Every now and then I have a conversation with a friend that cracks me up so much, it deserves to be put here unedited, and without commentary from me. Without further delay, I give you the comedic stylings of Brian Pflueger:
Brian: I have a juicer, a blender, a neat-o coffee maker (I actually use that one.) I've used the juicer probably... twice?
Me: bread maker? I NEED that! How else will I aquire bread stuffs?
Brian: Have you ever drank the juice of an egg?
Me: uhhhhh
Brian: It's not very good. I went around when I bought it and juiced the shit out of my pantry. Pickles! Cheese! Butter! Nothing was safe!
Me: hahahahahahahhaha! oh my god. that's horrific.
Brian: The pickles weren't horrible, actually. Stay away from cheese juice, though.
Me: I can imagine.
Brian: You might think, "Hey, I like cheese and I like juice, so..." But no.
Me: I do think that a lot.
Brian: You and me both. I had the courage to act on it.
Me: oh my god. I'm laughing so hard.
Brian: Good! Learn from my mistake! Never buy a juicer when you're bored.
And there you have it, folks.
12.10.2004
12.02.2004
Smooth Operator update!
Wow.
So I sent an email to my boss about mr. wannabe-phone-sex-operator 34. And I cc'd the head of security. They are *so* cool. The head of security forwarded it to the property manager who promptly called the company supervisor.
Apparently, they record all their phone calls!! I've been vindicated!! The supervisor said he was "absolutely appalled" and the property manager is going to call him back tonight to find out what happened with it all.
woot!
So I sent an email to my boss about mr. wannabe-phone-sex-operator 34. And I cc'd the head of security. They are *so* cool. The head of security forwarded it to the property manager who promptly called the company supervisor.
Apparently, they record all their phone calls!! I've been vindicated!! The supervisor said he was "absolutely appalled" and the property manager is going to call him back tonight to find out what happened with it all.
woot!
11.29.2004
Nov 2- the view from a dem
November 2nd was, well, painful. It hurts to even think about that night- a night that started with such hope and ended with complete despair.
Many democrats have been in mourning... almost as if we're recovering from a national tragedy. In the eyes of many, the reelection of Bush was a national tragedy.
The night started off well enough. I spent the afternoon hanging out at the polls with a group of local dems. We handed out fliers and chatted confidently about the election. Folks from the local dem headquarters brought us all french fries and sodas. Voters thanked us for coming out. With few exceptions, they smiled and even cheered at our Kerry signs. The only notable exception was a driveby yelling of "Kerry's a faaaaag!" Duely noted, good sir. And sadly, an excellent campaign strategy, in hindsight.
Back at my house, I had a small gathering of friends- Kerry supporters who were hungry for change. My good friend Ryan came over early. An ardent Kerry supporter, he was eager for a night of witty political banter as the results came in.
"Have they called anything? Have they called anything? MY GOD WOMAN! I've been in the car for 2 hours! HAVE THEY CALLED ANYTHING?" He screamed as he rushed through the door.
"Uhhhh, just Kentucky." I replied.
Although breathless, he still managed a heartfelt "FUCK Kentucky!"
Okay, so make that "witty political banter" as well as "drunken cursing." Really, the latter far outweighed the former.
People trickled in and we could feel the change in the air. Tonight was the night we would save America. We donned Kerry buttons and stickers. We wore patriotically colored beads around our necks. We gathered around the television for a night that was sure to change our country for the better.
Apparently, the rest of America hadn't gotten the memo.
I swore to myself that life simply couldn't go on if Florida went red. I had worked too hard. I had cared too much. The results from Florida began pouring in and things looked bleak. But Ryan wasn't phazed a bit:
"They haven't counted Broward yet! What the hell are you worried about?!? THEY HAVEN'T FUCKING COUNTED BROWARD!"
(for non-floridians, Broward county is one of the largest democratic strongholds in Florida. Ryan's faith in humanity rested with Broward county. No pressure or anything, though.)
Then the Broward results started coming in... and they clearly wouldn't be enough.
"20%! They've only counted 20% of Broward and you're worried? FUCK 20%!"
Fifteen minutes later...
"50%! They've only counted 50%! That's nothing! Broward'll pull us through!"
Fifteen minutes later:
"99%! Who gives a shit about 99%? Broward won't let us down! We can still..."
"100%. Huh. FUCK Broward."
At that point, most had left the party so they could cry in the privacy of their homes. The rest of us decided it was in our best interests to turn off the TV. The ultimate concession speech on election night is not the one made by the candidates: it's the one made by the lifelong partisans who say "Turn off CNN. Let's play some boardgames."
Ryan was curled up in a recliner, clutching a throw pillow and rocking nervously.
"What happened in Broward?" he mumbled like a child trying to cope with the loss of a favorite pet.
And much like the parents of that child, we didn't know what to tell him. How do you explain that no matter how much we all loved Broward, we had to let it go?
Probably unlike the parents of that child, I handed him a bottle of wine instead of a cheesy consolation speech.
The night wore on and we pretended that we were fine. Our eyes darted nervously, trying to avoid the streamers and balloons that decked the apartment walls. Suddenly, my celebratory decorations seemed to be mocking me and everything I stood for.
Ryan passed out on the couch that night and the next morning we set about to take down the decor. I tried to convince myself that this act was cathartic. But with every balloon I popped, I felt my soul deflating along with it.
And today, I wonder...
Has it really been nearly a month since that awful night? Has life really gone on like nothing happened? Am I really so melodramatic that I would compare popping balloons to the deflation of my soul?
The answers are yes, yes, and fuck yes.
I still haven't found a cheesy consolation speech to replace the bottle of wine. I still feel disconnected- not just from my government, but from my neighbors, my co-workers and my country. I still don't know why the fuck Broward didn't pull us through. Come ON, Broward!
But I do know this: In the spirit of Ryan Kent, who is probably in a straight jacket somewhere mumbling about a Broward recount, I must say:
FUCK November second.
Many democrats have been in mourning... almost as if we're recovering from a national tragedy. In the eyes of many, the reelection of Bush was a national tragedy.
The night started off well enough. I spent the afternoon hanging out at the polls with a group of local dems. We handed out fliers and chatted confidently about the election. Folks from the local dem headquarters brought us all french fries and sodas. Voters thanked us for coming out. With few exceptions, they smiled and even cheered at our Kerry signs. The only notable exception was a driveby yelling of "Kerry's a faaaaag!" Duely noted, good sir. And sadly, an excellent campaign strategy, in hindsight.
Back at my house, I had a small gathering of friends- Kerry supporters who were hungry for change. My good friend Ryan came over early. An ardent Kerry supporter, he was eager for a night of witty political banter as the results came in.
"Have they called anything? Have they called anything? MY GOD WOMAN! I've been in the car for 2 hours! HAVE THEY CALLED ANYTHING?" He screamed as he rushed through the door.
"Uhhhh, just Kentucky." I replied.
Although breathless, he still managed a heartfelt "FUCK Kentucky!"
Okay, so make that "witty political banter" as well as "drunken cursing." Really, the latter far outweighed the former.
People trickled in and we could feel the change in the air. Tonight was the night we would save America. We donned Kerry buttons and stickers. We wore patriotically colored beads around our necks. We gathered around the television for a night that was sure to change our country for the better.
Apparently, the rest of America hadn't gotten the memo.
I swore to myself that life simply couldn't go on if Florida went red. I had worked too hard. I had cared too much. The results from Florida began pouring in and things looked bleak. But Ryan wasn't phazed a bit:
"They haven't counted Broward yet! What the hell are you worried about?!? THEY HAVEN'T FUCKING COUNTED BROWARD!"
(for non-floridians, Broward county is one of the largest democratic strongholds in Florida. Ryan's faith in humanity rested with Broward county. No pressure or anything, though.)
Then the Broward results started coming in... and they clearly wouldn't be enough.
"20%! They've only counted 20% of Broward and you're worried? FUCK 20%!"
Fifteen minutes later...
"50%! They've only counted 50%! That's nothing! Broward'll pull us through!"
Fifteen minutes later:
"99%! Who gives a shit about 99%? Broward won't let us down! We can still..."
"100%. Huh. FUCK Broward."
At that point, most had left the party so they could cry in the privacy of their homes. The rest of us decided it was in our best interests to turn off the TV. The ultimate concession speech on election night is not the one made by the candidates: it's the one made by the lifelong partisans who say "Turn off CNN. Let's play some boardgames."
Ryan was curled up in a recliner, clutching a throw pillow and rocking nervously.
"What happened in Broward?" he mumbled like a child trying to cope with the loss of a favorite pet.
And much like the parents of that child, we didn't know what to tell him. How do you explain that no matter how much we all loved Broward, we had to let it go?
Probably unlike the parents of that child, I handed him a bottle of wine instead of a cheesy consolation speech.
The night wore on and we pretended that we were fine. Our eyes darted nervously, trying to avoid the streamers and balloons that decked the apartment walls. Suddenly, my celebratory decorations seemed to be mocking me and everything I stood for.
Ryan passed out on the couch that night and the next morning we set about to take down the decor. I tried to convince myself that this act was cathartic. But with every balloon I popped, I felt my soul deflating along with it.
And today, I wonder...
Has it really been nearly a month since that awful night? Has life really gone on like nothing happened? Am I really so melodramatic that I would compare popping balloons to the deflation of my soul?
The answers are yes, yes, and fuck yes.
I still haven't found a cheesy consolation speech to replace the bottle of wine. I still feel disconnected- not just from my government, but from my neighbors, my co-workers and my country. I still don't know why the fuck Broward didn't pull us through. Come ON, Broward!
But I do know this: In the spirit of Ryan Kent, who is probably in a straight jacket somewhere mumbling about a Broward recount, I must say:
FUCK November second.
11.26.2004
Smooth Operator... really was an operator this time.
Lightning has struck me twice within the past week. How? How do these jackasses just flock to me?
Tonight, as I do many nights at work, I had to call our alarm monitoring company. We had a fire alarm going off, but no fire. So, this is my job. This is the important part.
Every few weeks they call and say:
"We have an alarm going off at your location."
To which I reply:
"Oh shit. Don't send the fire department. Really. I promise. There's no fire. Our alarms just have a sick sense of humor."
To which they reply:
"Too late. They've already been dispatched."
To which I reply:
"I know. Mother fuck, I know."
It's a nice little routine we have going. But someone decided to fuck that up in a nasty way for me tonight.
I called and asked to have our alarms put on "test," which is basically a preemptive strike to keep the fuzz from coming out when I know there will be false alarms. I do this often enough that the veteran operators at the monitoring company know me by voice, name, and building code. Woot.
So this new jackass starts off innocently enough. Don't they all. He asked me how my Thanksgiving was. Fine, buddy. He mentioned that I "sounded reeeeaaally young."
Note to, um, everyone. DON'T ever tell a woman (PARTICULARLY one that you've never spoken to before, or know only in a business sense) over the phone that she sounds "reeeaaally young." In your sick little world, it may seem like a compliment. It Is Not. It is the biggest "creepy porn-obsessed asshole" alert you could ever give off.
I just sighed and went on with my business. "put this on test, blah blah blah." But no. He wasn't content to have me just strongly suspicious of him. He needed me to know for sure that he was a full on, butt-dangling, turd.
He lowered his voice and said cockily "Are you a little girl who's calling about your daddy's business?"
Um. Eh? That is one weird-ass phone sex fantasy, buddy.
As is expected, I yelled at the worthless little shit and got his operator number. He's #34 in case anyone wants a heads up.
Tonight, as I do many nights at work, I had to call our alarm monitoring company. We had a fire alarm going off, but no fire. So, this is my job. This is the important part.
Every few weeks they call and say:
"We have an alarm going off at your location."
To which I reply:
"Oh shit. Don't send the fire department. Really. I promise. There's no fire. Our alarms just have a sick sense of humor."
To which they reply:
"Too late. They've already been dispatched."
To which I reply:
"I know. Mother fuck, I know."
It's a nice little routine we have going. But someone decided to fuck that up in a nasty way for me tonight.
I called and asked to have our alarms put on "test," which is basically a preemptive strike to keep the fuzz from coming out when I know there will be false alarms. I do this often enough that the veteran operators at the monitoring company know me by voice, name, and building code. Woot.
So this new jackass starts off innocently enough. Don't they all. He asked me how my Thanksgiving was. Fine, buddy. He mentioned that I "sounded reeeeaaally young."
Note to, um, everyone. DON'T ever tell a woman (PARTICULARLY one that you've never spoken to before, or know only in a business sense) over the phone that she sounds "reeeaaally young." In your sick little world, it may seem like a compliment. It Is Not. It is the biggest "creepy porn-obsessed asshole" alert you could ever give off.
I just sighed and went on with my business. "put this on test, blah blah blah." But no. He wasn't content to have me just strongly suspicious of him. He needed me to know for sure that he was a full on, butt-dangling, turd.
He lowered his voice and said cockily "Are you a little girl who's calling about your daddy's business?"
Um. Eh? That is one weird-ass phone sex fantasy, buddy.
As is expected, I yelled at the worthless little shit and got his operator number. He's #34 in case anyone wants a heads up.
11.21.2004
Smooth Operator
Oh boys. When will you learn?
Normally I get really aggravated when someone hits on me at work. First of all, I think it's just rude. When I'm at work, I can't exactly walk away from you, nor can I tell you to go fuck yourself. So I'm immediately at a disadvantage. All I can really do is paste a smile on, pretend to be busy, and hope that you'll leave quickly.
But they NEVER LEAVE QUICKLY!
Not quickly enough for my tastes, anyway.
I think that much of the problem stems from a vicious rumor that many men buy into. Often, they seem to assume that all women are inherently complicated and... compulsive liars, I suppose. If we look interested, we want them. If we look disinterested, we're being coy. And if we kick them in their shins, and call them fuckturds, then we have both turret's syndrome and unwieldy reflexes. But make no mistake. We still want them.
The other thing is that there is so much confusion on what attracts women. For instance tonight's specimen, Mr DeathMetal, apparently had decided that the following would sweep me off my feet:
- an extensive knowledge of Slayer.
- the random and seemingly forced statement that he had lots of money (which fit awkwardly, if at all, into the conversation with the poorly placed "It's a good thing you don't work in a bank. Then you'd see my account and only want me for my money.")
- the assertion, after approximately 30 seconds of artificial chit-chat that "people are stupid... but you're like a genius." Okay, I *am* a genius, but even my overly-inflated ego won't let me believe that that was sincere.
- the comment that manual labor was beneath him (might want to ask a girl's stance on union issues before trashing labor.)
- oh! and he owns a lawn care business. But don't worry. He only stops in to keep the employees in line- he makes *them* do all the work. Note: owning a "lawn care business" is 22 year old code for "I have a cell phone and a weedwhacker." Oh, and see the previous comment re: the trashing of labor.
But that part was only mildly painful. The part that really made my brain cells suicidal was the *philosophy* talk. He wanted to know what I thought about The Matrix and how it related to life. Um. Maybe he didn't get the memo, but I believe that talking-point dates back to the ancient flirtation attempts of 1999 amateur philosophers. Here in modern day civilization, we've moved on to... oh, let's say, the Spongebob movie. And, you know, how it relates to... stuff.
And once they find out my major, it's all over. I'm doomed. This captain goes down with the ship. If I had known that "aerospace engineering" was goober-guy code for "likes to talk about cars," I would have majored in puppies.
But all this work on his part was for naught. And that's what helped me get through the ordeal. The best thing about being married (aside from that whole love thing) is that you have a foolproof way to get out of an awkward situation. So when he FINALLY got to the point: "can we hang out sometime," I was able to cut him off with "well, between school and work, I barely even get to see my husband, so I don't think so."
Well, it used to be foolproof.
Apparently, the whole marriage thing just doesn't phase guys like it used to. Instead of backing away slowly like they ought to, they just try to manuever around it. "Oh yeah? Where's the ring?"
I don't wear one. So sue me!
"What's your new last name?"
I didn't change it. So bite me!
And then there's the attempt to get a financial advantage over the ball-and-chain. "what does he do for a living?" is typically followed by a see-through attempt at "well here's what I do, and here's why I make more money."
Look, I met Mr. Wankershanks before he had a job. I started dating him when he delivered pizzas and I moved in with him after he got fired from a BAR. I'm really glad that other guys keep reminding me that I'm only concerned about money because, apparently, I keep forgetting!
