Mash Potatoes? No Thanks.
Whilst driving along in Napa, I saw a catering company van. They had, painted on the side, a large butter topped bowl of mashed potatoes. It was well painted, and looked extremely appetizing but for one small design flaw. On the edge of the mash potatoes, right before the edge of the bowl, was the gas cap cover. They had painted the gas cap cover too, and everything well matched, but there is a little space around the edge of the cover that they couldn't cover up. So the dark edge of the gas cap cover made it look like someone had dropped a pube in the mash potatoes. I might think twice about asking them to cater an event for me.
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Friday, October 29, 2004
I Don't Like Feet
It's true. I don't. My range of foot attractiveness goes from the lowest rating - really disgusting, to the highest rating - not completely unattractive. I'm not sure why this is, I just don't like them. I had a roommate Junior year of college that would chase me around with her heel-callus sanding-block trying to get foot dust on me. I hope you weren't eating.
Usually feet safely incased in (non-open toed) shoes are ok. But this last week I saw some of the most ridiculous shoes I've ever seen. I saw two different people wearing what I've come to discover are called Z-CoiL pain relief footwear. They are regular looking tennis shoes apart from the separated heel, which is attached to the shoe via a big black spring. The two people I saw were wearing the Cloudwalker.
I've heard the old saying that looking good hurts, but I didn't know that feeling good meant looking like you were in an SNL sketch.
(Since I'm writing a bunch of posts right now, I'm going to pretend I wrote them over several days.)
It's true. I don't. My range of foot attractiveness goes from the lowest rating - really disgusting, to the highest rating - not completely unattractive. I'm not sure why this is, I just don't like them. I had a roommate Junior year of college that would chase me around with her heel-callus sanding-block trying to get foot dust on me. I hope you weren't eating.
Usually feet safely incased in (non-open toed) shoes are ok. But this last week I saw some of the most ridiculous shoes I've ever seen. I saw two different people wearing what I've come to discover are called Z-CoiL pain relief footwear. They are regular looking tennis shoes apart from the separated heel, which is attached to the shoe via a big black spring. The two people I saw were wearing the Cloudwalker.
I've heard the old saying that looking good hurts, but I didn't know that feeling good meant looking like you were in an SNL sketch.
(Since I'm writing a bunch of posts right now, I'm going to pretend I wrote them over several days.)
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Striving for Freedom
Shortly after I arrived at Napa Nursing, a patient in a wheelchair informed me that I was wasting my time walking everywhere, and that wheelchairs were the way to travel. I've always thought wheelchairs looked like fun. I do like both wheels and sitting, but I think I'd like the option of walking around from time to time. There are a number of situations where stairs would come between me and my goals.
During the hour I was setting up a bed at Napa Nursing, four patients tried to make their escape. Not together, but one by one. The first was escaping just as I arrived, two made a break for it while I was in the depths of the facility, and one tried to sneak out while I was leaving. Apparently they have little radio tags on everybody and then they get too close to the door, an alarm goes off.
It seems like it's going to be tough getting old. You can't move very well, you may or may not know what's going on, and when you find a door, sometimes an alarm goes off and scares the pants off you. (Which is kind of misleading as most of the patients I'm delivering beds to aren't wearing any pants.)
Shortly after I arrived at Napa Nursing, a patient in a wheelchair informed me that I was wasting my time walking everywhere, and that wheelchairs were the way to travel. I've always thought wheelchairs looked like fun. I do like both wheels and sitting, but I think I'd like the option of walking around from time to time. There are a number of situations where stairs would come between me and my goals.
During the hour I was setting up a bed at Napa Nursing, four patients tried to make their escape. Not together, but one by one. The first was escaping just as I arrived, two made a break for it while I was in the depths of the facility, and one tried to sneak out while I was leaving. Apparently they have little radio tags on everybody and then they get too close to the door, an alarm goes off.
It seems like it's going to be tough getting old. You can't move very well, you may or may not know what's going on, and when you find a door, sometimes an alarm goes off and scares the pants off you. (Which is kind of misleading as most of the patients I'm delivering beds to aren't wearing any pants.)
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Broken in the Morning
I found him in the soft light of morning, crumpled and broken behind the barbeque he called home for low these many days. (Nearly a one-third of a fortnight.)
He left no note, but I'm sure his few days on this mortal coil were happy ones. His bright smile literally brought light to the living room during the cold evenings of last weekend. I fear foul play, but living at such a height, I have no proof nor theories of how such a thing could have been executed. (No pun intended. Well, maybe a little pun.)
One way or the other, he was a good GLOD and will be missed by many. Or at least by me.
I found him in the soft light of morning, crumpled and broken behind the barbeque he called home for low these many days. (Nearly a one-third of a fortnight.)
He left no note, but I'm sure his few days on this mortal coil were happy ones. His bright smile literally brought light to the living room during the cold evenings of last weekend. I fear foul play, but living at such a height, I have no proof nor theories of how such a thing could have been executed. (No pun intended. Well, maybe a little pun.)
One way or the other, he was a good GLOD and will be missed by many. Or at least by me.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Fry's
Fry's is a strange place. All the male workers are dressed in the required uniform of ill-fitting black pants with no belt and a white button-up shirt with no undershirt. (And yes, we can see your nipples.) The Fryettes wear reasonable, if not slightly out of style, business casual attire.
