once again, create force fields around objects, which can be lifted, and these objects can range from heavy-to-super heavy, and no shape-specifications. If I could be an invisible GL, I'd have it made.
By switching my Blogger settings, I can now receive comments, and last month (May) I had two that Blogger had informed me of. I read them, and enjoyed them. Thank you for leaving comments, I sincerely appreciate them! Even ones criticizing my stuff - really, I do appreciate any feedback. I primarily still sign in and write to this blog because I want an outlet for my views, and, consequently, a lot of my views are what GQ call, "Taboo," or at least that's the "cool" reference-term that I've coined my subject. Some people say controversial, others immature, or sacrilegious (I don't know how to spell that word because I refuse any organized churches; and if I spelled it right, I would never have known) really, call it what you will, I have every right to say what I think, be it outrageous, what-have-you. If you argue right, you're never wrong.
What-have-you: you've probably noticed this phrase, or conjunction of words in many of my posts, if you are an avid reader, which I don't think I have. What-have-you is a conjunction of words I use a lot in every day lingo, and most notably, in my writing. It means "whatever," but it's not, yet, as cliched as "whatever". It's one of my many phrases. I don't use the word taboo that often, mainly because when I was eight-years-old, when I was looking for an old, recorded 'Shamu'-performance at Sea World, I picked out of my dad's secret-stash of video tapes, a pornographic video entitled "Taboo" that I thought said 'Shamu' because my dad's hand-writing is so shitty, and now, since then, Taboo has scarred me for life off chocolate pudding, swings - I'm terrified of swings, anything "swinging" from a ceiling or two poles...and muzzles - I DEFINITELY hate muzzles now because of my dad's sick, perverse collection of pornography...I'm fucking with ya; that whole Taboo thing was a joke.
I don't use the word Taboo because of the double O's at the end of it. Really, I don't like the look of the word - you've got 'T', which is up-and-down, but then a bulbous lower cased 'A' and the straight-and-narrow 'T' before it; then after 'A', you've got a lower cased 'B' which resembles a skinny, anorexic person with a big ass; that's just disproportionate. Finally, just when you think the word is uncharacteristically subjective, two O's bring up the rear...it's a very fat word.
I remember, as a kid - one of the many stupid things I generally did, things that really don't make sense to anyone else, but me - was, whenever I saw a store-front sign, and they were usually big-blocky-looking-letters, I'd count how many of the letters on the sign that could house a bird's nest. It all started when I first went to a 'Target' store in Wichita; it was one of the very first one's built in the area. Typical layout for the store; beige, sort-of "Earthy" flesh-toned foundation, with big, red letters for the store-name, 'Target'. But what interested me the most, was that some sort of birds, maybe robins, had nested in the letters, so there were nests in the letters 'A', 'G', and 'E' - two nests for the letter 'G', being lower cased with two "loops". So I thought of my name, and how many robin's nests could fit within it. Then, I started doing that for every word I saw; again, a stupid thing I did as a small child. If you think about it, birds could nest in four letters of the word 'Taboo'. Now, of course, a bird could nest in all five letters, if Taboo were lower cased-taboo; the birds able to nest, securely, on both sides of the straight t, where it is crossed, and the loop-tail at the end. I even had rules for this thing, whatever you wanna call it - call it insanity, it doesn't matter, we all do little corky-things as children. The rules were as so - birds can only nest in letters that have a roof to them, and can secure the nests. Example: the letter 'S' has two nooks a bird's nest could rest in, the top portion of the 'S', and bottom loop, and obviously, you don't have to take in to consideration if the letter were lower cased or upper cased. Both nooks have what I refer to as a "roof" - the top of the 'S' is the roof of the top portion, and the middle of the 'S' the roof to the bottom. Pretty easy, right? God, I hope you're paying attention - I know this is weird. With the lower cased letter 't', a bird could not house on where the 't' is crossed because that portion of the letter has no roof; the only place a bird could nest in that letter would be the tail-end. An upper cased 'T' is unhousable by birds, unless you count the little corners at the bottom; I excluded the upper cased 'T' from formidable housing for birds. If birds had invented a support-system for themselves, that could be made of spit and twigs, then an upper cased 'T' would work. That technology must be in the pre-or-post-production-stages, and hopefully, cross your fingers, birds will unveil that sometime in the near or distant future. So, if there were one redeemable quality to the word taboo, it is that it can be made into a bird housing complex because of all the round letters. That has to be the single most applicable commodity the word taboo has going for it in this society. I fucking hate the word!
Legal-pads, in my opinion - and let's look at that set of words for a sec. In my opinion, meaning, to me, my thought on this subject, my view, stance, point, in my opinion, legal-pads are the balls! I love 'em! As a journalist, the legal-pad was like the God of Paper; more so then the spiral notepad, that, on one hand, is multifaceted and oh-so convenient, the legal-pad is a beast - this long, lined, yellow bastard, and usually a more sturdier writing surface than anything else, had pack it in! One sheet, alone, is almost enough for a full interview, if you have left your digital voice recorder in your car, or, at home; where it's not on you. Any-sized-legal-pads are in a sense, the greatest innovation in paper-science. Is there a science of paper? We should have paper-scientists, perfecting the paper industry, creating paper so light and durable, it's virtually invisible and invincible at the same time, like an invisible Green Lantern, with phenomenal reflexes; a spidey-sense, if-you-will. If-you-will, and what-have-you; two-in-the-same.
I, actually - the glue, holding together the paper on a legal-pad, which is genius, by-the-way...I like to pull that off once it extends over the paper-portion of the pad. I do that quite frequently; my boss, on the other hand, hates it when I do that because it makes a mess. Really, it's good hygiene for the legal-pad, and, to be honest, these paper-scientists should be working on a product that automatically eliminates the overhang of glue on paper-pads. It seems like the field of science in the paper industry is just lazy anymore...
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