As I was saying earlier. Normally, I get really aggravated when someone hits on me at work. But sometimes, when the planets line up just right and the pick up lines are so consistently bad, even I can laugh and enjoy it. So thank you, Mr. DeathMetal. You have brightened my day.
But if you ever darken my doorway again, I'll feed you to the manual laborers.
Normally I get really aggravated when someone hits on me at work. First of all, I think it's just rude. When I'm at work, I can't exactly walk away from you, nor can I tell you to go fuck yourself. So I'm immediately at a disadvantage. All I can really do is paste a smile on, pretend to be busy, and hope that you'll leave quickly.
But they NEVER LEAVE QUICKLY!
Not quickly enough for my tastes, anyway.
I think that much of the problem stems from a vicious rumor that many men buy into. Often, they seem to assume that all women are inherently complicated and... compulsive liars, I suppose. If we look interested, we want them. If we look disinterested, we're being coy. And if we kick them in their shins, and call them fuckturds, then we have both turret's syndrome and unwieldy reflexes. But make no mistake. We still want them.
The other thing is that there is so much confusion on what attracts women. For instance tonight's specimen, Mr DeathMetal, apparently had decided that the following would sweep me off my feet:
- an extensive knowledge of Slayer.
- the random and seemingly forced statement that he had lots of money (which fit awkwardly, if at all, into the conversation with the poorly placed "It's a good thing you don't work in a bank. Then you'd see my account and only want me for my money.")
- the assertion, after approximately 30 seconds of artificial chit-chat that "people are stupid... but you're like a genius." Okay, I *am* a genius, but even my overly-inflated ego won't let me believe that that was sincere.
- the comment that manual labor was beneath him (might want to ask a girl's stance on union issues before trashing labor.)
- oh! and he owns a lawn care business. But don't worry. He only stops in to keep the employees in line- he makes *them* do all the work. Note: owning a "lawn care business" is 22 year old code for "I have a cell phone and a weedwhacker." Oh, and see the previous comment re: the trashing of labor.
But that part was only mildly painful. The part that really made my brain cells suicidal was the *philosophy* talk. He wanted to know what I thought about The Matrix and how it related to life. Um. Maybe he didn't get the memo, but I believe that talking-point dates back to the ancient flirtation attempts of 1999 amateur philosophers. Here in modern day civilization, we've moved on to... oh, let's say, the Spongebob movie. And, you know, how it relates to... stuff.
And once they find out my major, it's all over. I'm doomed. This captain goes down with the ship. If I had known that "aerospace engineering" was goober-guy code for "likes to talk about cars," I would have majored in puppies.
But all this work on his part was for naught. And that's what helped me get through the ordeal. The best thing about being married (aside from that whole love thing) is that you have a foolproof way to get out of an awkward situation. So when he FINALLY got to the point: "can we hang out sometime," I was able to cut him off with "well, between school and work, I barely even get to see my husband, so I don't think so."
Well, it used to be foolproof.
Apparently, the whole marriage thing just doesn't phase guys like it used to. Instead of backing away slowly like they ought to, they just try to manuever around it. "Oh yeah? Where's the ring?"
I don't wear one. So sue me!
"What's your new last name?"
I didn't change it. So bite me!
And then there's the attempt to get a financial advantage over the ball-and-chain. "what does he do for a living?" is typically followed by a see-through attempt at "well here's what I do, and here's why I make more money."
Look, I met Mr. Wankershanks before he had a job. I started dating him when he delivered pizzas and I moved in with him after he got fired from a BAR. I'm really glad that other guys keep reminding me that I'm only concerned about money because, apparently, I keep forgetting!
As I was saying earlier. Normally, I get really aggravated when someone hits on me at work. But sometimes, when the planets line up just right and the pick up lines are so consistently bad, even I can laugh and enjoy it. So thank you, Mr. DeathMetal. You have brightened my day.
But if you ever darken my doorway again, I'll feed you to the manual laborers.
11.20.2004
update- flavian's alive
Call off the candlelight vigil. Flavian is alive. Apparently, reports of his death have been greatly exaggerated, as they say, although I think he enjoys the attention. So don't be surprised if he starts claiming to be dead anytime now. He's sneaky like that.
So there have been no new run-ins with porch guy. I'll be going over there on sunday, though, so we'll see what transpires.
I plan to wear running shoes just in case.
So there have been no new run-ins with porch guy. I'll be going over there on sunday, though, so we'll see what transpires.
I plan to wear running shoes just in case.
11.19.2004
porch guy update
So I talked to Flavian. Porch guy is getting creepier by the day. New reports from eyewitnesses (aka flavian) indicate that porch guy was standing inside his apartment with the blinds open when flavian got home from work the other day. Oh- did I mention that porch guy was bare-assed naked?
Cause he was.
When Flavian noticed him staring, porch guy reportedly looked really pissed off.
I haven't talked to Flavian in 2 days.
I believe a candlelight vigil is in order. If anyone finds the remains of a 22 year old computer nerd, wrapped in a blanket that says "blanket" in binary, please contact me immediately.
Cause he was.
When Flavian noticed him staring, porch guy reportedly looked really pissed off.
I haven't talked to Flavian in 2 days.
I believe a candlelight vigil is in order. If anyone finds the remains of a 22 year old computer nerd, wrapped in a blanket that says "blanket" in binary, please contact me immediately.
11.14.2004
Flavian, save me from your neighbors.
Serial killers. They may be morbidly fascinating to watch on Court TV, but you do not want one living near you. Really. They're not good neighbors.
So I went to visit my friend Brian (aka flavian, aka guy incognito) today. He just moved to the central florida area, and found himself with a very limited apartment selection due to the recent hurricane damage. Actually, he only had one option, and that one was not particularly pretty. But what are you going to do? He took it, and moved in last week.
I pulled my car into his new apartment complex and saw a man standing on a porch near Brian's new home. New neighbors. Exciting, isn't it? He had no shirt. Quite possibly no pants, but *dear god* I wasn't about to get close enough to look. I soon realized that he was staring at me. I gave the required nod of acknowledgement, sure that this would end the staring.
It didn't.
His creepy, serial-killer eyes followed me all the way to Brian's front door. I was practically screeching when I got there.
"Did you KNOW your neighbor is a goddamned, creepy-ass, serial-killer? He will not stop leering at me! Thank god I don't sleep here, cause he would gladly kill me during it!"
"Oh- you mean 'porch guy?' Yeah, he does that."
Um. ok.
Apparently, this was a serious step-up for Brian as far as neighbors go. His last one was cheerfully nicknamed 'old prostitute guy,' and quite possibly died in his apartment, with his body rotting in there for 3 full weeks. Brian has no proof of his passing other than flimsy circumstantial evidence, but he feels confident in his morbid theory. According to him, 'old prositute guy' wasn't the type to just up and leave. He had roots in his community. Whatever, Brian.
But back to 'porch guy.' Brian informed me that when he first arrived, he too noticed 'porch guy' leering at him. Not only that, but after Brian was safely inside his apartment, 'porch guy' walked over to Brian's car, and made two slow, suspicious laps around it, before going back to his clothing-optional post.
This made me feel slightly better. At least I wasn't being singled out by our local mass-murderer. He was into Brian too. And Brian has a newer car to steal.
Looks like you'll be taking one for the team, buddy.
So I went to visit my friend Brian (aka flavian, aka guy incognito) today. He just moved to the central florida area, and found himself with a very limited apartment selection due to the recent hurricane damage. Actually, he only had one option, and that one was not particularly pretty. But what are you going to do? He took it, and moved in last week.
I pulled my car into his new apartment complex and saw a man standing on a porch near Brian's new home. New neighbors. Exciting, isn't it? He had no shirt. Quite possibly no pants, but *dear god* I wasn't about to get close enough to look. I soon realized that he was staring at me. I gave the required nod of acknowledgement, sure that this would end the staring.
It didn't.
His creepy, serial-killer eyes followed me all the way to Brian's front door. I was practically screeching when I got there.
"Did you KNOW your neighbor is a goddamned, creepy-ass, serial-killer? He will not stop leering at me! Thank god I don't sleep here, cause he would gladly kill me during it!"
"Oh- you mean 'porch guy?' Yeah, he does that."
Um. ok.
Apparently, this was a serious step-up for Brian as far as neighbors go. His last one was cheerfully nicknamed 'old prostitute guy,' and quite possibly died in his apartment, with his body rotting in there for 3 full weeks. Brian has no proof of his passing other than flimsy circumstantial evidence, but he feels confident in his morbid theory. According to him, 'old prositute guy' wasn't the type to just up and leave. He had roots in his community. Whatever, Brian.
But back to 'porch guy.' Brian informed me that when he first arrived, he too noticed 'porch guy' leering at him. Not only that, but after Brian was safely inside his apartment, 'porch guy' walked over to Brian's car, and made two slow, suspicious laps around it, before going back to his clothing-optional post.
This made me feel slightly better. At least I wasn't being singled out by our local mass-murderer. He was into Brian too. And Brian has a newer car to steal.
Looks like you'll be taking one for the team, buddy.
A note to flight mechanics professors everywhere:
When you're saying "P sub S" in class, as in, "the letter P with a subcript of S," PLEASE make sure to enunciate.
Cause as a barely-awake student, all I'm hearing is "In this problem, we need to find the correct piece of ass."
And I *hate* being forced to snicker like a 10 year old in my senior-level classes.
Cause as a barely-awake student, all I'm hearing is "In this problem, we need to find the correct piece of ass."
And I *hate* being forced to snicker like a 10 year old in my senior-level classes.
Welcome to Kerry Country
Okay, okay okay. I haven't posted anything for a while. Sorry bout that. I've mostly been stewing in bitterness, disbelief, and a bit of vegetable boullion.
But after much moping and a few suicide attempts, I've come to a conclusion. I can't force other people to see the world my way. I can't shove tolerance down the throats of those I can't tolerate. I can't change the outcome of this election.
I can, however, ignore it.
So that's the plan right now. There's a 2 bedroom apartment in central florida that is now, and will forever be, "Kerry country."
At first I wondered if this was a little too loopy even for me. Then I remembered Bush's first presidency. You know, the one that he didn't actually win. If that man could last 4 years running an entire country on delusion, then I could run my 800 square feet that way.
So the inauguration is set for Jan. 20. President Kerry is formally invited, but we likely will just have to pretend he's there. That's okay. It goes well with the theme: "Imaguration 2004!!"
But after much moping and a few suicide attempts, I've come to a conclusion. I can't force other people to see the world my way. I can't shove tolerance down the throats of those I can't tolerate. I can't change the outcome of this election.
I can, however, ignore it.
So that's the plan right now. There's a 2 bedroom apartment in central florida that is now, and will forever be, "Kerry country."
At first I wondered if this was a little too loopy even for me. Then I remembered Bush's first presidency. You know, the one that he didn't actually win. If that man could last 4 years running an entire country on delusion, then I could run my 800 square feet that way.
So the inauguration is set for Jan. 20. President Kerry is formally invited, but we likely will just have to pretend he's there. That's okay. It goes well with the theme: "Imaguration 2004!!"
10.23.2004
the proof is in the polls
Now, for a long time, people have said that I'm a partisan asshole whenever I claim that Bush supporters are stupid.
Stupid is usually an "opinion" kinda thing. But thanks to a new poll by www.PIPA.org, the realms of "opinion" and "fact" are being blurred in a wonderful way.
Essentially, although the people at PIPA were entirely too lame to state the obvious, the above poll shows that Bush has a stronghold in lala land. I wonder how many electoral votes that'll get him?
Stupid is usually an "opinion" kinda thing. But thanks to a new poll by www.PIPA.org, the realms of "opinion" and "fact" are being blurred in a wonderful way.
Even after the final report of Charles Duelfer to Congress saying that Iraq did not have a significant WMD program, 72% of Bush supporters continue to believe that Iraq had actual WMD (47%) or a major program for developing them (25%). 75% of Bush supporters continue to believe that Iraq was providing substantial support to al QaedaFifty-six percent assume that most experts believe Iraq had actual WMD and 57% also assume, incorrectly, that Duelfer concluded Iraq had at least a major WMD program. Kerry supporters hold opposite beliefs on all these points.
Similarly, , and 63% believe that clear evidence of this support has been found. Sixty percent of Bush supporters assume that this is also the conclusion of most experts, and 55% assume, incorrectly, that this was the conclusion of the 9/11 Commission. Here again, large majorities of Kerry supporters have exactly opposite perceptions.
Essentially, although the people at PIPA were entirely too lame to state the obvious, the above poll shows that Bush has a stronghold in lala land. I wonder how many electoral votes that'll get him?
10.22.2004
This just in!
Preliminary reports indicate that some college kids threw pies at Ann Coulter. This is a second hand report courtesy of my good friend from http://www.livejournal.com/users/metalprophet/.
I will post updates as they become available.
... update- apparently, the first pie missed her, while the second one grazed her shoulder as she fled the scene. Still scanning for a link. No word yet as to the pie flavor, although I think we can all agree that Boysenberry would add a nice touch of class to this otherwise low-brow pieing.
I've heard speculations that cream pies were employed. This would disappoint me tremendously.
... update- word is, the scene of the crime was Arizona State University.
... update- FINALLY! It was CUSTARD!!
Way to keep me guessing, boys!
... last update: there is a VIDEO!
I will post updates as they become available.
... update- apparently, the first pie missed her, while the second one grazed her shoulder as she fled the scene. Still scanning for a link. No word yet as to the pie flavor, although I think we can all agree that Boysenberry would add a nice touch of class to this otherwise low-brow pieing.
I've heard speculations that cream pies were employed. This would disappoint me tremendously.
... update- word is, the scene of the crime was Arizona State University.
... update- FINALLY! It was CUSTARD!!
Way to keep me guessing, boys!
... last update: there is a VIDEO!
I aim to please
Wow. Apparently my blog is high up on Google for Brytec Roofing hits. Seriously, I've gotten more traffic from that little rant than I have from all my frozen dinner reviews and my tampon-talk *combined.*
The people have spoken.
First of all, for those of you playing along at home... here's a link to my first rant about the topic: rant!
Now for the updates: there aren't any. Well, not really. I called Brytec Roofing a few times after writing my last post. The phone just rang and rang. So, I called another number I hadn't called recently and... they picked up immediately. Yipee. I was told that the guy I needed to speak with wasn't there. Surprise. I said I wasn't hanging up until he got on the phone. Within 30 seconds, he was magically on the phone.
Here's a general replay:
me:"you ruined my stuff. where's this insurance money I was promised, buckaroo?"
him: "bullshit blah blah bullshit."
me:"my stuff is really, REALLY ruined."
him: "oops."
Okay- not word for word, but you get the gist. He's saying one thing, the apartment complex is saying another... I really don't care who the bigger douchebag is here. I'm not going to compare the two on a scale of doucheitude. I just need to get this taken care of so that I can go back to having a life that's only *incredibly* stressful instead of *unbearably* stressful.
Is that really too much to ask?
Oh- and to the good folks at Brytec, and their lousy web designers, here's a helpful tip: If you're going to implore people to "call today!" then you just might want to include a phone number on your webpage. Just a thought, you know... (see Brytecwww.brytecroofing.com for the amazingly information-free website)
The people have spoken.
First of all, for those of you playing along at home... here's a link to my first rant about the topic: rant!
Now for the updates: there aren't any. Well, not really. I called Brytec Roofing a few times after writing my last post. The phone just rang and rang. So, I called another number I hadn't called recently and... they picked up immediately. Yipee. I was told that the guy I needed to speak with wasn't there. Surprise. I said I wasn't hanging up until he got on the phone. Within 30 seconds, he was magically on the phone.
Here's a general replay:
me:"you ruined my stuff. where's this insurance money I was promised, buckaroo?"
him: "bullshit blah blah bullshit."
me:"my stuff is really, REALLY ruined."
him: "oops."
Okay- not word for word, but you get the gist. He's saying one thing, the apartment complex is saying another... I really don't care who the bigger douchebag is here. I'm not going to compare the two on a scale of doucheitude. I just need to get this taken care of so that I can go back to having a life that's only *incredibly* stressful instead of *unbearably* stressful.
Is that really too much to ask?
Oh- and to the good folks at Brytec, and their lousy web designers, here's a helpful tip: If you're going to implore people to "call today!" then you just might want to include a phone number on your webpage. Just a thought, you know... (see Brytecwww.brytecroofing.com for the amazingly information-free website)
10.17.2004
Hey Asshole!