I was never clear on the difference between a nerd and a dork, but everyone who works at Fry's is whichever one of the two is less helpful. I would think the nerds would know about computer parts but have no fashion sense. That would make me a nerd, and make the Fry's guys dorks.
And yet, even with the vast expanses of guy-oriented products and the legions of nipple exposing dorks, Fry's is chocked full of attractive female shoppers. (Maybe not chocked full. They probably just stick next to all the dorks. Like seeing a unicorn at a retarded donkey show.) They aren't always there with boyfriends, in fact many of them come in groups. And I've never seen them buy anything, so I have no idea what their purpose is. Maybe there are organized tours of the way men spend money.
"On your left you'll see oscilloscopes. No one buys oscilloscopes, but guys like to look at them and pretend they know how to use them. Take for example this guy in the bright orange hat. Well, actually, he may have an EE Degree. Yes, he seems to know how to set the voltage scale."
"On your right we have candy. Computer nerds need candy to keep their energy up while they play their newly purchased First Person Shooters."
Luckily the workers at Fry's can't tell the difference between a "manufacturer defect" and a "Mike screwed up the system restore by installing XP professional." So with the money making it's way back to my card, my next try at a Pro Tools friendly computer will come from Costco, home of the 6 month return policy, more attractive shoppers, and food samples. Mmmm, food samples.
Fry's is a strange place. All the male workers are dressed in the required uniform of ill-fitting black pants with no belt and a white button-up shirt with no undershirt. (And yes, we can see your nipples.) The Fryettes wear reasonable, if not slightly out of style, business casual attire.
I was never clear on the difference between a nerd and a dork, but everyone who works at Fry's is whichever one of the two is less helpful. I would think the nerds would know about computer parts but have no fashion sense. That would make me a nerd, and make the Fry's guys dorks.
And yet, even with the vast expanses of guy-oriented products and the legions of nipple exposing dorks, Fry's is chocked full of attractive female shoppers. (Maybe not chocked full. They probably just stick next to all the dorks. Like seeing a unicorn at a retarded donkey show.) They aren't always there with boyfriends, in fact many of them come in groups. And I've never seen them buy anything, so I have no idea what their purpose is. Maybe there are organized tours of the way men spend money.
"On your left you'll see oscilloscopes. No one buys oscilloscopes, but guys like to look at them and pretend they know how to use them. Take for example this guy in the bright orange hat. Well, actually, he may have an EE Degree. Yes, he seems to know how to set the voltage scale."
"On your right we have candy. Computer nerds need candy to keep their energy up while they play their newly purchased First Person Shooters."
Luckily the workers at Fry's can't tell the difference between a "manufacturer defect" and a "Mike screwed up the system restore by installing XP professional." So with the money making it's way back to my card, my next try at a Pro Tools friendly computer will come from Costco, home of the 6 month return policy, more attractive shoppers, and food samples. Mmmm, food samples.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Struggling Through a Life of Privilege
For my birthday I asked for, and received, an MBox. For those of you who have no idea what that is, I shall briefly explain.
An MBox is a little box that hooks into a computer via the USB port. To the MBox, one can connect all manner of instruments and microphones. The MBox comes with Pro Tools LE, which is multi-track recording software. With the MBox and Pro Tools, I could, theoretically, produce and entire song with 2 guitar parts, bass, drums, vocals, and backup vocals all by myself. Theoretically.
When I got the MBox, I was understandably excited. Yay! Time to start recording. Unfortunately, I discovered that my poor old computer wasn't fast enough to run the software. It worked, but very poorly.
No problem. I'm employed. It's my birthday. I'll buy myself a new computer. I'm more than due. So I trekked down to Fry's and decided to buy a Compaq SR1250NX desktop. A better deal could not be found. Even building it myself would be more expensive.
Problem. I got the computer home, and Pro Tools decides to be an ass. I can record for roughly 15 seconds before it gives me an error. While I can't say I'm a verbose or prolific songwriter, I do require more than 15 seconds to get my ideas down.
Screw the MBox! I decided to send it back, but since my friend wanted to see it, I took it to his house first. I installed the software on his computer (which is half as fast as my new one, with LESS than the minimum ram requirement) and it worked beautifully. Screw Compaq!! I love the MBox. In 4 hours we recorded a very professional-sounding flamenco song. And let me tell you, it's hard to record an acoustic instrument and have it sound good. Plus there was some editing and splicing involved. It worked great. And now I want it to work for me.
So now the MBox is staying, and the computer is going back to Fry's. And I have to find a new, new computer. One which will let me play with my newly beloved MBox.
For my birthday I asked for, and received, an MBox. For those of you who have no idea what that is, I shall briefly explain.
An MBox is a little box that hooks into a computer via the USB port. To the MBox, one can connect all manner of instruments and microphones. The MBox comes with Pro Tools LE, which is multi-track recording software. With the MBox and Pro Tools, I could, theoretically, produce and entire song with 2 guitar parts, bass, drums, vocals, and backup vocals all by myself. Theoretically.
When I got the MBox, I was understandably excited. Yay! Time to start recording. Unfortunately, I discovered that my poor old computer wasn't fast enough to run the software. It worked, but very poorly.
No problem. I'm employed. It's my birthday. I'll buy myself a new computer. I'm more than due. So I trekked down to Fry's and decided to buy a Compaq SR1250NX desktop. A better deal could not be found. Even building it myself would be more expensive.
Problem. I got the computer home, and Pro Tools decides to be an ass. I can record for roughly 15 seconds before it gives me an error. While I can't say I'm a verbose or prolific songwriter, I do require more than 15 seconds to get my ideas down.