Whoever found my blog by searching for "women over 40 fucking," this blog is just for your sorry ass.
Go fuck yourself. Seriously. Take your nasty little porn-crazed self away from civilized society. And don't EVER come to my blog again.
Go fuck yourself. Seriously. Take your nasty little porn-crazed self away from civilized society. And don't EVER come to my blog again.
10.16.2004
huh.
Looks like I haven't posted to my blog in quite a while. Whaddaya know.
Things have been crazy and hectic. The douchebags who fucked my roof up and ruined tons of my shit (Hey Brytec Roofing of Orlando, FL- I'm looking at you!) are avoiding my calls like the plague. If I don't hear back from them by Monday, then I'll start Phase 2 on Tuesday.
They don't want to see Phase 2.
It'll start with a good dose of rapid-fire phone calls. Maybe every 5 minutes? Every 2 minutes? I dunno. We'll see how fast I can dial I suppose.
But we all know that won't work for long. God forbid they discover caller ID. But that's okay. I have their address. I think Wednesday will be a good day to implement Phase 3. Of course, I'm still trying to decide which route to go with Phase 3. There's the firm, businesslike angle of striding into the office, demanding to see someone, and not leaving until my questions are answered. Or, there's the crazy, fun angle of wearing my skivvies outside my pants and staging a one-looney protest on the sidewalk. Both clearly have their appeals.
Then of course, there's Phase 4 where I call the freebie lawyers at the university and ask them to help me get my freaking money, as well as tidy up any harassment issues that I caused via Phase 3.
This is going to be tremendously fun.
Things have been crazy and hectic. The douchebags who fucked my roof up and ruined tons of my shit (Hey Brytec Roofing of Orlando, FL- I'm looking at you!) are avoiding my calls like the plague. If I don't hear back from them by Monday, then I'll start Phase 2 on Tuesday.
They don't want to see Phase 2.
It'll start with a good dose of rapid-fire phone calls. Maybe every 5 minutes? Every 2 minutes? I dunno. We'll see how fast I can dial I suppose.
But we all know that won't work for long. God forbid they discover caller ID. But that's okay. I have their address. I think Wednesday will be a good day to implement Phase 3. Of course, I'm still trying to decide which route to go with Phase 3. There's the firm, businesslike angle of striding into the office, demanding to see someone, and not leaving until my questions are answered. Or, there's the crazy, fun angle of wearing my skivvies outside my pants and staging a one-looney protest on the sidewalk. Both clearly have their appeals.
Then of course, there's Phase 4 where I call the freebie lawyers at the university and ask them to help me get my freaking money, as well as tidy up any harassment issues that I caused via Phase 3.
This is going to be tremendously fun.
10.09.2004
Dred Scott and WTF?
Like many people, I was fucking baffled when Bush mentioned the Dred Scott case in last night's debate. Sooooo... he wasn't going to appoint anyone who was pro-slavery? Ummmm, at this point, I would hope that's a given in this country.
But according to the DailyKos, there's more to this story that many of us saner voters probably missed:
a-ha. Now that makes sense. Apparently among the looney fringe, the Dred Scott decision is frequently used as a parallel to the Roe v Wade decision.
An example from dailykos:
And there you have it. Bush's whole "I'm not telling you!" act was clever- but not clever enough. Much love to the amazingly astute folks at dailykos.
edited cause I should probably add a link to the dailykos page with the info...
http://www.dailykos.com/story/2004/10/9/16460/5820
But according to the DailyKos, there's more to this story that many of us saner voters probably missed:
When Bush made reference to "Dred Scott" he was assuring his anti-choice constituents that he would indeed only appoint Supreme Court justices who would remove abortion rights.
a-ha. Now that makes sense. Apparently among the looney fringe, the Dred Scott decision is frequently used as a parallel to the Roe v Wade decision.
An example from dailykos:
The reasoning in Dred Scott and Roe v. Wade is nearly identical. In both cases the Court stripped all rights from a class of human beings and reduced them to nothing more than the property of others. Compare the arguments the Court used to justify slavery and abortion. Clearly, in the Court's eyes, unborn children are now the same "beings of an inferior order" that the justices considered Blacks to be over a century ago.
And there you have it. Bush's whole "I'm not telling you!" act was clever- but not clever enough. Much love to the amazingly astute folks at dailykos.
edited cause I should probably add a link to the dailykos page with the info...
http://www.dailykos.com/story/2004/10/9/16460/5820
10.08.2004
WOAH! Debate throw down!
Did Bush just yell down the moderator and demand time to respond to Kerry's statements?!?!
Did that just happen?
What the freaking fuck was that????
Did that just happen?
What the freaking fuck was that????
10.03.2004
Fuck bush. I swear to god if that fucking asshole is elected again...
Fuck Bush and fuck the fucking asshat goons in his shithole administration.
Look, I've been entirely too nice to this psychotic chimp we have lose in the white house and I'm fucking fed up.
How dare you. How fucking dare you try to claim that you gave two shits and a fuck about the women in Iraq when you awarded a major grant to the fucking IWF (which Lynne Cheney is conveniently on the board of) to supposedly improve women's lot in Iraq?!?!?!
The Independant Women's Forum, for those of you lucky enough to not be in the know, is the right wing's answer to the axis of evil known as, um, women. Basically, they sit around and try to talk away any study or report that remotely indicates that there is any gender inequality in America.
Check out their website. No sane person could ever consider these folks to be interested in women's rights. Their articles seem to fit into four catagories:
1. Why we love the GOP
2. Why we hate feminists
3. Never trust a woman who "claims" to be raped or sexually harassed
4. Why men and women are so super different and... did we mention we hate feminists?
For instance, there's a great piece by Wendy McElroy (amazingly also a foxnews empoyee!) that talks about the rape scandals at Colorado University. Apparently all that mumbo jumbo about sex parties and an atmosphere that encourages sexual assault must have just been that liberal spin. What REALLY happened was that the university created an atmosphere that encourages sexual assault allegations! False ones. And the reason given for this? Because one dude who used to work for the university's sexual assault awareness organization claims that they used to use rape statistics that some people (aka the IWF) allege are inaccurate.(http://www.iwf.org/issues/issues_detail.asp?ArticleID=574)
And people buy this?!?
So Bush- How exactly do you expect these women to help rape victims when they won't even believe them? I suppose that the rape statistics in Iraq will magically decline once the IWF is on the case. But not from a decrease in rapes.
In other IWF news, the wage gap in the US apparently is "mythical" (despite that pesky census thing that proves otherwise). Global warming is "pseudo-science" (didn't even the Bush administration recently admit that global warming was real? Someone at the IWF better check their right-wing talking-points memos more often) Oh and sexual harassment in the workplace? That's really just a case of "heterophobia" and "antagonism toward men."
Who needs antagonism toward men when there are women willing to cover up sexism in order to get some brownie points from the fellas?
And in return, those fellas apparently toss them a fucking grant so they can teach women worldwide how to shut up and suck up.
Look, I've been entirely too nice to this psychotic chimp we have lose in the white house and I'm fucking fed up.
How dare you. How fucking dare you try to claim that you gave two shits and a fuck about the women in Iraq when you awarded a major grant to the fucking IWF (which Lynne Cheney is conveniently on the board of) to supposedly improve women's lot in Iraq?!?!?!
The Independant Women's Forum, for those of you lucky enough to not be in the know, is the right wing's answer to the axis of evil known as, um, women. Basically, they sit around and try to talk away any study or report that remotely indicates that there is any gender inequality in America.
Check out their website. No sane person could ever consider these folks to be interested in women's rights. Their articles seem to fit into four catagories:
1. Why we love the GOP
2. Why we hate feminists
3. Never trust a woman who "claims" to be raped or sexually harassed
4. Why men and women are so super different and... did we mention we hate feminists?
For instance, there's a great piece by Wendy McElroy (amazingly also a foxnews empoyee!) that talks about the rape scandals at Colorado University. Apparently all that mumbo jumbo about sex parties and an atmosphere that encourages sexual assault must have just been that liberal spin. What REALLY happened was that the university created an atmosphere that encourages sexual assault allegations! False ones. And the reason given for this? Because one dude who used to work for the university's sexual assault awareness organization claims that they used to use rape statistics that some people (aka the IWF) allege are inaccurate.(http://www.iwf.org/issues/issues_detail.asp?ArticleID=574)
And people buy this?!?
So Bush- How exactly do you expect these women to help rape victims when they won't even believe them? I suppose that the rape statistics in Iraq will magically decline once the IWF is on the case. But not from a decrease in rapes.
In other IWF news, the wage gap in the US apparently is "mythical" (despite that pesky census thing that proves otherwise). Global warming is "pseudo-science" (didn't even the Bush administration recently admit that global warming was real? Someone at the IWF better check their right-wing talking-points memos more often) Oh and sexual harassment in the workplace? That's really just a case of "heterophobia" and "antagonism toward men."
Who needs antagonism toward men when there are women willing to cover up sexism in order to get some brownie points from the fellas?
And in return, those fellas apparently toss them a fucking grant so they can teach women worldwide how to shut up and suck up.
He lies like a fox
Apparently, the Chief Political Correspondant for Fox News is quite biased in favor of the right wing. (I know everyone is just shocked and appalled.)
Even more so, he MADE UP quotes from Kerry and plopped them into a fake story that was then posted on Foxnews.com.
Dan Rather to God: "Hallelujah!!!"
Us normal folk would assume that foxnews can't possibly continue on with their hypocritical bashing of the "liberal" media after this, can they?
Oh but they can and they are! Although I was completely unable to find any mention of their tremendous faux-pas on the foxnews.com home page, there were 2 links to tirades about the CBS blunder: one of which actually proposed criminally prosecuting the people involved.
I'm going to love seeing what the Daily Show does with this one. This is one stoned slacker who can't fucking wait.
Even more so, he MADE UP quotes from Kerry and plopped them into a fake story that was then posted on Foxnews.com.
Dan Rather to God: "Hallelujah!!!"
Us normal folk would assume that foxnews can't possibly continue on with their hypocritical bashing of the "liberal" media after this, can they?
Oh but they can and they are! Although I was completely unable to find any mention of their tremendous faux-pas on the foxnews.com home page, there were 2 links to tirades about the CBS blunder: one of which actually proposed criminally prosecuting the people involved.
I'm going to love seeing what the Daily Show does with this one. This is one stoned slacker who can't fucking wait.
10.02.2004
technology gone awry
The tv dinner.
It's beauty lies in it's simplicity. This should be obvious to everyone. Apparently, it is not.
Tonight's Healthy Choice feast required seven- count them- SEVEN steps prior to consumption. Just configuring the box properly was like trying to play Jenga while intoxicated. First you open it, (left side only!!) making sure not to disrupt the integrity of the reinsertion tab. Then you fold the top back and insert the tab (or curse if you ripped the damned tab off). This reveals the super-crust-inducing, titanium coated "heat shield 4000." Place the meal directly on the heat shield 4000 and roll back the Radiation Deflector to fully cover your dinner. You may now nuke the dinner.
And you think it's over, right? You think they've humiliated your intelligence enough over this. Now you push the little "3 minute" button and the "start" button and assume that everything is fine.
But the game's not over yet! As the dinner is whirring around in the microwave you notice, to your complete horror, that you have only completed 5 steps in the preparation process. 5?!?! But there were 7 on the box! Bloody hell!
You go to check the garbage can for the box... but it's not in there! It's whizzing around your microwave, taunting you with the remaining two directions. What could they be... WHAT COULD THEY BE?!?!?!
Clearly, you can't stop the cooking process. You don't want to destroy all your hard work! So you press your face up to the microwave window, despite your recent email forward informing you that this causes immediate retina cancer, and try like hell to read those spinning directions.
"Remove plastic and stir after 1 minute, thirty?!? Mother fu... It's nearly been 1 minute, fourty-five! Goddamned hoity-toity frozen pieces of..."
Okay. Okay. Deep breath. You can do this. What's next?
"Caution: Product will be hot"
"Now that's not even a goddamned instruction! That's a warning! Couldn't they atleast make it a different fucking font?!?! This better be tasty, you Healthy Choice scoundrels."
And it was. I'll give them that. But honestly, with the intellectual marathon it took me to figure out the directions, I could have found a way to spontaneously generate baby ducks from toothpicks and pinesol and make my own foie gras.
It's beauty lies in it's simplicity. This should be obvious to everyone. Apparently, it is not.
Tonight's Healthy Choice feast required seven- count them- SEVEN steps prior to consumption. Just configuring the box properly was like trying to play Jenga while intoxicated. First you open it, (left side only!!) making sure not to disrupt the integrity of the reinsertion tab. Then you fold the top back and insert the tab (or curse if you ripped the damned tab off). This reveals the super-crust-inducing, titanium coated "heat shield 4000." Place the meal directly on the heat shield 4000 and roll back the Radiation Deflector to fully cover your dinner. You may now nuke the dinner.
And you think it's over, right? You think they've humiliated your intelligence enough over this. Now you push the little "3 minute" button and the "start" button and assume that everything is fine.
But the game's not over yet! As the dinner is whirring around in the microwave you notice, to your complete horror, that you have only completed 5 steps in the preparation process. 5?!?! But there were 7 on the box! Bloody hell!
You go to check the garbage can for the box... but it's not in there! It's whizzing around your microwave, taunting you with the remaining two directions. What could they be... WHAT COULD THEY BE?!?!?!
Clearly, you can't stop the cooking process. You don't want to destroy all your hard work! So you press your face up to the microwave window, despite your recent email forward informing you that this causes immediate retina cancer, and try like hell to read those spinning directions.
"Remove plastic and stir after 1 minute, thirty?!? Mother fu... It's nearly been 1 minute, fourty-five! Goddamned hoity-toity frozen pieces of..."
Okay. Okay. Deep breath. You can do this. What's next?
"Caution: Product will be hot"
"Now that's not even a goddamned instruction! That's a warning! Couldn't they atleast make it a different fucking font?!?! This better be tasty, you Healthy Choice scoundrels."
And it was. I'll give them that. But honestly, with the intellectual marathon it took me to figure out the directions, I could have found a way to spontaneously generate baby ducks from toothpicks and pinesol and make my own foie gras.
Tampax Attax
The most widespread phobia in America today seems to be the fear of tampons and their ilk. For women, it's the fear that other people might know that we (gasp!) use them once in a while. There are even products marketed to women that specifically tout their spy-like abilities. There's the pad that comes with a special wrapper that makes no noise... so ze Germans won't hear you approaching! The tampon that comes compacted with telescopic properties that only you know about! And then there are the assortment of cases and clutches that disguise the tampons so as to keep the enemy guessing.
What I'd really love to see is a camoflaged tampon wrapper. Maybe even some sort of chameleon-like cover so it blends into it's surroundings. If I know the tampon industry, I imagine they've already got a prototype or two floating about.
But anyway...
I started thinking about this today because of an incident at work. Apparently, there was a rogue tampon laying near my desk. It was the telescopic tampax kind (apparently, the enemy has gotten word of this technology.) A male coworker spotted it, discretely picked it up, and palmed it over to me like he was slipping me a c-note after some secret office debauchery.
"I didn't think you'd want anyone to see this," he whispered to me.
"Huh." I said. "Thanks. It's actually not mine, but thank you anyway."
I thought this was a reasonable assertion. Sure, it was near my desk, but my desk is in a high traffic area, after all. Apparently, he wasn't buying it.
"Sure. Okay. It's not yours." He said, and walked away with a look that clearly said "We BOTH know that was your tampon."
I thought about stopping him to clarify the situation. But, really, I would have dug myself deeper. I guess it's kinda like when your shoe "farts." You could go through the whole song-and-dance explanation of saying "damned new shoes..." then spending the next ten minutes trying to recreate the noise in order to redeem yourself.
And you know that in the end, it just made you look even guiltier. No matter how advanced our culture gets, people still cling to the age-old proverb that "whoever denied it, supplied it."
And I figure that's probably how it goes with tampons too. Plus, what do I care? He walked away thinking that he had caught me in a web of lies and I walked away thinking "hey, free tampon!"
What I'd really love to see is a camoflaged tampon wrapper. Maybe even some sort of chameleon-like cover so it blends into it's surroundings. If I know the tampon industry, I imagine they've already got a prototype or two floating about.
But anyway...
I started thinking about this today because of an incident at work. Apparently, there was a rogue tampon laying near my desk. It was the telescopic tampax kind (apparently, the enemy has gotten word of this technology.) A male coworker spotted it, discretely picked it up, and palmed it over to me like he was slipping me a c-note after some secret office debauchery.
"I didn't think you'd want anyone to see this," he whispered to me.
"Huh." I said. "Thanks. It's actually not mine, but thank you anyway."
I thought this was a reasonable assertion. Sure, it was near my desk, but my desk is in a high traffic area, after all. Apparently, he wasn't buying it.
"Sure. Okay. It's not yours." He said, and walked away with a look that clearly said "We BOTH know that was your tampon."
I thought about stopping him to clarify the situation. But, really, I would have dug myself deeper. I guess it's kinda like when your shoe "farts." You could go through the whole song-and-dance explanation of saying "damned new shoes..." then spending the next ten minutes trying to recreate the noise in order to redeem yourself.
And you know that in the end, it just made you look even guiltier. No matter how advanced our culture gets, people still cling to the age-old proverb that "whoever denied it, supplied it."
And I figure that's probably how it goes with tampons too. Plus, what do I care? He walked away thinking that he had caught me in a web of lies and I walked away thinking "hey, free tampon!"
Debate, blah, blah.
As if we didn't all know it already, Kerry kicked Bush's ass during last night's debate.
The only reason I'm stating the blatantly obvious is because, apparently, it isn't obvious to a lot of really dumb people.
So this post is just for you, dumb people.
When a debater looks like a frustrated chimp who can't find his banana, that's probably a good indication that he didn't win the debate. When a debater resorts to impatient shrugs and mumbles, he didn't win the debate. When a debater uses the phrase "we thought we'd whip more of em going in" in reference to a controversial war, he damn sure didn't win the debate.
You know it's true, you sneaky republican spinsters, you.
The only reason I'm stating the blatantly obvious is because, apparently, it isn't obvious to a lot of really dumb people.
So this post is just for you, dumb people.
When a debater looks like a frustrated chimp who can't find his banana, that's probably a good indication that he didn't win the debate. When a debater resorts to impatient shrugs and mumbles, he didn't win the debate. When a debater uses the phrase "we thought we'd whip more of em going in" in reference to a controversial war, he damn sure didn't win the debate.
You know it's true, you sneaky republican spinsters, you.
9.24.2004
Bloggers everywhere, UNITE!!!
I'm tired of taunting hurricanes. I know you all look forward to it, and by god, I'll try to deliver. But I'm not a machine, people! This is emotionally draining work! If this was the kind of thing that could be outsourced, I'd do it in a heartbeat just so you blood thirsty insult hoarders could be sated! It's all for you, people!
Besides, look at the good it's done me so far: 3 tauntings and 3 hurricanes to hit our precocious peninsula. My record speaks for itself. At the same time, I do have a reputation to uphold, so I can't just quit now.
With that in mind, I've come up with a plan to solve both problems at once. It's a brilliant plan, but it requires the cooperation of bloggers far and wide. If people all over the world donate one single post to a good, hearty taunting of Hurricane Jeanne, then not ONLY will I have successfully outsourced my chicanery (and at lower than slave wages, in traditional american style) but we will confuse the hell out of this hurricane. By my calculations, if we do this just right, then Jeanne will either spontaneously implode, or set a crash course for Iceland.
And you KNOW Iceland's been asking for it.
Besides, look at the good it's done me so far: 3 tauntings and 3 hurricanes to hit our precocious peninsula. My record speaks for itself. At the same time, I do have a reputation to uphold, so I can't just quit now.
With that in mind, I've come up with a plan to solve both problems at once. It's a brilliant plan, but it requires the cooperation of bloggers far and wide. If people all over the world donate one single post to a good, hearty taunting of Hurricane Jeanne, then not ONLY will I have successfully outsourced my chicanery (and at lower than slave wages, in traditional american style) but we will confuse the hell out of this hurricane. By my calculations, if we do this just right, then Jeanne will either spontaneously implode, or set a crash course for Iceland.
And you KNOW Iceland's been asking for it.
Everyone jump off the peace plane
If the man who wrote "Morning has Broken" and "Peace Train" isn't safe from accusations of terrorism, then no one is.
That's right. Cat Stevens (now Yusuf Islam) was refused entrance into the US and sent back to London, that hotbed of terrorism that he suspiciously resides in. As far as I can tell, his only crime is being a dirty-ass hippie with a beard that hasn't seen so much as a Supercuts in decades.
Just for a fun trip down memory lane, lets peruse a few classic Cat Steven's lyrics to see exactly how threatening this bearded devil is to our wholesome country:
From Father and Son: (one of my personal favorites)
"I was once like you are now, and I know that it's not easy,
To be calm when you've found something going on.
But take your time, think a lot,
Why, think of everything you've got.
For you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not."
Clearly, he's a reactionary capable of flying off the handle any moment.
From If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out:
"You can do what you want
The opportunity's on
And if you can find a new way
You can do it today
You can make it all true
And you can make it undo"
I think this definitely shows his pessimism about the world and his unwillingness to accept the life styles of others. The evidence mounts.
"Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day"
I think the evidence of terrorism is obvious here. I mean, Presbyterians use this song in their hymnals for fuck's sake. PRESBYTERIANS! If ever there was a bastion of 'merica-hating liberalism, it is the presbyterian church.
"Now I've been crying lately, thinking about the world as it is
Why must we go on hating, why can't we live in bliss
Cause out on the edge of darkness, there rides a peace train
Oh peace train take this country, come take me home again"
Yeah, okay. I've got nothing on this one. Must have been cleverly disguised sarcasm. Has anyone tried playing it backwards? I'll bet there's AT LEAST one "eat the flesh of babies" in there.
That's right. Cat Stevens (now Yusuf Islam) was refused entrance into the US and sent back to London, that hotbed of terrorism that he suspiciously resides in. As far as I can tell, his only crime is being a dirty-ass hippie with a beard that hasn't seen so much as a Supercuts in decades.
Just for a fun trip down memory lane, lets peruse a few classic Cat Steven's lyrics to see exactly how threatening this bearded devil is to our wholesome country:
From Father and Son: (one of my personal favorites)
"I was once like you are now, and I know that it's not easy,
To be calm when you've found something going on.
But take your time, think a lot,
Why, think of everything you've got.
For you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not."
Clearly, he's a reactionary capable of flying off the handle any moment.
From If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out:
"You can do what you want
The opportunity's on
And if you can find a new way
You can do it today
You can make it all true
And you can make it undo"
I think this definitely shows his pessimism about the world and his unwillingness to accept the life styles of others. The evidence mounts.
"Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day"
I think the evidence of terrorism is obvious here. I mean, Presbyterians use this song in their hymnals for fuck's sake. PRESBYTERIANS! If ever there was a bastion of 'merica-hating liberalism, it is the presbyterian church.
"Now I've been crying lately, thinking about the world as it is
Why must we go on hating, why can't we live in bliss
Cause out on the edge of darkness, there rides a peace train
Oh peace train take this country, come take me home again"
Yeah, okay. I've got nothing on this one. Must have been cleverly disguised sarcasm. Has anyone tried playing it backwards? I'll bet there's AT LEAST one "eat the flesh of babies" in there.
One more in the series of fucked up events that I call "my life"
Imagine, if you will, a balmy afternoon in the sub-tropical paradise that is central Florida. You've just settled down for a nice nap as you hear the soothing sound of a summer storm outside your window. You snuggle up and listen to the gentle patter of rain falling on a canopy of palm trees. You're so in tune with the rhythm, you can almost feel the water droplets.
Then, you do feel the water droplets.
Fucking water droplets?!?!?!
This is how my Monday started. I woke up and stumbled around a bit, eyeing my surroundings suspiciously. At a glance, I appeared to be inside my apartment. And yet, from my previous experiences with apartments, I recalled that it generally does not rain inside such dwellings.
Something was clearly amiss.
Mr. Wankershanks was a bit quicker on the draw:
"Goddamned fucking bullshit oprah winfrey turdknocker!" was his conclusion. Or some curse-filled variation on that theme.
I was finally able to pry my eyes open... and immediately regretted doing so. Water was streaming down from the ceiling in our bedroom and the surrounding hallway. The bathroom had seen the worst carnage with about an inch of water covering the floor.
Springing into action, I ran down to the office wearing sopping wet clothes and a crazed look of desperation.
It turns out that my indoor everglades was caused by some incompetent roofers. How incompetent, you ask? SO incompetent that they went to lunch halfway through the process of removing and replacing our roof. Apparently, they had completed the removing portion and decided to celebrate a job halfway well-done. And they were SO incompetent that they decided not to cover the roof with tarps, as is the traditional way of the natives here in a state where it rains every two fucking minutes. But they weren't completely incompetent.
They did manage to cover their roofing supplies, which sat in the parking lot near the worksite. Way to look sharp, fuckers.
A few well-placed buckets later, we decided to escape the chinese water torture of our apartment and get some pizza.
Question: What could possibly happen to a leaky apartment in a few, measly hours?
Answer: Everything, dumbass.
When we returned home, we were surprised to find that our ceiling was now our floor. That's generally a bad sign.
And so, for the past 3 days, we have spent our hours wading through shit water, digging through drywall and trying to salvage anything we can for the apartment that we were hurriedly relocated to. I've been assured that the roofer's insurance will pay for everything. Much to my dismay, however, "the castration of a bunch of fuckup roofers" is not included in "everything."
Thus begins my out-of-pocket expenses.
Then, you do feel the water droplets.
Fucking water droplets?!?!?!
This is how my Monday started. I woke up and stumbled around a bit, eyeing my surroundings suspiciously. At a glance, I appeared to be inside my apartment. And yet, from my previous experiences with apartments, I recalled that it generally does not rain inside such dwellings.
Something was clearly amiss.
Mr. Wankershanks was a bit quicker on the draw:
"Goddamned fucking bullshit oprah winfrey turdknocker!" was his conclusion. Or some curse-filled variation on that theme.
I was finally able to pry my eyes open... and immediately regretted doing so. Water was streaming down from the ceiling in our bedroom and the surrounding hallway. The bathroom had seen the worst carnage with about an inch of water covering the floor.
Springing into action, I ran down to the office wearing sopping wet clothes and a crazed look of desperation.
It turns out that my indoor everglades was caused by some incompetent roofers. How incompetent, you ask? SO incompetent that they went to lunch halfway through the process of removing and replacing our roof. Apparently, they had completed the removing portion and decided to celebrate a job halfway well-done. And they were SO incompetent that they decided not to cover the roof with tarps, as is the traditional way of the natives here in a state where it rains every two fucking minutes. But they weren't completely incompetent.
They did manage to cover their roofing supplies, which sat in the parking lot near the worksite. Way to look sharp, fuckers.
A few well-placed buckets later, we decided to escape the chinese water torture of our apartment and get some pizza.
Question: What could possibly happen to a leaky apartment in a few, measly hours?
Answer: Everything, dumbass.
When we returned home, we were surprised to find that our ceiling was now our floor. That's generally a bad sign.
And so, for the past 3 days, we have spent our hours wading through shit water, digging through drywall and trying to salvage anything we can for the apartment that we were hurriedly relocated to. I've been assured that the roofer's insurance will pay for everything. Much to my dismay, however, "the castration of a bunch of fuckup roofers" is not included in "everything."
Thus begins my out-of-pocket expenses.
9.23.2004
Fucking goddamn bullshit...
Why? Why do the hurricanes ALWAYS come on the weekends?!?! Come on, now! I could overlook the death and destruction if I at least got a few extra days off of school to work on my c++ project. Seriously. Cut me some slack, jeanne!
Go ahead and bring your wrath to central florida. But next time, call ahead to schedule the visit! I'd like to get some use out of my PDA before your vengeful floods destroy it.
Go ahead and bring your wrath to central florida. But next time, call ahead to schedule the visit! I'd like to get some use out of my PDA before your vengeful floods destroy it.
9.19.2004
No need to thank me
I'm at work tonight, bored as usual. So I'm going to take the time to let you all in on some important advice that I wouldn't normally share with just anyone.
There's no need to thank me. I'm just using the gifts I've been blessed with to help others in need.
I've mentioned before that there are many important decisions in our lives. Some can be life-altering. Some can make or break you in the eyes of your peers.
Without further ado, I give you: Bikinikiller's Ultimate Guide to Cell Phone Ringtones!
First of all, lets cover the importance of a well-suited ringtone. This thing goes everywhere with you. It can appear at anytime. Imagine, if you will, the following scenarios:
1. You're flirting with a cute guy. Things are going well and you're about to get his number when a friend calls you. All of a sudden, "Good Vibrations" by the Beach Boys rings out across the room. Do you really want to see him again now that he knows what a dork you are?
2. You're having a serious political discussion with someone. You're doing well and making good points. Suddenly, "Bloody Sunday" by U2 comes pouring out of your phone. Will anyone take you seriously knowing that you used an Irish tragedy to alert you to incoming calls? Oh, it's doubtful, at best.
Now that you see the importance, let's get to the meat of the matter. The rules:
1. Ironic is always best.
Don't pick something that is popular today. Never pick something that is popular today. Ironically hip is always safer because NO ONE has strong musical opinions about older groups. If you pick a song by DMX, for example, you may get some eyerolls from non-rap fans. If you go for, say, The Gambler, by Kenny Rogers, you have accomplished ironic hipness. No one thinks that you actually listen to Kenny Rogers in your spare time, but you've evaded the genre police and shown that you have a sense of humor about your ring. The only exception to this is the Beach Boys, as mentioned above. Don't ask me why, just trust me.
2. Don't pick any songs with a serious theme: political, or emotional.
In addition to the above example, also stay away from serious love songs. That's just pathetic. No matter how much you love "A Woman's Worth" by Alicia Keys, you will look really lame if you start getting misty-eyed every time your phone rings because it's-like-she's-reading-your-soooouuuuul! *sniff*
3. Choose a ring that is slightly out of your apparent style.
For instance, if you typically walk the town toting a Louis Vuitton bag with an astoundingly small poodle poking out, then avoid songs like "Barbie Girl" by Aqua. You'll appear one-dimensional and predictable. Instead, choose a song like "Another One Bites The Dust" by Queen. No one will see it coming and you will show that you're more than just a Legally Blonde wannabe.
4. When in doubt, choose a theme song from your era.
Everyone loves TV show theme songs. The only trick here is to choose one that isn't already overdone (inspector gadget and ghostbusters are officially annoying) and to choose one that you actually remember from your childhood tv shows. If you're in college now, you have no business with the theme songs from Shaft or the A-team, no matter how much you like them. Better to go with Fresh Prince of Bell Air or Saved By The Bell. You know you watched them.
I hope you have all taken something valuable from this lesson. Ring tones are more than just a means to an end. They're an artform. Respect that artform and others will respect you.
There's no need to thank me. I'm just using the gifts I've been blessed with to help others in need.
I've mentioned before that there are many important decisions in our lives. Some can be life-altering. Some can make or break you in the eyes of your peers.
Without further ado, I give you: Bikinikiller's Ultimate Guide to Cell Phone Ringtones!
First of all, lets cover the importance of a well-suited ringtone. This thing goes everywhere with you. It can appear at anytime. Imagine, if you will, the following scenarios:
1. You're flirting with a cute guy. Things are going well and you're about to get his number when a friend calls you. All of a sudden, "Good Vibrations" by the Beach Boys rings out across the room. Do you really want to see him again now that he knows what a dork you are?
2. You're having a serious political discussion with someone. You're doing well and making good points. Suddenly, "Bloody Sunday" by U2 comes pouring out of your phone. Will anyone take you seriously knowing that you used an Irish tragedy to alert you to incoming calls? Oh, it's doubtful, at best.
Now that you see the importance, let's get to the meat of the matter. The rules:
1. Ironic is always best.
Don't pick something that is popular today. Never pick something that is popular today. Ironically hip is always safer because NO ONE has strong musical opinions about older groups. If you pick a song by DMX, for example, you may get some eyerolls from non-rap fans. If you go for, say, The Gambler, by Kenny Rogers, you have accomplished ironic hipness. No one thinks that you actually listen to Kenny Rogers in your spare time, but you've evaded the genre police and shown that you have a sense of humor about your ring. The only exception to this is the Beach Boys, as mentioned above. Don't ask me why, just trust me.