Screw the MBox! I decided to send it back, but since my friend wanted to see it, I took it to his house first. I installed the software on his computer (which is half as fast as my new one, with LESS than the minimum ram requirement) and it worked beautifully. Screw Compaq!! I love the MBox. In 4 hours we recorded a very professional-sounding flamenco song. And let me tell you, it's hard to record an acoustic instrument and have it sound good. Plus there was some editing and splicing involved. It worked great. And now I want it to work for me.
So now the MBox is staying, and the computer is going back to Fry's. And I have to find a new, new computer. One which will let me play with my newly beloved MBox.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Generic Little Orange Dude (GLOD)
I'm guessing here, but I think the last time I carved a pumpkin was round about 1989 at my dad's old house. I'm not sure about that, but it's my only concrete memory of it, although that isn’t saying much. I just remember sitting on floor in the kitchen thinking, "the insides of this pumpkin are icky." It also seems to me I made a huge mess.
Not this time. I managed to keep all the pumpkin carnage to single piece of newspaper.
It's surprisingly hard to carve a pumpkin. Lack of control and dull knives make detailed contours almost impossible. My pumpkin was supposed to have eyeballs and a round mouth. When his eyeballs fell off, and his eyes got much bigger than anticipated, the round mouth starting looking strange. So now he's become your standard, run of the mill, generic pumpkin, except with a larger than average nose. GLOD face not withstanding, I did enjoy coming up with some pumpkin accessories:
1) Pumpkin hat: It's made of tin foil, and serves no purpose.
2) Hat lifter: As a result of the pumpkin hat, which is only stapled to the pumpkin lid, I had no way of getting the lid off to insert the candle. So I took a wire coat hanger and ran it up through the lid. You can just see it sticking out the top of the hat.
3) Candle carriage: Since my pumpkin is tall and skinny, and I don't have any lighters that will reach a pre-placed candle, I had to find a way of lighting the candle and then putting in the pumpkin. I twisted a circle in the bottom of the other (detached) half of the coat hanger and made a handle for the top. Light candle, place on carriage, and place candle safely in pumpkin. The other option would be to fill the pumpkin with butane and engulf in the insides in flame, but I though that might hurt the pumpkin. Maybe I’ll do that right before I throw it away.
I'm guessing here, but I think the last time I carved a pumpkin was round about 1989 at my dad's old house. I'm not sure about that, but it's my only concrete memory of it, although that isn’t saying much. I just remember sitting on floor in the kitchen thinking, "the insides of this pumpkin are icky." It also seems to me I made a huge mess.
Not this time. I managed to keep all the pumpkin carnage to single piece of newspaper.
It's surprisingly hard to carve a pumpkin. Lack of control and dull knives make detailed contours almost impossible. My pumpkin was supposed to have eyeballs and a round mouth. When his eyeballs fell off, and his eyes got much bigger than anticipated, the round mouth starting looking strange. So now he's become your standard, run of the mill, generic pumpkin, except with a larger than average nose. GLOD face not withstanding, I did enjoy coming up with some pumpkin accessories:
1) Pumpkin hat: It's made of tin foil, and serves no purpose.
2) Hat lifter: As a result of the pumpkin hat, which is only stapled to the pumpkin lid, I had no way of getting the lid off to insert the candle. So I took a wire coat hanger and ran it up through the lid. You can just see it sticking out the top of the hat.
3) Candle carriage: Since my pumpkin is tall and skinny, and I don't have any lighters that will reach a pre-placed candle, I had to find a way of lighting the candle and then putting in the pumpkin. I twisted a circle in the bottom of the other (detached) half of the coat hanger and made a handle for the top. Light candle, place on carriage, and place candle safely in pumpkin. The other option would be to fill the pumpkin with butane and engulf in the insides in flame, but I though that might hurt the pumpkin. Maybe I’ll do that right before I throw it away.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Road Bits
Last week I saw two interesting license plates. I will try to illustrate the first with ASCII art: (Pardon the periods. I had some spacing issues.)
._________________
|There's something|
|-----------------|
|......G Zis......|
|_________________|
| about that name |
.-----------------
Hopefully you can tell which part is the plate and which part is the frame.
The second one said "Spyde32." It was a silver Jetta which was stuffed full of Spiderman stuff. Spiderman decals, two inflatable Spidermans (? Spidermen? Spell check doesn’t like either one.) on the rear windshield, and a rather large stuffed Spiderman riding up front with her. It was a little creepy.
On the way home tonight traffic was all backed up on 80W just before the bridge by a stalled ... tow truck. What is this world coming to when the solution becomes part of the problem?
Last week I saw two interesting license plates. I will try to illustrate the first with ASCII art: (Pardon the periods. I had some spacing issues.)
._________________
|There's something|
|-----------------|
|......G Zis......|
|_________________|
| about that name |
.-----------------
Hopefully you can tell which part is the plate and which part is the frame.
The second one said "Spyde32." It was a silver Jetta which was stuffed full of Spiderman stuff. Spiderman decals, two inflatable Spidermans (? Spidermen? Spell check doesn’t like either one.) on the rear windshield, and a rather large stuffed Spiderman riding up front with her. It was a little creepy.
On the way home tonight traffic was all backed up on 80W just before the bridge by a stalled ... tow truck. What is this world coming to when the solution becomes part of the problem?