2. Don't pick any songs with a serious theme: political, or emotional.
In addition to the above example, also stay away from serious love songs. That's just pathetic. No matter how much you love "A Woman's Worth" by Alicia Keys, you will look really lame if you start getting misty-eyed every time your phone rings because it's-like-she's-reading-your-soooouuuuul! *sniff*
3. Choose a ring that is slightly out of your apparent style.
For instance, if you typically walk the town toting a Louis Vuitton bag with an astoundingly small poodle poking out, then avoid songs like "Barbie Girl" by Aqua. You'll appear one-dimensional and predictable. Instead, choose a song like "Another One Bites The Dust" by Queen. No one will see it coming and you will show that you're more than just a Legally Blonde wannabe.
4. When in doubt, choose a theme song from your era.
Everyone loves TV show theme songs. The only trick here is to choose one that isn't already overdone (inspector gadget and ghostbusters are officially annoying) and to choose one that you actually remember from your childhood tv shows. If you're in college now, you have no business with the theme songs from Shaft or the A-team, no matter how much you like them. Better to go with Fresh Prince of Bell Air or Saved By The Bell. You know you watched them.
I hope you have all taken something valuable from this lesson. Ring tones are more than just a means to an end. They're an artform. Respect that artform and others will respect you.
Spice it up a little, would you?
Someone actually just prank called me here at work to ask if my refrigerator was running. Jesus. Can't you people be more creative?
Also, a helpful note to whoever called: If you're going to claim to be from our electric company, at least make sure you have the right company. The Orlando Utilities Commission doesn't service Winter Park. Progress Energy does.
Really. I shouldn't have to school people on the art of prank calling my ass. Work on this BEFORE you dial, people. If you're going to use stale material, at least do it with class.
Also, a helpful note to whoever called: If you're going to claim to be from our electric company, at least make sure you have the right company. The Orlando Utilities Commission doesn't service Winter Park. Progress Energy does.
Really. I shouldn't have to school people on the art of prank calling my ass. Work on this BEFORE you dial, people. If you're going to use stale material, at least do it with class.
Love Doctor
http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/N06540712.htm
According to the shrub, "Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country."
Read the article if you don't believe me. I can't even figure out what he was *trying* to say, and, after 4 years of college parties, you'd think I'd be pretty good at deciphering the incomprehensible.
Whatever, George. What the fuck ever.
According to the shrub, "Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country."
Read the article if you don't believe me. I can't even figure out what he was *trying* to say, and, after 4 years of college parties, you'd think I'd be pretty good at deciphering the incomprehensible.
Whatever, George. What the fuck ever.
9.17.2004
Let's Get Something Straight:
Reality Bites is The. Best. Movie. EVER.
Oh yeah- you know what I'm talking about.
Lelaina and Troy 4EVER!
Oh yeah- you know what I'm talking about.
Lelaina and Troy 4EVER!
oh yeah-
FYI: I named the last post "damned republicans" for a reason, I swear. I was planning to blame the hurricanes on republicans. Somehow. But, uh, then I didn't. Apparently, I was too lazy to change the title (and still am. don't hold your breath.)
So. That's what that was all about. I blame my lack of coherent thought on republicans too, by the way.
So. That's what that was all about. I blame my lack of coherent thought on republicans too, by the way.
9.08.2004
Damned republicans
So hurricane Ivan is possibly coming this way. Let me just lay it out right now. There will be taunting. Oh yes there will. I tried being nice to Ms Frances-pants and a fat lot of good that did me. I taunted the hell out of Charley and at least he had the common decency to not overstay his welcome.
So what are you going to do, Ivan? Huh? I've already had the power outages. I've already done the contaminated water supply thing. We've dealt with the fallen trees and the flooded roads. To top it all off, someone rearended my pretty new car today because they weren't paying attention to the fucked up traffic light.
So whatcha got, spunky? Cause it's nothing new, I can tell you that much. You're going to have to wake up pretty early in the morning to get me riled, buddy boy. I'd like to see you try.
So what are you going to do, Ivan? Huh? I've already had the power outages. I've already done the contaminated water supply thing. We've dealt with the fallen trees and the flooded roads. To top it all off, someone rearended my pretty new car today because they weren't paying attention to the fucked up traffic light.
So whatcha got, spunky? Cause it's nothing new, I can tell you that much. You're going to have to wake up pretty early in the morning to get me riled, buddy boy. I'd like to see you try.
9.05.2004
The soundtrack of the Storm
When two hurricanes hit in a row, it's okay to get a little loopy. That's what I'm telling myself anyway. Power outages can be a major drag and it's hard to entertain yourself. Since I don't know how to knit or whittle or do anything else so that I could feign usefulness, I sing.
Yup, that's right. I sing to myself. Aren't you glad you aren't here?
So, over the past few weeks, first with Charley and now with Frances, I've been creating what I like to think of as a Soundtrack of the Storm. These are the songs that, I feel, are essential to anyone riding out a hurricane or two (hopefully not three- Ivan, I'm looking at you, here.)
There are several different phases of the hurricane, obviously, so these must be used only during the timeframes specified to create the ideal ambiance.
When you're sitting around waiting for the shit to fly: I highly recommend busting out a little "Waiting for tonight" by J. Lo.
When the storm's raging overhead, my favorites include "Highway to the danger zone" and "Eye of the Tiger."
After the power goes out, and you're all alone and getting bored, "All by myself" and "One is the lonliest number" really set a nice, pathetic mood.
When you're too stir-crazy to sit inside any longer, and you decide to drive around despite the mandatory curfew that's in effect, with your eyes frantically darting to check for the police, a good one to belt is the Walker, Texas Ranger theme song: "The eyes of the ranger are upon you..."
And, just as a general rule of thumb, I find that the song "War" by Edwin Starr is good for just about any occasion (save, perhaps, the republican national convention.) Not because it involves hurricanes, but because it's really fun to sing the "huuuh" part. Who doesn't love that part?!?!
Yup, that's right. I sing to myself. Aren't you glad you aren't here?
So, over the past few weeks, first with Charley and now with Frances, I've been creating what I like to think of as a Soundtrack of the Storm. These are the songs that, I feel, are essential to anyone riding out a hurricane or two (hopefully not three- Ivan, I'm looking at you, here.)
There are several different phases of the hurricane, obviously, so these must be used only during the timeframes specified to create the ideal ambiance.
When you're sitting around waiting for the shit to fly: I highly recommend busting out a little "Waiting for tonight" by J. Lo.
When the storm's raging overhead, my favorites include "Highway to the danger zone" and "Eye of the Tiger."
After the power goes out, and you're all alone and getting bored, "All by myself" and "One is the lonliest number" really set a nice, pathetic mood.
When you're too stir-crazy to sit inside any longer, and you decide to drive around despite the mandatory curfew that's in effect, with your eyes frantically darting to check for the police, a good one to belt is the Walker, Texas Ranger theme song: "The eyes of the ranger are upon you..."
And, just as a general rule of thumb, I find that the song "War" by Edwin Starr is good for just about any occasion (save, perhaps, the republican national convention.) Not because it involves hurricanes, but because it's really fun to sing the "huuuh" part. Who doesn't love that part?!?!
Regress Energy
from orlandosentinel.com:
Attention Progress Energy customers in Brevard county: break out the sofa bed! I'm bunking with you!
As of 11 a.m. Sunday, Progress Energy reported that 16 percent of its customers were without power. Those numbers include:
87,939 customers in Orange
46,500 in Seminole
48,185 in Volusia
1,800 in Osceola
2,400 in Lake
1,800 in Polk
On an positive note, a Progress Energy spokesman said that 100 percent of its 11 customers in Brevard had power.
Attention Progress Energy customers in Brevard county: break out the sofa bed! I'm bunking with you!
9.04.2004
Waiting for my true love
Okay, so I'm not a patient person. And this is getting ri-goddamned-diculous. Can we just get this stupid hurricane over with already? Windy, windy, windy. Rainy, Rainy, Rainy. When is this crap going to go down? It's like a bad movie with REALLY long previews. You don't really want to see it, but you're already there so you might as well just get it over with.
So, I'm back to taunting because I'm tired of waiting in the playground for the school bully to kick my ass. You hear me, francis? Charley could have beaten your sorry self down ten times over without even waking up your big, lumbering ass.
Come and get it if you want it. I don't have flood insurance. That's gotta be tempting. I was too lazy to get sandbags- what more could you ask for? I'm serving up filet mignon here and you're wandering around trying to decide if you're hungry.
So, I'm back to taunting because I'm tired of waiting in the playground for the school bully to kick my ass. You hear me, francis? Charley could have beaten your sorry self down ten times over without even waking up your big, lumbering ass.
Come and get it if you want it. I don't have flood insurance. That's gotta be tempting. I was too lazy to get sandbags- what more could you ask for? I'm serving up filet mignon here and you're wandering around trying to decide if you're hungry.
Let the taunting begin
Now that Hurricane Francis (I know it's spelled Frances, but I'm going to ignore that silly spelling) is a pansy little catagory 2, I think it's time for the taunting to begin.
105 mph winds? I'd like to see you bring those by here, sister. Oh, you know you'll be sorry you did.
Oh, by the way, someone found my blog today by googling the phrase "will hurricane forcasters be ignored?" Ha! You bet they will, buddy boy! Forcasting is for suckers.
105 mph winds? I'd like to see you bring those by here, sister. Oh, you know you'll be sorry you did.
Oh, by the way, someone found my blog today by googling the phrase "will hurricane forcasters be ignored?" Ha! You bet they will, buddy boy! Forcasting is for suckers.
9.03.2004
Thank you, good readers
To the two glorious souls who found my blog by searching for "snowcone kiosk" and "rubbing alchohol herpes" I'd like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for making my day.
I promise to write more about such pressing issues.
edited to add: I take it back. Damn whoever searched for "rubbing alchohol herpes." I jotted the phrase down on a post it here at work so I wouldn't forget it. Except I forgot to throw away the post-it. Now my coworker is eyeing me suspiciously after he walked up behind my desk, unbeknownst to me. Do I even try to explain it? Or is the explanation weirder than the post-it? Thanks a lot, buttmunch.
I promise to write more about such pressing issues.
edited to add: I take it back. Damn whoever searched for "rubbing alchohol herpes." I jotted the phrase down on a post it here at work so I wouldn't forget it. Except I forgot to throw away the post-it. Now my coworker is eyeing me suspiciously after he walked up behind my desk, unbeknownst to me. Do I even try to explain it? Or is the explanation weirder than the post-it? Thanks a lot, buttmunch.
Just Breathe (and think), People.
I think I've mentioned before that I work at a technical college in Orlando. This can be less-than-pleasant during severe weather. The students, mostly, are fine. Students cause surprisingly few problems for the staff of the school.
The parents, on the other hand... they're a headache and a half. Keep in mind while reading these calls that while all of them involve freaked-out-edness over evacuations, orange county has not even requested evacuations yet. Not even voluntary ones.
Call #1:
psychopath: "My fragile little angel is a student there. He doesn't have a car, so he can't drive himself to a shelter. Is the school sending cars around to pick students up?"
Me, confusedly: "uhhhh no. Why would we do that?"
psychopath, irate and starting to get screechy: "Well, if you won't do it, then how is he going to get to the shelter?"
Now, at this point, I could take the fun, but eventually jobless, way out. I could say that his best bet is to lasso up a tornado and ride it to the shelter, or atleast until he runs into a kindly wizard who will hook him up with a brain for his mamma.
But, I don't. Instead, I heave an exaggerated sigh and tell her the number for Florida's disaster hotline. Those poor volunteers at the hotline.
Call #2
psychopath: "Can my priceless son stay at the school during the hurricane?"
me, still confusedly: "No. But he can stay at any of the shelters in the Orlando area."
psychopath: "Why can't he stay there?!?!?"
me, entirely too calmly: "Because we aren't set up for that. The shelters are a much safer place for him."
psychopath: "I can't BELIEVE you would make MY SON stay in a shelter (said with great distaste.)
Now, I should have read to her the definition of "shelter" to provide myself the entertainment of having her realize that she actually lived in a shelter! And that her little prince actually lived in a shelter! And that, amazingly enough, neither of them are too good to temporarily relocate to a different shelter!
But, instead, I gave her the number for the Florida disaster hotline. Those poor, poor volunteers.
Call #3
psychopath: "I need to know how you're getting information to your students about what shelters are open."
me: "well, that's not really what we do. There are official organizations for that... ummm... I'm not really sure what kind of answer you're looking for."
psychopath: "well, my son has NO idea where the shelters are. I can't BELIEVE you aren't doing more to make sure your students are safe."
Now, I should have said that there are these great ways of transferring information called television, radio and the internet. And, amazingly enough, they've all been invented. Even more amazing is that all the major news channels and radio stations have been frantically tossing around shelter information for the past 2 days. Now, if your little brat is watching cartoon network instead of cnn and waiting around for me to do the legwork for him, I can't really help you. Moreover, if you actually expect me to try to call all of our students to make sure they have information that is so readily availible it will soon begin seeping into the Florida Aquifer as informational runoff, then I really don't care if he does get blown away.
But, instead, I gave him the number to the Florida disaster hotline. Those poor, poor, poor volunteers.
There's a lesson here somewhere. And it probably should be that planning ahead pays off and prevents a lot of stress and worry. But that's not it. The lesson here is: Don't volunteer for Florida's disaster hotline. Cause I'm sending a lot of assholes your way.
The parents, on the other hand... they're a headache and a half. Keep in mind while reading these calls that while all of them involve freaked-out-edness over evacuations, orange county has not even requested evacuations yet. Not even voluntary ones.
Call #1:
psychopath: "My fragile little angel is a student there. He doesn't have a car, so he can't drive himself to a shelter. Is the school sending cars around to pick students up?"
Me, confusedly: "uhhhh no. Why would we do that?"
psychopath, irate and starting to get screechy: "Well, if you won't do it, then how is he going to get to the shelter?"
Now, at this point, I could take the fun, but eventually jobless, way out. I could say that his best bet is to lasso up a tornado and ride it to the shelter, or atleast until he runs into a kindly wizard who will hook him up with a brain for his mamma.
But, I don't. Instead, I heave an exaggerated sigh and tell her the number for Florida's disaster hotline. Those poor volunteers at the hotline.
Call #2
psychopath: "Can my priceless son stay at the school during the hurricane?"
me, still confusedly: "No. But he can stay at any of the shelters in the Orlando area."
psychopath: "Why can't he stay there?!?!?"
me, entirely too calmly: "Because we aren't set up for that. The shelters are a much safer place for him."
psychopath: "I can't BELIEVE you would make MY SON stay in a shelter (said with great distaste.)
Now, I should have read to her the definition of "shelter" to provide myself the entertainment of having her realize that she actually lived in a shelter! And that her little prince actually lived in a shelter! And that, amazingly enough, neither of them are too good to temporarily relocate to a different shelter!
But, instead, I gave her the number for the Florida disaster hotline. Those poor, poor volunteers.
Call #3
psychopath: "I need to know how you're getting information to your students about what shelters are open."
me: "well, that's not really what we do. There are official organizations for that... ummm... I'm not really sure what kind of answer you're looking for."
psychopath: "well, my son has NO idea where the shelters are. I can't BELIEVE you aren't doing more to make sure your students are safe."
Now, I should have said that there are these great ways of transferring information called television, radio and the internet. And, amazingly enough, they've all been invented. Even more amazing is that all the major news channels and radio stations have been frantically tossing around shelter information for the past 2 days. Now, if your little brat is watching cartoon network instead of cnn and waiting around for me to do the legwork for him, I can't really help you. Moreover, if you actually expect me to try to call all of our students to make sure they have information that is so readily availible it will soon begin seeping into the Florida Aquifer as informational runoff, then I really don't care if he does get blown away.
But, instead, I gave him the number to the Florida disaster hotline. Those poor, poor, poor volunteers.
There's a lesson here somewhere. And it probably should be that planning ahead pays off and prevents a lot of stress and worry. But that's not it. The lesson here is: Don't volunteer for Florida's disaster hotline. Cause I'm sending a lot of assholes your way.
9.01.2004
Update: the TA from hell
I ran into The TA From Hell in the hall today. He smiled and said "hey!"
This could be a good sign. Maybe it was his way of saying "we're cool. I hold no ill feelings toward you."
Or perhaps, it was his way of saying "we both know that you handed your ass to me on a platter when you signed up for this class. Prepare to die."
This could be a good sign. Maybe it was his way of saying "we're cool. I hold no ill feelings toward you."
Or perhaps, it was his way of saying "we both know that you handed your ass to me on a platter when you signed up for this class. Prepare to die."
My Dearest Francis
Dear Hurricane Francis,
Please note that I have not taunted you once in this blog. I have not doubted your ability to fuck my shit up, nor have I questioned your ability to commit to a path.
That being said, scootch a bit more to the North, if it pleases you, and go do some damage to another state. I hear they have some nice stuff on the coast of Georgia.
If you insist on visiting Florida, I hear there are lovely accomodations north of St. Augustine. The Central Florida area really has nothing to offer. Don't let all those tourists fool you.
Love always,
MsBikinikiller
PS- you fuck with my electricity and I will fuck with you, sister.
Please note that I have not taunted you once in this blog. I have not doubted your ability to fuck my shit up, nor have I questioned your ability to commit to a path.
That being said, scootch a bit more to the North, if it pleases you, and go do some damage to another state. I hear they have some nice stuff on the coast of Georgia.
If you insist on visiting Florida, I hear there are lovely accomodations north of St. Augustine. The Central Florida area really has nothing to offer. Don't let all those tourists fool you.
Love always,
MsBikinikiller
PS- you fuck with my electricity and I will fuck with you, sister.
8.29.2004
The Online Personality Quiz
I've seen these eharmony.com commercials day in and day out. Usually, they pop up in the lonely hours of the early morning when I'm downing some baked tostitos and watching reruns of Living Single. I've never been interested in cheeseball dating services. But my good friend Brian (guy incognito to you all) got me interested recently.
Apparently, they were unable to match his "unique" personality style with any of the "tens of thousands of members."
Ouch.
Confident that I would have better luck, I signed up for the test myself. After several grueling minutes of stupid questions, I was finally ready to receive my matches-made-in-heaven.
Apparently, I'm also "unique."
Essentially, my "personality profile" offered just about every nicely worded form of "anti-social, surley bitch" that you can think of. I'm sorry. I meant to say that I "may seem aloof due to my cautious nature in my relationships."
At least it beat brian's profile, which informed him that "fire safety" was one of his wants/needs.
Undaunted by this rather unwelcome view of me, I went over to colorgenics.com to find out what a bunch of squiggly lines said about me.
And I swear to you, I am not making this up:
"Like a crow [you] are attracted to shiny objects"
That settles it. I'm an aloof bird of the night who hates people but can't keep my paws off of aluminum foil.
Works for me!
Apparently, they were unable to match his "unique" personality style with any of the "tens of thousands of members."
Ouch.
Confident that I would have better luck, I signed up for the test myself. After several grueling minutes of stupid questions, I was finally ready to receive my matches-made-in-heaven.
Apparently, I'm also "unique."
Essentially, my "personality profile" offered just about every nicely worded form of "anti-social, surley bitch" that you can think of. I'm sorry. I meant to say that I "may seem aloof due to my cautious nature in my relationships."
At least it beat brian's profile, which informed him that "fire safety" was one of his wants/needs.
Undaunted by this rather unwelcome view of me, I went over to colorgenics.com to find out what a bunch of squiggly lines said about me.
And I swear to you, I am not making this up:
"Like a crow [you] are attracted to shiny objects"
That settles it. I'm an aloof bird of the night who hates people but can't keep my paws off of aluminum foil.
Works for me!
8.28.2004
Much love
Much love to the fine folks at Park Avenue CD's (http://www.parkavecds.com/) in Winter Park, Florida. They were keeping a much sought after (by me) Julie Ruin CD, which I am currently rocking out to. Not only that, but I was able to score the Rock Against Bush compilation put out by Fat Wreck Chords for a mere $9. (Of course, if you want to buy it straight from fatwreck.com, they have it for an astonishingly low $6.)
But that's not all! I also got a lovely plastic bag with a black and white pic of Meatwad from ATHF (http://www.adultswim.com/shows/athf/index.html) to carry my purchase home in. It's so cool, it was almost worth the 25 bucks all by itself.
But back to the compilation CD. Honestly, people. This is a 2-disc compilation for six freaking dollars. If you don't have it, freaking get it. It's worth it for the Sleater-Kinney song "Off With Your Head" alone. I honestly think this could be the Best. Song. Ever. And that's a title I don't take lightly. I've previously reserved that title to apply only to the L7 song Wargasm. But I think this one might just knock it off it's deliciously angry and politically relevant throne.
Besides that, there are songs from well known and loved groups like Rancid, Hot Water Music, No Doubt, Green Day, Operation Ivy, Bad Religion, Lagwagon, Dropkick Murphys, Bouncing Souls, Flogging Molly, No Use For A Name, and the list goes on. Go buy this cd. I'm not joking. $6 can buy you some crappy take-out fried rice, or it can buy you a killer compilation cd that you'll treasure forever.
But that's not all! I also got a lovely plastic bag with a black and white pic of Meatwad from ATHF (http://www.adultswim.com/shows/athf/index.html) to carry my purchase home in. It's so cool, it was almost worth the 25 bucks all by itself.
But back to the compilation CD. Honestly, people. This is a 2-disc compilation for six freaking dollars. If you don't have it, freaking get it. It's worth it for the Sleater-Kinney song "Off With Your Head" alone. I honestly think this could be the Best. Song. Ever. And that's a title I don't take lightly. I've previously reserved that title to apply only to the L7 song Wargasm. But I think this one might just knock it off it's deliciously angry and politically relevant throne.
Besides that, there are songs from well known and loved groups like Rancid, Hot Water Music, No Doubt, Green Day, Operation Ivy, Bad Religion, Lagwagon, Dropkick Murphys, Bouncing Souls, Flogging Molly, No Use For A Name, and the list goes on. Go buy this cd. I'm not joking. $6 can buy you some crappy take-out fried rice, or it can buy you a killer compilation cd that you'll treasure forever.
Today Ruled- and why I love effed up friends
Okay, so yesterday sucked royally. Between the TA situation and a few other dumb things that I managed to screw up all by myself (it is my forte), it was really not a great day for yours truly.
But today made up for everything. My good buddy, who we'll call Jon Thomas (because that actually is his name) was in town. Now, I haven't gotten to see ol' Jon for quite a while. He's had the misfortune of being tied down to a court ordered intensive rehab program. Oh, jon. But today, was just like old times. We started out with the usual conversation, about how he couldn't get arrested anymore because they won't be so lenient with him next time. Then it took a turn for the surreal:
Jon: So, since I don't actually live in Orlando, I think I could probably get away with grabbing a few ipod's from the Office Depot and running out.
Me: Uh, dude. Didn't you just say you couldn't get arrested again?
Jon: But, if it's not for drugs, you think it still counts?
Me: proooobably...
Jon: well, maybe I could just tear up and say that I steal to support my addiction... my addiction to free shit!
Me: We're not going NEAR an office depot today.
So, a few moments later, where do we end up but Office Depot? I was assured it was okay, though, as this particular location did not dabble in the ipod buiz (apparently, it had already been scoped). Our good friend Brian works at the copy center there, so we stopped in to talk with him.
As we walk up to the counter, Jon actually says (and I swear I am NOT joking)"Copy This!" immediately before dropping trou.
The customer standing next to us started cracking up and looking around suspiciously for the hidden camera, convinced that he was on some reality show. Sorry- no reality show buddy. Welcome to my life.
We made a, well, rather hasty exit after that.
From there, we went out to have a peek in Brian's car. Apparently, Jon had left his little-black-book of sorts somewhere and was desperate to find it. There's a good chance that it was left at a pay phone, unfortunately.
What's in it that's so important you ask? Apparently, the numbers for all his dealers. Now, like me, you probably would have said that maybe, just MAYBE, it was a good thing that he lost it.
"Yeah, well, I just don't want some fucking cop to bank off that shit." was his startlingly honest reply.
Touche, Jon. Touche.
You know, they say that you can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep. That's such a worthless load of crap. If you took a random sampling of my friends, you'd know that I was either a smarmy goody-goody, or a crack addict with an arrest list longer than a roll of toilet paper. Clearly, there's a large standard deviation involved here. What do my friends say about me? I don't know. But as long as they don't say "Drive faster and I'll give you a free ipod if we're not caught!" I really don't care.
But today made up for everything. My good buddy, who we'll call Jon Thomas (because that actually is his name) was in town. Now, I haven't gotten to see ol' Jon for quite a while. He's had the misfortune of being tied down to a court ordered intensive rehab program. Oh, jon. But today, was just like old times. We started out with the usual conversation, about how he couldn't get arrested anymore because they won't be so lenient with him next time. Then it took a turn for the surreal:
Jon: So, since I don't actually live in Orlando, I think I could probably get away with grabbing a few ipod's from the Office Depot and running out.
Me: Uh, dude. Didn't you just say you couldn't get arrested again?
Jon: But, if it's not for drugs, you think it still counts?
Me: proooobably...
Jon: well, maybe I could just tear up and say that I steal to support my addiction... my addiction to free shit!
Me: We're not going NEAR an office depot today.
So, a few moments later, where do we end up but Office Depot? I was assured it was okay, though, as this particular location did not dabble in the ipod buiz (apparently, it had already been scoped). Our good friend Brian works at the copy center there, so we stopped in to talk with him.
As we walk up to the counter, Jon actually says (and I swear I am NOT joking)"Copy This!" immediately before dropping trou.
The customer standing next to us started cracking up and looking around suspiciously for the hidden camera, convinced that he was on some reality show. Sorry- no reality show buddy. Welcome to my life.
We made a, well, rather hasty exit after that.
From there, we went out to have a peek in Brian's car. Apparently, Jon had left his little-black-book of sorts somewhere and was desperate to find it. There's a good chance that it was left at a pay phone, unfortunately.
What's in it that's so important you ask? Apparently, the numbers for all his dealers. Now, like me, you probably would have said that maybe, just MAYBE, it was a good thing that he lost it.
"Yeah, well, I just don't want some fucking cop to bank off that shit." was his startlingly honest reply.
Touche, Jon. Touche.
You know, they say that you can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep. That's such a worthless load of crap. If you took a random sampling of my friends, you'd know that I was either a smarmy goody-goody, or a crack addict with an arrest list longer than a roll of toilet paper. Clearly, there's a large standard deviation involved here. What do my friends say about me? I don't know. But as long as they don't say "Drive faster and I'll give you a free ipod if we're not caught!" I really don't care.
The TA from hell
For those of you not in the university lingo, a TA is a teacher's assistant. These folks are underpaid grad students who do the shit work for professors. Usually, they grade the papers and help the students with problems they have. Until now, I've had the good fortune of never having known any of my TA's socially. That's a good thing. The situation I'm about to explain, is a BAD THING.
So, I'm sitting in class, minding my own damned business when our new TA walks to the front of the room to introduce himself. Casually, I look up, when who do I see... but the TA FROM HELL.
That's right, my TA is this dude I used to hang out with socially. We had mutual friends and whatnot. We went to the beach. He surfed. I sank. He made sexist jokes about women and how we all like to cook. I sneered. He mentioned that he preferred to date "girls" who were "barely legal." I said fuck this, I don't need to spend my time with some misogynistic wanker.
And now, he's my TA.
As I mentioned, he'll be in charge of grading my papers. Now, I honestly can't say that I'm concerned about him being unfair to me. I'm not. For all I know, he may not even remember my name. I only remember him because of the seething hatred I developed for him in an astonishingly short amount of time. But I do have concerns, and they are as follows:
1. I will not go to him for help because I have an abnormally large ego and I don't really want to look at his wanky smirk. This could really hurt my grade.
2. I don't want him grading my papers because of said ego. I don't want him smirking wankily over stupid mistakes I make. And, come on. I WILL make stupid mistakes.
3. If I don't do well in this class, which is always a distinct possibility, I don't want him thinking he's right about his fucked up views on women. But, I really resent the fact that I'm wanting to work harder just to prove to some wanky-ass wanker that I have a right to be there.
Did I mention that he's a wanker? Well HE IS.
So what do I do? I could drop the class, but there's no guarantee that he won't TA it next semester too. Or the next semester. Grad students never actually graduate, you know. They just kind of wander the halls of universities, mumbling about archaic research projects, until someone physically shoves them into the real world.
So what do I do? I blog about it. And I release my bitterness onto you poor saps because I honestly don't want it for myself. Too bad I can't release my homework onto you suckers, too. Anyone know C++?
So, I'm sitting in class, minding my own damned business when our new TA walks to the front of the room to introduce himself. Casually, I look up, when who do I see... but the TA FROM HELL.
That's right, my TA is this dude I used to hang out with socially. We had mutual friends and whatnot. We went to the beach. He surfed. I sank. He made sexist jokes about women and how we all like to cook. I sneered. He mentioned that he preferred to date "girls" who were "barely legal." I said fuck this, I don't need to spend my time with some misogynistic wanker.
And now, he's my TA.
As I mentioned, he'll be in charge of grading my papers. Now, I honestly can't say that I'm concerned about him being unfair to me. I'm not. For all I know, he may not even remember my name. I only remember him because of the seething hatred I developed for him in an astonishingly short amount of time. But I do have concerns, and they are as follows:
1. I will not go to him for help because I have an abnormally large ego and I don't really want to look at his wanky smirk. This could really hurt my grade.
2. I don't want him grading my papers because of said ego. I don't want him smirking wankily over stupid mistakes I make. And, come on. I WILL make stupid mistakes.
3. If I don't do well in this class, which is always a distinct possibility, I don't want him thinking he's right about his fucked up views on women. But, I really resent the fact that I'm wanting to work harder just to prove to some wanky-ass wanker that I have a right to be there.
Did I mention that he's a wanker? Well HE IS.
So what do I do? I could drop the class, but there's no guarantee that he won't TA it next semester too. Or the next semester. Grad students never actually graduate, you know. They just kind of wander the halls of universities, mumbling about archaic research projects, until someone physically shoves them into the real world.
So what do I do? I blog about it. And I release my bitterness onto you poor saps because I honestly don't want it for myself. Too bad I can't release my homework onto you suckers, too. Anyone know C++?
8.19.2004
Oh, Charley. You got me this time, buckaroo!
Okay, okay.
Note to self: Don't taunt a hurricane.
We've now been without power for... 6 days? And don't even get me started on the smell from the backup of raw sewage. Dear god. There was a tree on top of our apartment, but thankfully, it has been removed. Amazingly, our apartment was not damaged. I have some crazy pictures of crushed cars and obliterated billboards that I'll post as soon as I have electricity again. Right now I'm at work, but there's no scanner here.
So, yeah. Things got ugly after my last post. Someone was looking out for me, though. Just as I was starting to get REALLY hungry, the front door was ripped open by the wind and a bag of completely unopened mini-doughnuts landed at my feet. It was sorta like manna from heaven. You know, if god worked at a Krispy Kreme.
We cleaned out the fridge last night. Man, was that a disaster. If I had known what kind of hell I would be releasing by opening that door, I would have thrown the whole thing out and bought a new one. It was like unleashing pure evil in the form of rotten veggie stink. We still haven't managed to completely destink it.
Note to self #2: Febreeze was not made for refrigerators.
One good thing to come out of this though: by the time we went to Target to get flashlights, the flashlight section was (surprise, surprise) completely ravaged. The only flashlights left were the kind that you wear on your forehead- for construction and stuff. Scott and I pretended to be disappointed and embarrassed at the thought of having to wear flashlights on our heads. But honestly, I think it might be a regular addition to my wardrobe. I mean really. It's so practical. I'm saddened to think that I've been wasting the space on my forehead for all these years when I could have been strapping a flashlight to it.
Note to self: Don't taunt a hurricane.
We've now been without power for... 6 days? And don't even get me started on the smell from the backup of raw sewage. Dear god. There was a tree on top of our apartment, but thankfully, it has been removed. Amazingly, our apartment was not damaged. I have some crazy pictures of crushed cars and obliterated billboards that I'll post as soon as I have electricity again. Right now I'm at work, but there's no scanner here.
So, yeah. Things got ugly after my last post. Someone was looking out for me, though. Just as I was starting to get REALLY hungry, the front door was ripped open by the wind and a bag of completely unopened mini-doughnuts landed at my feet. It was sorta like manna from heaven. You know, if god worked at a Krispy Kreme.