Monday, October 18, 2004
Party Hat Democracy
On Saturday I have a hat party to go to.
In general, I'm not very good at participating in the party aspect of parties. But this party has a hat aspect, so I may be able to make a half-assed attempt to fit in instead of my usual assless attempt. (I don't think that's the right phrase.)
Below are my two hat choices. The orange one looks like it's been Photoshoped into glowing like that, but let me assure you that it's really that color. So bearing in mind that this party is indoors, so traffic safety isn't an issue, which hat should I wear? Please cast your vote in the comment section.
On Saturday I have a hat party to go to.
In general, I'm not very good at participating in the party aspect of parties. But this party has a hat aspect, so I may be able to make a half-assed attempt to fit in instead of my usual assless attempt. (I don't think that's the right phrase.)
Below are my two hat choices. The orange one looks like it's been Photoshoped into glowing like that, but let me assure you that it's really that color. So bearing in mind that this party is indoors, so traffic safety isn't an issue, which hat should I wear? Please cast your vote in the comment section.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
So Many Things
I have so many things to write about: The REM concert, the license plates I saw on Friday, my Birthday. But I think I'll discuss, while I wait for my laundry to dry, my ponderous ability to avoid human contact.
Yesterday, being my birthday, I saw lots of people, many of whom said happy birthday. This is a huggy group, but I somehow managed to only get 2 and a half hugs. 1 from my friend Yasmin, 1 from Matt, a friend but definitely someone I know much less well, and the half hug was from Matt's boyfriend, whom I've only met 3 or 4 times. It was one of those complicated-handshake-becomes-a-hug hugs. I was sort of expecting 2 or 3 more hugs.
I'm pretty sure it's something I'm doing to kill the hug. I like hugs, but I suck at initiating them. In fact, there were several times when I could see a hug about to happen, and then the moment passed. I'm not sure what I'm doing to sully the huggosity of the situation, but I'm certainly doing something. Belching before a kiss, announcing an obvious and bold-faced lie before telling someone you love them, kicking a kitten before holding trying to hold someone's hand - these are all ways to ruin a moment. I know this. I think I'm doing something much more subtle, but I can't be sure. I'm bad at reading situations.
As an illustration of this point, I give you one of my first blind dates. It was a double date with my friend David, his girlfriend Sara (I can't actually remember her name), and her friend Anne (her name escapes me as well.) Being in middle school and a hopeless romantics, we went to the mall. David and Sara were holding hands as we walked through Meyer and Frank, and I was walking next to Anne, furthering my lack of human contact, when her hand bumped mine. I muttered an apology and moved over 6 inches. Again, a hand bump. I started to worry about my ability to walk in a straight line. Another hand bump. Good lord I'm clumsy. Hang on. Could it be ... does she maybe want to hold ... my ... hand? If she bumps it again, I'll try to hold it. Bump. Hold. Ah ha.
That was in middle school, and over the years I've honed my obliviousness to a bluntness previously unimaginable. Hence my ability to kill hugs and to have no idea how a date went unless it ends in making out. I am neither Casanova nor Ms. Cleo. I am Man, hear me shrug.
I have so many things to write about: The REM concert, the license plates I saw on Friday, my Birthday. But I think I'll discuss, while I wait for my laundry to dry, my ponderous ability to avoid human contact.
Yesterday, being my birthday, I saw lots of people, many of whom said happy birthday. This is a huggy group, but I somehow managed to only get 2 and a half hugs. 1 from my friend Yasmin, 1 from Matt, a friend but definitely someone I know much less well, and the half hug was from Matt's boyfriend, whom I've only met 3 or 4 times. It was one of those complicated-handshake-becomes-a-hug hugs. I was sort of expecting 2 or 3 more hugs.
I'm pretty sure it's something I'm doing to kill the hug. I like hugs, but I suck at initiating them. In fact, there were several times when I could see a hug about to happen, and then the moment passed. I'm not sure what I'm doing to sully the huggosity of the situation, but I'm certainly doing something. Belching before a kiss, announcing an obvious and bold-faced lie before telling someone you love them, kicking a kitten before holding trying to hold someone's hand - these are all ways to ruin a moment. I know this. I think I'm doing something much more subtle, but I can't be sure. I'm bad at reading situations.
As an illustration of this point, I give you one of my first blind dates. It was a double date with my friend David, his girlfriend Sara (I can't actually remember her name), and her friend Anne (her name escapes me as well.) Being in middle school and a hopeless romantics, we went to the mall. David and Sara were holding hands as we walked through Meyer and Frank, and I was walking next to Anne, furthering my lack of human contact, when her hand bumped mine. I muttered an apology and moved over 6 inches. Again, a hand bump. I started to worry about my ability to walk in a straight line. Another hand bump. Good lord I'm clumsy. Hang on. Could it be ... does she maybe want to hold ... my ... hand? If she bumps it again, I'll try to hold it. Bump. Hold. Ah ha.
That was in middle school, and over the years I've honed my obliviousness to a bluntness previously unimaginable. Hence my ability to kill hugs and to have no idea how a date went unless it ends in making out. I am neither Casanova nor Ms. Cleo. I am Man, hear me shrug.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
A Dating Revelation
As I noted a couple of posts ago, I had no idea how it was going with my Yahoo! girl. But since my emails had gone unanswered, my confusion was congealing into the impression that she'd given up on me. Just when I was giving up hope, she emailed me today saying that Hotmail had relegated my message to the spam folder. The confusion is back and my distain for Hotmail lives on.