We cleaned out the fridge last night. Man, was that a disaster. If I had known what kind of hell I would be releasing by opening that door, I would have thrown the whole thing out and bought a new one. It was like unleashing pure evil in the form of rotten veggie stink. We still haven't managed to completely destink it.
Note to self #2: Febreeze was not made for refrigerators.
One good thing to come out of this though: by the time we went to Target to get flashlights, the flashlight section was (surprise, surprise) completely ravaged. The only flashlights left were the kind that you wear on your forehead- for construction and stuff. Scott and I pretended to be disappointed and embarrassed at the thought of having to wear flashlights on our heads. But honestly, I think it might be a regular addition to my wardrobe. I mean really. It's so practical. I'm saddened to think that I've been wasting the space on my forehead for all these years when I could have been strapping a flashlight to it.
8.13.2004
Riders of the Storm
Blogging to you live from Orlando, Florida where Hurricane Charley is tearing us a new one.
I'm at work right now. Yeah, I know. It sucks. I'm night operations, which means that I don't do much unless there's some sort of off-hours emergency. Such as, oh, a hurricane.
So I'm sitting here next to a giant glass wall. It's fucking AWESOME. The winds have officially been upgraded from heavy and boring to wicked cool and freaky.
We have one skylight down and water is pouring in. That's the only major damage so far. The doors (which are all glass. thanks guys) are bending and rattling like crazy. We've had a pretty much continual power outage, but thanks to working at a technical college, we have backup power.
So, I'll be here all night. Right now, I'm keeping an eye on things but it's getting REALLY ugly REALLY fast. Just moments ago a small cyclone nearly tore the doors off. I may have to move to the interior of the building momentarily. Shit this is cool.
I'm at work right now. Yeah, I know. It sucks. I'm night operations, which means that I don't do much unless there's some sort of off-hours emergency. Such as, oh, a hurricane.
So I'm sitting here next to a giant glass wall. It's fucking AWESOME. The winds have officially been upgraded from heavy and boring to wicked cool and freaky.
We have one skylight down and water is pouring in. That's the only major damage so far. The doors (which are all glass. thanks guys) are bending and rattling like crazy. We've had a pretty much continual power outage, but thanks to working at a technical college, we have backup power.
So, I'll be here all night. Right now, I'm keeping an eye on things but it's getting REALLY ugly REALLY fast. Just moments ago a small cyclone nearly tore the doors off. I may have to move to the interior of the building momentarily. Shit this is cool.
The Liberal Media Are At It Again
From FAIR:
and on it goes.
Crowd estimates ranged from 500,000 to 1.15 million, but it was clear that the March for Women's Lives was one of the largest protests in the capital's history—and perhaps the largest ever. The previous record for a women's rights rally was the up to 750,000 who marched in 1992; the 2004 turnout rivaled and likely surpassed landmark gatherings like the 1995 Million Man March (estimated at 870,000) and the 1969 Vietnam protest (approximately 600,000). The historic nature of the event, though, was not reflected in mainstream media coverage.
USA Today, the most widely read newspaper in the country, ran a single march story (11/25/04)—on page 3. While some newspapers, including the New York Times and the Washington Post, published a handful of march-related stories over a few days, others ignored the event almost completely: The New York Daily News made two brief mentions of the march, one buried in an article on Democratic presidential candidate John Kerry (4/24/04) and another in an article on Kerry's wife (4/26/04). Of the three mainstream newsweeklies, only Newsweek published a single story related to the march (4/26/04).
A look at national television news also turned up remarkably few reports: A Nexis search of the week surrounding the women's march found a total of eight stories on the march from the broadcast networks (not counting incidental mentions). ABC, CBS and NBC all ran two stories the day of the march; CBS also ran two stories the next morning. CNN, as a 24-hour cable news outlet, gave more extensive coverage to the event, running several reports on Sunday. But even CNN failed to treat the march as the historic occasion that it was, running just a small handful of brief march-related stories on Saturday and Monday.
To put the women's march coverage in perspective, FAIR conducted a similar Nexis search of the week surrounding the Promise Keepers march in 1997. The Promise Keepers, an evangelical men's organization with an anti-feminist and anti-gay theology, drew an estimated 480,000–750,000 demonstrators to Washington—roughly three-quarters the size of the women's march. Despite its somewhat smaller size, the Promise Keepers received far more media attention: Stories began appearing on network news three days before the march and continued for two days afterward, with a total of 26 stories between the three broadcast networks—more than three times the coverage the networks devoted to the women's march.
Though USA Today doesn't publish a weekend edition, it still managed to run four stories on the Promise Keepers the week before and four stories the week after the Saturday rally. The three major newsweeklies published a total of five articles on the Promise Keepers rally (U.S. News & World Report, 9/29/97, 10/6/97; Time, 10/6/97, 10/6/97; Newsweek, 10/13/97). Even the New York Times' seven march-related stories and two photos were outnumbered by its 10 stories and six photos on the Promise Keepers rally.
At the same time, some news outlets elevated the significance of counter-protesters, a few hundred of whom demonstrated along the march route—roughly one-thousandth of the number that marched in support of women's rights. Though it ran an editorial in support of the march on April 25, Long Island Newsday placed its march story the following day on page 5—after its page 4 article on counter-protesters.
Cable news gave remarkably heavy coverage to the march opponents. Of three Fox News stories found on Nexis related to the march, two focused on anti-abortion activists (Special Report with Brit Hume, Hannity & Colmes, 4/22/04). Special Report examined anti-abortion opposition to the National Education Association's endorsement of the march—a story that MSNBC also covered (4/27/04) in that network's only march report found in the Nexis database.
CNN, too, played up the presence of the counter-protesters. On Live Today (4/26/04), for example, an anchor explained that "both sides rally to get their point across"—as if the two rallies were at all comparable in size or newsworthiness. CNN Sunday Morning (4/25/04) described Washington as "the site of opposing rallies" and interviewed an equal number of abortion opponents and march supporters, in both soundbite quotes and full-length interviews.
and on it goes.
8.12.2004
My life can't get any weirder
A scene from my night:
I'm sitting at my desk holding my cellphone. A man runs by and yells:
"BAT PHONE!!! You got da bat PHOOOOOOOOOONE!!!"
Please, I couldn't make this stuff up.
I'm sitting at my desk holding my cellphone. A man runs by and yells:
"BAT PHONE!!! You got da bat PHOOOOOOOOOONE!!!"
Please, I couldn't make this stuff up.
Personal Dilemma
I pride myself on being an independant person- strong willed and able to stand up to anything life throws at me. But I find myself at an impasse over a very personal issue. Some decisions will make or break you. Some decisions have the potential to redefine you as a person.
I can only download 4 new rings for my phone. And yet, there are 6 that I am interested in. So, I need opinions and I need them FAST. Below are the possibilities:
1. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida by I-Ron Butterfly (as pronounced by Rev. Lovejoy)
2. The Pulp Fiction theme song (you know the one)
3. More Than A Feeling by Boston
4. The Fresh Prince theme song by The Fresh Prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff. Hooyah.
5. New Year's Day by U2
6. White Wedding by Billy Idol
So there you have it. I'm sure you can all see what a tough decision I have before me. Please, think it over carefully and respond in the comments section.
I can only download 4 new rings for my phone. And yet, there are 6 that I am interested in. So, I need opinions and I need them FAST. Below are the possibilities:
1. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida by I-Ron Butterfly (as pronounced by Rev. Lovejoy)
2. The Pulp Fiction theme song (you know the one)
3. More Than A Feeling by Boston
4. The Fresh Prince theme song by The Fresh Prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff. Hooyah.
5. New Year's Day by U2
6. White Wedding by Billy Idol
So there you have it. I'm sure you can all see what a tough decision I have before me. Please, think it over carefully and respond in the comments section.
Dance, bay area residents, DAAAAANCE!
http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=514&e=2&u=/ap/20040812/ap_on_re_us/hurricane_charley_2
So here's the latest word from those hoity-toity, college edumacated forcasters I was telling you about:
Hurricane Charley is heading straight for Tampa.
Ha! Boy are THEY off base. Apparently they aren't buying my forcefield-of-boredom theory.
Listen up. I put in 18 long, hard years in the Bay Area and I'll be damned if they're going to see some action after I finally move away. You hear me Charley? So you just take your big, scawwy floods and back off, all right?
So here's the latest word from those hoity-toity, college edumacated forcasters I was telling you about:
Hurricane Charley is heading straight for Tampa.
Ha! Boy are THEY off base. Apparently they aren't buying my forcefield-of-boredom theory.
Listen up. I put in 18 long, hard years in the Bay Area and I'll be damned if they're going to see some action after I finally move away. You hear me Charley? So you just take your big, scawwy floods and back off, all right?
8.11.2004
You're not going to die.
Hurricane this, hurricane that.
If there's anything I've learned after living for 18 years in Tampa, FL it's that there is some sort of hurricane forcefield that prevents them from ever coming close to the bay area. We may have some wind. We may have some rain. And certainly, we'll have forcasters telling us to stock up on water and beer because THIS one is coming straight for us, people!! But it never happens.
Never.
Now that I've lived in Orlando for 4 severe-stormless years, I'm assuming that the same is probably true. I feel like a fraud. I mean, after having spent my whole life in Florida, you'd think I'd have some better hurricane memories than "remember that time when it like, got kinda windy? You know, the Great Storm that knocked 2 shingles off of the roof? Man, I BARELY survived that one. Don't TREAD ON ME, MUTHA FUCKAA!"
But Tampanians are seriously in denial. Everytime there's a blip on the radar, the bottled water flies off the shelves and the battery powered radios come to life. Hurricane parties are EVERYWHERE and all the drunken attendees are convinced that THIS will finally be the storm that we can all tough out and tell the grandkids about. We'll have our day in the sun, gawddamnit. Miami ain't stealin' the glory this time 'round!
So there's this Hurricane Charley that's supposedly bouncing around somewhere to the south of us, allegedly making it's merry way up here. Am I concerned? No.
I've been disappointed by one-too-many hurricanes, people. I'm not getting my hopes up again just to have them dashed. Georges was supposed to be my knight-in-shining-armour back in '98 but he just breezed on past me for the southern bells of Mississippi.
Well, I'm not sitting by the phone on another lonely friday night, waiting for this one to sweep me off my feet. I'm not buying the bottled water. I'm not stocking up on beer and ribs. I'm not even going to make a clever t-shirt to taunt the storm. It's not coming here. I'm in the middle of the fucking state. No catagory 1 is that ambitious.
But apparently, I'm one of the few people who realizes this. Everyone around me is already caught up in Hurricane Hysteria. I work in a college, you see. Colleges have two opposing forces at work during a hurricane: the students want to get drunk, take their clothes off and go surfing, while the parents are freaking out because they know that their kids are really, really dumb.
So the students are calling me every five minutes claiming to be soooo worried because like, they don't want to DIE going to class, man! How could anyone expect them to go to class when there might be, like, RAIN on the way??
Then the parents are calling every two minutes wanting me to assure them that precious little Billy and Suzy won't drown in the apocalyptic downpour that is sure to envelope the world.
But the main flaw with both groups isn't that they really annoy me, although they do. It's that they're assuming that this hurricane will come anywhere near us, just because some hoity-toity, college-degreed forcaster says it will.
So listen up, everyone. I've got 22+ years in the "wanting a hurricane to tear through this joint cause I'm bored" business. If that's not an impressive resume, I don't know what is. And based on a lot of highly top-secret, beer-induced research, I've concluded that it's statistically impossible for it to happen in my lifetime. No Hurricane Charley. No Hurricane George. Not even Hurricane Flavian.
They aren't coming here.
They aren't ever coming here.
But, you know, on the off chance that I'm wrong, I might set my cell phone ringer to play "Rock you like a Hurricane" by the Scorpians. I don't want to look like I was caught completely unaware if this shit goes down.
If there's anything I've learned after living for 18 years in Tampa, FL it's that there is some sort of hurricane forcefield that prevents them from ever coming close to the bay area. We may have some wind. We may have some rain. And certainly, we'll have forcasters telling us to stock up on water and beer because THIS one is coming straight for us, people!! But it never happens.
Never.
Now that I've lived in Orlando for 4 severe-stormless years, I'm assuming that the same is probably true. I feel like a fraud. I mean, after having spent my whole life in Florida, you'd think I'd have some better hurricane memories than "remember that time when it like, got kinda windy? You know, the Great Storm that knocked 2 shingles off of the roof? Man, I BARELY survived that one. Don't TREAD ON ME, MUTHA FUCKAA!"
But Tampanians are seriously in denial. Everytime there's a blip on the radar, the bottled water flies off the shelves and the battery powered radios come to life. Hurricane parties are EVERYWHERE and all the drunken attendees are convinced that THIS will finally be the storm that we can all tough out and tell the grandkids about. We'll have our day in the sun, gawddamnit. Miami ain't stealin' the glory this time 'round!
So there's this Hurricane Charley that's supposedly bouncing around somewhere to the south of us, allegedly making it's merry way up here. Am I concerned? No.
I've been disappointed by one-too-many hurricanes, people. I'm not getting my hopes up again just to have them dashed. Georges was supposed to be my knight-in-shining-armour back in '98 but he just breezed on past me for the southern bells of Mississippi.
Well, I'm not sitting by the phone on another lonely friday night, waiting for this one to sweep me off my feet. I'm not buying the bottled water. I'm not stocking up on beer and ribs. I'm not even going to make a clever t-shirt to taunt the storm. It's not coming here. I'm in the middle of the fucking state. No catagory 1 is that ambitious.
But apparently, I'm one of the few people who realizes this. Everyone around me is already caught up in Hurricane Hysteria. I work in a college, you see. Colleges have two opposing forces at work during a hurricane: the students want to get drunk, take their clothes off and go surfing, while the parents are freaking out because they know that their kids are really, really dumb.
So the students are calling me every five minutes claiming to be soooo worried because like, they don't want to DIE going to class, man! How could anyone expect them to go to class when there might be, like, RAIN on the way??
Then the parents are calling every two minutes wanting me to assure them that precious little Billy and Suzy won't drown in the apocalyptic downpour that is sure to envelope the world.
But the main flaw with both groups isn't that they really annoy me, although they do. It's that they're assuming that this hurricane will come anywhere near us, just because some hoity-toity, college-degreed forcaster says it will.
So listen up, everyone. I've got 22+ years in the "wanting a hurricane to tear through this joint cause I'm bored" business. If that's not an impressive resume, I don't know what is. And based on a lot of highly top-secret, beer-induced research, I've concluded that it's statistically impossible for it to happen in my lifetime. No Hurricane Charley. No Hurricane George. Not even Hurricane Flavian.
They aren't coming here.
They aren't ever coming here.
But, you know, on the off chance that I'm wrong, I might set my cell phone ringer to play "Rock you like a Hurricane" by the Scorpians. I don't want to look like I was caught completely unaware if this shit goes down.
8.08.2004
Public Service Announcement:
This time, it's a real public service announcement.
The Florida primaries are coming up on August 31! Floridians will be voting on the Republican and Democratic candidates to replace Senator Bob Graham's place.
In the democrat's corner you have:
Betty Castor:
Ms. Castor has a killer education background as a former teacher, president of the University of South Florida and Commissioner of Education. Unfortunately, the "issues" page of her website is pretty weak compared to her main rival's. She doesn't give as many specifics as Peter Deutsch, but she must be doing something right as she's leading him in the polls.
Peter Deutsch:
Mr. Deutsch has a long record of public service both in the florida legislature and as a US congressman. A bonus to this is, of course, you can check out his voting record. He seems pretty a-ok to me... except that he was rumoured to be involved in the smear campaign to paint Ms. Castor as an evil terrorist protector.
Alex Penelas:
Mr. Penelas has served 2 terms as the mayor of Miami-Dade. The main thing that sets him apart from Deutsch and Castor is his desire to pull the majority of US troops out of Iraq. His "issues" section is also kinda lame, but I highly recommend the "Meet Alex" section if you want to know some of what he's accomplished for South Florida. Working against him is the fact that he's seen as a democratic party traitor for not sucking up to Gore enough.
There's also some shmuck named Bernard Klein running. No one seems to know much about him. He doesn't seem to be bothered by that. So, I'd probably recommend against voting for him, even though there was a much-loved Maniac Mansion character named Bernard and we all know that goes a long way with me.