People have trouble hearing me on the phone. This is especially true if the phone boasts some sort of noise canceling system. Most noise canceling phones decide I'm noise, and cancel me out. The Hotmail issue cements my worry that I might ACTUALLY be noise.
As I noted a couple of posts ago, I had no idea how it was going with my Yahoo! girl. But since my emails had gone unanswered, my confusion was congealing into the impression that she'd given up on me. Just when I was giving up hope, she emailed me today saying that Hotmail had relegated my message to the spam folder. The confusion is back and my distain for Hotmail lives on.
People have trouble hearing me on the phone. This is especially true if the phone boasts some sort of noise canceling system. Most noise canceling phones decide I'm noise, and cancel me out. The Hotmail issue cements my worry that I might ACTUALLY be noise.
Two Covers and an Underage Van
I'm sure this will get old, but I found more seat covers of note today. The first was in a Crown Victoria, favorite vehicle of the CHP, being driven by an older couple. They had black and white ala 1950's jail movie striped seats. I thought it was a good match of car model and seat fashion.
The second may or may not have been a seat cover. The girl driving the car had sandy blond hair that was either so long that it went through the headrest and down the back of her seat all the way to the floor of the car, or she had a sandy blond human-hair seat cover. I'm not sure which one to hope for.
Then while driving back to the Depot, I pulled up along side a van from Justin Sienna High School, or so it said on the side. It was chocked full of blond high school girls waving at me multi-fingeredly. Not the enthusiastic, fingers all together, whole hand wave, but a play seductive, tickle the ivories sort of wave. Either way, I seem to have overshot my age group again. Maybe if I carry just a little peanut brittle. What do the women my age like? Sushi? I'm not carrying sushi around in a hot van all day just to win the affections of a lady, so you can just forget it.
I'm sure this will get old, but I found more seat covers of note today. The first was in a Crown Victoria, favorite vehicle of the CHP, being driven by an older couple. They had black and white ala 1950's jail movie striped seats. I thought it was a good match of car model and seat fashion.
The second may or may not have been a seat cover. The girl driving the car had sandy blond hair that was either so long that it went through the headrest and down the back of her seat all the way to the floor of the car, or she had a sandy blond human-hair seat cover. I'm not sure which one to hope for.
Then while driving back to the Depot, I pulled up along side a van from Justin Sienna High School, or so it said on the side. It was chocked full of blond high school girls waving at me multi-fingeredly. Not the enthusiastic, fingers all together, whole hand wave, but a play seductive, tickle the ivories sort of wave. Either way, I seem to have overshot my age group again. Maybe if I carry just a little peanut brittle. What do the women my age like? Sushi? I'm not carrying sushi around in a hot van all day just to win the affections of a lady, so you can just forget it.
Partly Political Posting
Last night in the final Presidential Debate, Bush had a small gob of spit in the corner of his mouth. (His right side, our left.) It showed up 5 or 10 minutes in, and stuck around for about an hour. It was all I could look at. I couldn't hear the drivel over the dribble. After the spittle got taken care of, my attention switched to the fact that the Bush ears are both huge and lopsided. His left one really is noticeably bigger than his right.
Also in me news, this morning I woke up convinced it was Friday. My internal clock said it was Payday, the end of the week, but all my external clocks were telling me that Friday was tomorrow. I guess I'll have to go by them, as it seems no one else goes by my internal clock. It's probably for the best. I don't think I could get much done with everyone calling me all day asking me what time I think it is, and how it relates to their particular time zone.
Last night in the final Presidential Debate, Bush had a small gob of spit in the corner of his mouth. (His right side, our left.) It showed up 5 or 10 minutes in, and stuck around for about an hour. It was all I could look at. I couldn't hear the drivel over the dribble. After the spittle got taken care of, my attention switched to the fact that the Bush ears are both huge and lopsided. His left one really is noticeably bigger than his right.
Also in me news, this morning I woke up convinced it was Friday. My internal clock said it was Payday, the end of the week, but all my external clocks were telling me that Friday was tomorrow. I guess I'll have to go by them, as it seems no one else goes by my internal clock. It's probably for the best. I don't think I could get much done with everyone calling me all day asking me what time I think it is, and how it relates to their particular time zone.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Christianity and the Internet
I keep getting spam messages telling me where to meet "Quality Christian Singles." Problems with this include:
1) I don't wasn’t to meet Christian singles.
2) Even if I did want to meet Christian singles, I would probably want to meet bad ones. The quality ones are too Christian.
3) Isn't it somehow against the teachings of the bible to spam people? Thou shalt not flood the inboxes of the heathens. And the Lord said, "Let the incoming mail be something in which thou showest some interest."
Then again, I guess when the Christians walked over to my table in college and quizzing me on the "literature" they had left for me to read last time they found me, that was just a low tech version of spam. Christians of the future. Hooray.
I keep getting spam messages telling me where to meet "Quality Christian Singles." Problems with this include:
1) I don't wasn’t to meet Christian singles.
2) Even if I did want to meet Christian singles, I would probably want to meet bad ones. The quality ones are too Christian.
3) Isn't it somehow against the teachings of the bible to spam people? Thou shalt not flood the inboxes of the heathens. And the Lord said, "Let the incoming mail be something in which thou showest some interest."
Then again, I guess when the Christians walked over to my table in college and quizzing me on the "literature" they had left for me to read last time they found me, that was just a low tech version of spam. Christians of the future. Hooray.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
A Long Day
Yesterday I was on call, which means if anyone needs a Saturday delivery, or has a mattress emergency, I'm the one to talk to. Being on call can be really nice, if you don't actually get a call. I got called.
I started out my day driving up to Carmichael and then up to Yuba City. Yuba City is a little, tiny city about 175 miles north east of San Francisco. By the time I got up there, it was just before lunch, so I stopped at "The Mall" to get something to eat. There was actually a sign in front with big letters that said: "The Mall."
Everything is cheaper there. I noticed the same Sbarro lunch I would have gotten at the mall in San Francisco cost be $3 less. So the upside of living in Yuba City is the cost of living, but the down side is that you are living in Yuba City.
When I was done setting up the Yuba city mattress, they guy thanked me and let me know that he wasn't expecting me until Monday. A fine example of information to give me when I called to set up an appointment.
My second to last Delivery of the day was to a 90 year old woman in Mill Valley. She was friendly and I think a little lonely, eager to tell me things that weren't really my business. For instance, she let me know her hobbling around with a walker was the result of an evening of too much wine and falling over. I did notice several empty boxes of Charles Shaw on the deck.
She also showed me a birthday card her kids made for her inviting people to her 90th birthday. It had a picture of her on the front, taken some 60 years earlier. It's amazing how people can change over so many years. I couldn't even see any resemblance.
As I was leaving, she offered me a cookie. Generally I'm not one to take food from strangers, especially after handling sheets that smell faintly of pee. (To be fair, I noticed some cat paraphernalia. So the pee smell may have been animal related.)
"You know, I'm just about to go home and have dinner. But thank you."
"You're going to have a cookie whether you like it or not."
"Well, ok then."
When I finally made it out the door, I told her,
"Have a good evening."
"I had a friend who, whenever someone would tell him to have a good evening, he would say, 'I've got other plans.'"
"Well, I hope you don't have other plans."
12 hours of work on a Saturday is too much, even when you factor in the cookie.
Yesterday I was on call, which means if anyone needs a Saturday delivery, or has a mattress emergency, I'm the one to talk to. Being on call can be really nice, if you don't actually get a call. I got called.
I started out my day driving up to Carmichael and then up to Yuba City. Yuba City is a little, tiny city about 175 miles north east of San Francisco. By the time I got up there, it was just before lunch, so I stopped at "The Mall" to get something to eat. There was actually a sign in front with big letters that said: "The Mall."
Everything is cheaper there. I noticed the same Sbarro lunch I would have gotten at the mall in San Francisco cost be $3 less. So the upside of living in Yuba City is the cost of living, but the down side is that you are living in Yuba City.
When I was done setting up the Yuba city mattress, they guy thanked me and let me know that he wasn't expecting me until Monday. A fine example of information to give me when I called to set up an appointment.
My second to last Delivery of the day was to a 90 year old woman in Mill Valley. She was friendly and I think a little lonely, eager to tell me things that weren't really my business. For instance, she let me know her hobbling around with a walker was the result of an evening of too much wine and falling over. I did notice several empty boxes of Charles Shaw on the deck.
She also showed me a birthday card her kids made for her inviting people to her 90th birthday. It had a picture of her on the front, taken some 60 years earlier. It's amazing how people can change over so many years. I couldn't even see any resemblance.
As I was leaving, she offered me a cookie. Generally I'm not one to take food from strangers, especially after handling sheets that smell faintly of pee. (To be fair, I noticed some cat paraphernalia. So the pee smell may have been animal related.)
"You know, I'm just about to go home and have dinner. But thank you."
"You're going to have a cookie whether you like it or not."
"Well, ok then."
When I finally made it out the door, I told her,
"Have a good evening."
"I had a friend who, whenever someone would tell him to have a good evening, he would say, 'I've got other plans.'"
"Well, I hope you don't have other plans."
12 hours of work on a Saturday is too much, even when you factor in the cookie.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
I Hate Dating
The Yahoo! Personals girl and I went to an open mic tonight. We got some french-fries. She and I had some water and sprite, respectively. We talked, we laughed, I took her home. We hugged, I took me home.
I have no idea how it went.
It's like taking important quarterly exams and never getting your grades back. I wish I could tell how interested she is, but I can't. I'm sure she's sending the biggest, most ridiculously obvious signals on way or the other, but I'm completely blind to that sort of thing.
There were some positives from tonight:
- Since I suck at initiating hugs, my hug tonight was my first real close personal contact since we hugged two and a half weeks ago (the last time I saw her). So I was about due.
- I drove both to and from the open mic, so she spent a lot of time in my car. As a result, it will smell nice next time I get in it.
- Before I picked her up, I made a Tom McRae CD for her on the off chance that she'll like it. If she does, maybe I won't end up going to see that particular concert alone.
- I now know what sweet potato fries taste like. And very appropriately, I have no idea if I like them. (Maybe not so appropriate. I know I like her, I just don't know if she likes me. Or, at least, "that way.")
As a side note: How do you spell mic? As in, two turn tables and a microphone. Spell check says I should say open mike. But I'm not that open. Maybe it needs a period. As in, where did I put the mic.?
The Yahoo! Personals girl and I went to an open mic tonight. We got some french-fries. She and I had some water and sprite, respectively. We talked, we laughed, I took her home. We hugged, I took me home.
I have no idea how it went.
It's like taking important quarterly exams and never getting your grades back. I wish I could tell how interested she is, but I can't. I'm sure she's sending the biggest, most ridiculously obvious signals on way or the other, but I'm completely blind to that sort of thing.
There were some positives from tonight:
- Since I suck at initiating hugs, my hug tonight was my first real close personal contact since we hugged two and a half weeks ago (the last time I saw her). So I was about due.
- I drove both to and from the open mic, so she spent a lot of time in my car. As a result, it will smell nice next time I get in it.
- Before I picked her up, I made a Tom McRae CD for her on the off chance that she'll like it. If she does, maybe I won't end up going to see that particular concert alone.
- I now know what sweet potato fries taste like. And very appropriately, I have no idea if I like them. (Maybe not so appropriate. I know I like her, I just don't know if she likes me. Or, at least, "that way.")
As a side note: How do you spell mic? As in, two turn tables and a microphone. Spell check says I should say open mike. But I'm not that open. Maybe it needs a period. As in, where did I put the mic.?
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Luck with the Ladies
Yesterday, while standing on the mezzanine of 1 South at the VA hospital, an old woman in a wheel chair waved to me. Being the friendly guy that I am, I waved back. She followed that up by blowing me a kiss.
I seem to be popular with the ladies, just not the ones in my age group. Or even those several age groups over. If I could figure out how to get the early to mid twenty group of ladies to like me, then I'd be all set. Could it be that my supply of peanut brittle is not attracting the right crowd?
Yesterday, while standing on the mezzanine of 1 South at the VA hospital, an old woman in a wheel chair waved to me. Being the friendly guy that I am, I waved back. She followed that up by blowing me a kiss.
I seem to be popular with the ladies, just not the ones in my age group. Or even those several age groups over. If I could figure out how to get the early to mid twenty group of ladies to like me, then I'd be all set. Could it be that my supply of peanut brittle is not attracting the right crowd?
Sunday, October 03, 2004
Weekend of Wonder
I've just put my laundry in the drier and emptied the lint trap. I think the person before me used it to dry a sheep. I've never seen such a thick and heftily solid brick of white lint in my life.
Yesterday I went to Macy's to buy myself some sunglasses, as the little nose pads fell off of my old ones last week. I went into Macy's upstairs, and took the escalator down to the glasses department. When I was done, I took the escalator back upstairs to the vortex department. I walked all the way around the outside edge of the store without finding a single door. Then I walked around again, but in the opposite direction. Still no door. Then I tried exiting via the glasses department, and sure enough found the exit to the mall's lower level.
The thing is, I know you can get in from the top floor, and I know you can get in from the bottom floor, but from the looks of it, there isn't room for a windowless, doorless floor in between. Some magic mezzanine of terror. When I was little I wrote a story about a regular looking box that had an infinite amount of space inside. You could fit whales, houses, Rosanne, anything you wanted, and there would be room for more. Little did I know that the technology exists to make such a box possible, and it's been harnessed by Macy's.
The last, but most disturbing part of my Weekend of Wonder was a prank(?) call I got last night at about 1am. This guy called up and was either pretending to be stereotypically black, or actually was. I'll try to reconstruct the conversation.
Me: Hello?
Him: Amos? (Pronounced A-mose)
Me: No, he's not here. Can I take a message?
Him: Are you black?
Me: Um, noooo.
Him: Well, he's a black man, are you too?
Me: Oh, I see, (unenthusiastically) ha ha. (Amos's last name is Blackman.)
Him: What's up? Are you chilling on the flip side?
Me: Um. I'm not sure.
Him: What do you mean you aren't sure? Are you, or are you not chilling on the flip side?
Me: Well, that's just not in my lexicon. (Who says lexicon, really?)
Him: My buddy says you stole his spinners.
Me: Um, nope.
Him: He says you stole them. I'll put him on.
Guy 2: I hear you stole my spinners.
Me: Nope.
Guy 2: Yeah, someone told me you stole them, and are using them as a hat and to drink soup out of.
Me: Nope.
Guy 3: Black power.
Guy 2: Who's that? Are you fucking with me?
Guy 3: Black power, all the black men unite.
Guy 3: Who's that? Is that Amos?
Me: No, it's just me here.
Guy 3: Black power.
Guy 2: Who's saying that?
Me: Ok, well, it sounds like you guys have enough people to keep this conversation going. (I hang up.)
The really disturbing bit is that they knew the name and the number. It's possible that they were just flipping through the white pages and found us, but either way, I got prepared. I locked the door, called *69 and got some oldish sounding woman, and preparer the most terrible noise I could find to play through the phone if they called back. They didn't.
What a weird weekend.
I've just put my laundry in the drier and emptied the lint trap. I think the person before me used it to dry a sheep. I've never seen such a thick and heftily solid brick of white lint in my life.
Yesterday I went to Macy's to buy myself some sunglasses, as the little nose pads fell off of my old ones last week. I went into Macy's upstairs, and took the escalator down to the glasses department. When I was done, I took the escalator back upstairs to the vortex department. I walked all the way around the outside edge of the store without finding a single door. Then I walked around again, but in the opposite direction. Still no door. Then I tried exiting via the glasses department, and sure enough found the exit to the mall's lower level.
The thing is, I know you can get in from the top floor, and I know you can get in from the bottom floor, but from the looks of it, there isn't room for a windowless, doorless floor in between. Some magic mezzanine of terror. When I was little I wrote a story about a regular looking box that had an infinite amount of space inside. You could fit whales, houses, Rosanne, anything you wanted, and there would be room for more. Little did I know that the technology exists to make such a box possible, and it's been harnessed by Macy's.
The last, but most disturbing part of my Weekend of Wonder was a prank(?) call I got last night at about 1am. This guy called up and was either pretending to be stereotypically black, or actually was. I'll try to reconstruct the conversation.
Me: Hello?
Him: Amos? (Pronounced A-mose)
Me: No, he's not here. Can I take a message?
Him: Are you black?
Me: Um, noooo.
Him: Well, he's a black man, are you too?
Me: Oh, I see, (unenthusiastically) ha ha. (Amos's last name is Blackman.)
Him: What's up? Are you chilling on the flip side?
Me: Um. I'm not sure.
Him: What do you mean you aren't sure? Are you, or are you not chilling on the flip side?
Me: Well, that's just not in my lexicon. (Who says lexicon, really?)
Him: My buddy says you stole his spinners.
Me: Um, nope.
Him: He says you stole them. I'll put him on.
Guy 2: I hear you stole my spinners.
Me: Nope.
Guy 2: Yeah, someone told me you stole them, and are using them as a hat and to drink soup out of.
Me: Nope.
Guy 3: Black power.
Guy 2: Who's that? Are you fucking with me?
Guy 3: Black power, all the black men unite.
Guy 3: Who's that? Is that Amos?
Me: No, it's just me here.
Guy 3: Black power.
Guy 2: Who's saying that?
Me: Ok, well, it sounds like you guys have enough people to keep this conversation going. (I hang up.)
The really disturbing bit is that they knew the name and the number. It's possible that they were just flipping through the white pages and found us, but either way, I got prepared. I locked the door, called *69 and got some oldish sounding woman, and preparer the most terrible noise I could find to play through the phone if they called back. They didn't.
What a weird weekend.
Friday, October 01, 2004
Shaky Start
This morning seemed like a good morning. It's payday, and I had a date tomorrow. All good ways to start a day. But then the evil of email reared its ugly head.
On Monday we start a new system where we call a 1-800 number to clock in and out at work. So the person in charge of this sent a message to all us bazillion techs in the US that we should pick a pass code and send it to her so she can set up our accounts. So I did, and sent it back... or so I thought. What I actually did, was send my pass code to EVERYONE IN THE COMPANY. So, within 30 seconds of pressing send, I got the beginning of what was probably 50 messages: all variations of "you sent your pass code to everyone, stupid." I am currently not speaking to the "Reply to All" button on my pager. Unfortunately I don't have anything it wants, so I don't have a lot of sway over it. On the bright side, someone else did the same thing 6 hours later. So that made me happy.
To top off the morning, just before my first delivery, I got an email canceling my date. I hate when people flake. It drives me nuts. It's partially why I hate planning things: because people either don't respond or do respond and don't show up. I invited 15 people to go to a concert recently, and I got 2 responses. 2, and both said no. I complain that I don't have any friends, and people poo poo me. So what I should say, is that I do have friends, it's just that they don't want to hang out with me. There, that's better. I invited the same number of people to a free comedy show, for which I had 10 tickets. 15 people for only 10 tickets? Was I crazy? Now I understand why airlines overbook. I only managed to get 5 people to go to that, and 3 of them were invited by somebody else.
I think this is why, for my birthday, I'm going to see an 80s cover band/going dancing. I'm not a big fan of either of those things, but it does mean it will be my birthday, and there will be people I know hanging around me. Never mind that the two aren't really related.
Good parts of today:
* I got home at a reasonable hour.
* I went to Arby ' s for lunch, and had a jamoca shake.
And so, another depressing post draws to a close.
This morning seemed like a good morning. It's payday, and I had a date tomorrow. All good ways to start a day. But then the evil of email reared its ugly head.
On Monday we start a new system where we call a 1-800 number to clock in and out at work. So the person in charge of this sent a message to all us bazillion techs in the US that we should pick a pass code and send it to her so she can set up our accounts. So I did, and sent it back... or so I thought. What I actually did, was send my pass code to EVERYONE IN THE COMPANY. So, within 30 seconds of pressing send, I got the beginning of what was probably 50 messages: all variations of "you sent your pass code to everyone, stupid." I am currently not speaking to the "Reply to All" button on my pager. Unfortunately I don't have anything it wants, so I don't have a lot of sway over it. On the bright side, someone else did the same thing 6 hours later. So that made me happy.
To top off the morning, just before my first delivery, I got an email canceling my date. I hate when people flake. It drives me nuts. It's partially why I hate planning things: because people either don't respond or do respond and don't show up. I invited 15 people to go to a concert recently, and I got 2 responses. 2, and both said no. I complain that I don't have any friends, and people poo poo me. So what I should say, is that I do have friends, it's just that they don't want to hang out with me. There, that's better. I invited the same number of people to a free comedy show, for which I had 10 tickets. 15 people for only 10 tickets? Was I crazy? Now I understand why airlines overbook. I only managed to get 5 people to go to that, and 3 of them were invited by somebody else.
I think this is why, for my birthday, I'm going to see an 80s cover band/going dancing. I'm not a big fan of either of those things, but it does mean it will be my birthday, and there will be people I know hanging around me. Never mind that the two aren't really related.
Good parts of today:
* I got home at a reasonable hour.
* I went to Arby ' s for lunch, and had a jamoca shake.
And so, another depressing post draws to a close.
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