As far as republicans go, you can look them up yourselves but they all look like jackasses to me.
The Florida primaries are coming up on August 31! Floridians will be voting on the Republican and Democratic candidates to replace Senator Bob Graham's place.
In the democrat's corner you have:
Betty Castor:
Ms. Castor has a killer education background as a former teacher, president of the University of South Florida and Commissioner of Education. Unfortunately, the "issues" page of her website is pretty weak compared to her main rival's. She doesn't give as many specifics as Peter Deutsch, but she must be doing something right as she's leading him in the polls.
Peter Deutsch:
Mr. Deutsch has a long record of public service both in the florida legislature and as a US congressman. A bonus to this is, of course, you can check out his voting record. He seems pretty a-ok to me... except that he was rumoured to be involved in the smear campaign to paint Ms. Castor as an evil terrorist protector.
Alex Penelas:
Mr. Penelas has served 2 terms as the mayor of Miami-Dade. The main thing that sets him apart from Deutsch and Castor is his desire to pull the majority of US troops out of Iraq. His "issues" section is also kinda lame, but I highly recommend the "Meet Alex" section if you want to know some of what he's accomplished for South Florida. Working against him is the fact that he's seen as a democratic party traitor for not sucking up to Gore enough.
There's also some shmuck named Bernard Klein running. No one seems to know much about him. He doesn't seem to be bothered by that. So, I'd probably recommend against voting for him, even though there was a much-loved Maniac Mansion character named Bernard and we all know that goes a long way with me.
As far as republicans go, you can look them up yourselves but they all look like jackasses to me.
Always a threat to national security. Always Coca-Cola
Forget WMD's people. According to an internal memo from the Navy, coca-cola is the real threat to national security.
If you look closely, you'll notice that coca-cola is actually an anagram for Al-Qaida. Well, if you look closely at a completely different word, that is.
If you look closely, you'll notice that coca-cola is actually an anagram for Al-Qaida. Well, if you look closely at a completely different word, that is.
It's another damned boy!!
Okay- one more addition to the wankershanks family! Everyone welcome Guy Incognito! Guy comes to us from sunny florida. He likes waxing his bikini line and eating turnips! Guy will be our entertainment (primarily gaming and dorkery) blogger, although he's kind of an asshole, so he probably won't stick to that.
He has previously been referred to in this blog as both Brian and Flavian, when he's referred to at all. Usually, I just leave him out of stories.
Let's hear it for Guy Incognito!
He has previously been referred to in this blog as both Brian and Flavian, when he's referred to at all. Usually, I just leave him out of stories.
Let's hear it for Guy Incognito!
words fail me.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/5626850/
really. goddamn it.
*****edited- I just rechecked the link and apparently it doesn't go to the same article any more. So... nevermind, because I don't remember what the article was about. That'll teach me to write a 3 word condemnation, eh?
really. goddamn it.
*****edited- I just rechecked the link and apparently it doesn't go to the same article any more. So... nevermind, because I don't remember what the article was about. That'll teach me to write a 3 word condemnation, eh?
8.07.2004
If there was any justice, Fox News would be next on the chopping block
According to cnn.com, the Baghdad office of al-jazeera, is being shut down by the interim iraqi government.
Apparently, news is too upsetting to be seen.
From cnn.com:
Now, I've read the english portion of aljazeera from time to time. I don't read it ALL the time, so it's quite possible that one day when I was sleeping in, they decided to just lay down a headline like "kill whitey" to spice things up. But from the articles I have read and the headlines I have seen, they've reported news. Kinda like what you'd expect from a news outlet. It's not really surprising to me that the whole war thing might have cast a bit of gloom over the news. When there are abductions, bombings, and frequent power outages, shouldn't they report on that? I think it's understandable that the heartwarming human interest stories might be few and far between.
But more importantly, what the hell are they trying to accomplish? If someone's trying to increase iraqi support for US involvement and the interim government by shutting down what is arguably seen as one of the last bastions of non-puppet media in iraq, then they're fucking screwed. I can't even count the ways that this is going to fuck with their shit.
People will be pissed. The US will be seen as even more oppressive than before. Stories of abductions, murders and assorted atrocities aren't going to disappear! They will simply be passed through less official means, destroying even a trace of credibility or accountability. Bad things don't stop happening just because you stop talking about them.
AlJazeera may well have been biased against america. But it's existance was something at least. It was a show of good faith to the people of Iraq: that even with everything going on, some dissent might be allowed.
But what's also important, to me at least, is my faith in my country. As if it wasn't shot to hell already, this has pretty much done it in. A country that is so afraid of it's own actions that it tries to eliminate public proof of those actions is not a country I'm particularly proud to live in.
Apparently, news is too upsetting to be seen.
From cnn.com:
Government ministers have been critical of the Arab-language network, saying it has been airing dangerous, inciteful images and reports. Among those images are videos of people abducted in the recent wave of kidnappings.
"I got an order from the National Security Committee to close Al-Jazeera starting from today for one month just to give them the chance to readjust their policy against Iraq," said Interior Minister Falah al-Naqib.
When asked why, al-Naqib said "you know exactly" what the network has been doing.
Now, I've read the english portion of aljazeera from time to time. I don't read it ALL the time, so it's quite possible that one day when I was sleeping in, they decided to just lay down a headline like "kill whitey" to spice things up. But from the articles I have read and the headlines I have seen, they've reported news. Kinda like what you'd expect from a news outlet. It's not really surprising to me that the whole war thing might have cast a bit of gloom over the news. When there are abductions, bombings, and frequent power outages, shouldn't they report on that? I think it's understandable that the heartwarming human interest stories might be few and far between.
But more importantly, what the hell are they trying to accomplish? If someone's trying to increase iraqi support for US involvement and the interim government by shutting down what is arguably seen as one of the last bastions of non-puppet media in iraq, then they're fucking screwed. I can't even count the ways that this is going to fuck with their shit.
People will be pissed. The US will be seen as even more oppressive than before. Stories of abductions, murders and assorted atrocities aren't going to disappear! They will simply be passed through less official means, destroying even a trace of credibility or accountability. Bad things don't stop happening just because you stop talking about them.
AlJazeera may well have been biased against america. But it's existance was something at least. It was a show of good faith to the people of Iraq: that even with everything going on, some dissent might be allowed.
But what's also important, to me at least, is my faith in my country. As if it wasn't shot to hell already, this has pretty much done it in. A country that is so afraid of it's own actions that it tries to eliminate public proof of those actions is not a country I'm particularly proud to live in.
for your consideration
In case you've ever wondered how to knit a teletubby hat, here ya go.
If you need to know who the patron saint of "backward children" is, here ya go.
If you're in the market for a piranha, here ya go.
If you want to learn the finer points of talking like a pirate, here ya go.
If you really love big gulps, here ya go.
If you'd like to look at pictures of muscle cars, here ya go.
If you're looking for cool quotes from the NES game Maniac Mansion, here ya go.
And there ya go. Enjoy everyone!
If you need to know who the patron saint of "backward children" is, here ya go.
If you're in the market for a piranha, here ya go.
If you want to learn the finer points of talking like a pirate, here ya go.
If you really love big gulps, here ya go.
If you'd like to look at pictures of muscle cars, here ya go.
If you're looking for cool quotes from the NES game Maniac Mansion, here ya go.
And there ya go. Enjoy everyone!
8.06.2004
It's a Boy!!
We have a new addition to the loving family of Wankershanks! Well, the posting family of Wankershanks. Which up until now was just me. Soooooooo, forget the family thing.
Anyway, please welcome our newest wanker:
RCWanker!
Mr. RCWanker, who has been referred to in previous posts as both "Ryan" and "Flavian" will be our political commentator. Unless, of course, he doesn't feel like posting about politics.
But mostly, politics it is. So, without further delay, I give you RCWanker!
Anyway, please welcome our newest wanker:
RCWanker!
Mr. RCWanker, who has been referred to in previous posts as both "Ryan" and "Flavian" will be our political commentator. Unless, of course, he doesn't feel like posting about politics.
But mostly, politics it is. So, without further delay, I give you RCWanker!
The pedicure nightmare
Attention nail salon workers:
When someone goes in for their first pedicure ever, don't look at their feet and immediately start laughing and talking to your coworkers in a foreign language. Really. It makes people a tad self-conscious.
That's what I've been told anyway. By a friend, of course.
When someone goes in for their first pedicure ever, don't look at their feet and immediately start laughing and talking to your coworkers in a foreign language. Really. It makes people a tad self-conscious.
That's what I've been told anyway. By a friend, of course.
The tift of the iceberg
When you think about great tourist destinations, what comes to mind?
Las Vegas, Rome, Orlando, London, or perhaps Paris?
God, you're stupid.
On my way through Georgia to visit my inlaws I learned, via 10 million billboards, about a little place called Tifton . It's like the crappy little town that could. It would have been heartwarming, if it wasn't so lame. They had signs all over I-75 proclaiming loud and proud that THIS town was a place you wanted to stop. THIS town wasn't your average small southern town. THIS town was:
READING CAPITAL OF THE WORLD!
That's right. But it's not JUST the reading capitol of the world! No! There's more fun where that came from! It is also, according to many proud billboards, "A HIGH SPEED INTERNET CITY!"
Shit! I mean, Shit! Everyone put on your party hats! Some yokels discovered AOL broadband!
But it's not just ANY high speed internet city, it's one of Georgia's TOP-TEN cities for broadband. Any town that can beat the fat cat city boyz from Tallapoosa, Georgia clearly deserves our respect.
I thought about stopping to visit, but I think I'll wait a few years. You better know that once WiFi hits, the place will REALLY start hopping.
Las Vegas, Rome, Orlando, London, or perhaps Paris?
God, you're stupid.
On my way through Georgia to visit my inlaws I learned, via 10 million billboards, about a little place called Tifton . It's like the crappy little town that could. It would have been heartwarming, if it wasn't so lame. They had signs all over I-75 proclaiming loud and proud that THIS town was a place you wanted to stop. THIS town wasn't your average small southern town. THIS town was:
READING CAPITAL OF THE WORLD!
That's right. But it's not JUST the reading capitol of the world! No! There's more fun where that came from! It is also, according to many proud billboards, "A HIGH SPEED INTERNET CITY!"
Shit! I mean, Shit! Everyone put on your party hats! Some yokels discovered AOL broadband!
But it's not just ANY high speed internet city, it's one of Georgia's TOP-TEN cities for broadband. Any town that can beat the fat cat city boyz from Tallapoosa, Georgia clearly deserves our respect.
I thought about stopping to visit, but I think I'll wait a few years. You better know that once WiFi hits, the place will REALLY start hopping.
7.24.2004
Pissy comments while I study
Note to textbook authors:
When discussing the fundamental equation of Prandtl's lifting-line theory, don't start off with the phrase "It simply states..."
Believe me. It doesn't simply state a damned thing. Really. I promise.
(for anyone who's curious, what's apparently simply stated is that the 'geometric angle of attack is equal to the sum of the effective angle plus the induced angle.' This is "simply" stated by using 8+ variables and an integral here and there.)
Next on the list of 'phrases not to use' would definitely have to be the infamous "you may be asking yourself..."
In this particular case, I may be asking myself "what are the aerodynamic properties of a finite wing with an elliptical lift distribution?"
Good lord, textbook dude! You couldn't be more wrong. It's a fucking good thing this isn't a game show or you'd be SOL. The correct answer, for $5,000, is that I'm asking myself if I really neeeeeeed a degree.
Lastly, textbook people, don't use the word "interesting" if you don't mean it. An excellent example of this would be the following statement:
"The above equation states the interesting result that the downwash is constant over the span for an elliptical lift distribution."
Really, it's false advertising of the rest of the sentence. It's like I'm being tricked into reading the rest. And I DON'T like to be tricked, Mr. Textbook Man.
When discussing the fundamental equation of Prandtl's lifting-line theory, don't start off with the phrase "It simply states..."
Believe me. It doesn't simply state a damned thing. Really. I promise.
(for anyone who's curious, what's apparently simply stated is that the 'geometric angle of attack is equal to the sum of the effective angle plus the induced angle.' This is "simply" stated by using 8+ variables and an integral here and there.)
Next on the list of 'phrases not to use' would definitely have to be the infamous "you may be asking yourself..."
In this particular case, I may be asking myself "what are the aerodynamic properties of a finite wing with an elliptical lift distribution?"
Good lord, textbook dude! You couldn't be more wrong. It's a fucking good thing this isn't a game show or you'd be SOL. The correct answer, for $5,000, is that I'm asking myself if I really neeeeeeed a degree.
Lastly, textbook people, don't use the word "interesting" if you don't mean it. An excellent example of this would be the following statement:
"The above equation states the interesting result that the downwash is constant over the span for an elliptical lift distribution."
Really, it's false advertising of the rest of the sentence. It's like I'm being tricked into reading the rest. And I DON'T like to be tricked, Mr. Textbook Man.
7.23.2004
My Nearest Death Experience
Okay, I have a story. I feel like this story needs to be told not only for the profound lessons it imparts, but also because I don't feel like doing my homework.
That being said, here is My Nearest Death Experience:
(note, the names are changed, but the names aren't really changed.)
It was a dark, overcast day. Some friends and I decided to go see a movie. Ryan, Brian, Kai and I (wow, that rhymes nicely!) decided to set out for the theater. We knew what we wanted to see, and we knew where we wanted to go. Only one question remained: should we invite Josh?
Now Josh was... well, Josh had a bit of a temper. He was a great guy. Really funny. All around class act when he wasn't trying to kill you. And I don't mean that in a facetious or exaggerated manner. He really was a homicidal maniac waiting to happen. But man, could he ever kick some ass on Super Smash Brothers. When that announcer screamed "Melee!" you could always count on some hilarious commentary from his end. Until he lost and slammed you into the wall, that was.
We were in the mood for a stress and death-free evening, so we decided to leave him out. We met at the seedy bowling alley, as usual, and piled into Brian's car, leaving my car, and Ryan's car, there. Kai was to meet up with the three of us at the theater.
The movie was fine. The post-movie ice cream was fine. We were on top of the world... until we walked back to our cars under the cover of night.
We reached Kai's car first. On it was the kind of note you never wanted to see:
"Thanks for not inviting me."
The words were scrawled in what has henceforth been known amongst our group as 'serial-killer penmanship.' Beneath the words was a picture. Just as we were trying to decipher the crudely drawn picture, our attention was drawn to a noise off in the distance.
Like a bat out of hell, a car across the lot came to life. The headlights, turned directly at us, nearly blinded us as an engine revved. The tires squealed as it careened towards us.
We scattered in all directions as the car slammed to a halt. Out jumped Josh. "Thanks for inviting me, assholes. THANKS FOR INVITING ME!" he screamed. We backed away as he focused his anger on Kai.
Now, perhaps I should mention that Josh was by no means a tiny man. The approximate formula for 1 Josh under ideal conditions, at standard temperature and pressure is:
2 Ryan's + 1 Kai + 1 Candice - 2/3 Brian. Multiplied by pi, of course.
So you can see that we were in serious trouble. But back to the story.
Josh focused his gaze on Kai as Brian and I began backing away. Kai inched towards his car with intense caution. Ranting and raving like a 6 ton lunatic, Josh slammed his fists into the hood of Kai's Land Rover. He meant business and we were terrified. Josh grabbed onto a sapling and shook it violently, nearly uprooting it. Kai and Brian took the opportunity to dash to their respective cars. I inched towards Brian's car, but Ryan, being the model-UN kinda guy he was, was on a suicide mission to talk some sense into Josh.
"Run Candice!" Brian screamed as he started up his Saturn sedan. "Forget Ryan! He's dead to us now, woman! DEAD TO US!"
I had to make a decision. Should I risk my life to stay near Ryan, knowing full well that there was nothing I could do to stop Josh's madness? Or should I take the cowards way, I mean, um... Brian's way, and run to the safety of the car?
I bolted.
As soon as I jumped in, Brian slammed the car into gear and locked the doors. I thought about shedding a lone tear for Ryan, until I realized that I never liked him that much.
I turned around to see him one last time.
Josh lifted up his mighty fist as if to strike Ryan. But at the last moment, he opened his fist. His keys were flung into the brick wall, landing in a mass of shrubbery.
While Josh lumbered over to pick up his keys, Ryan decided it was time to cut his losses and bolted towards Brian's car.
"OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR YOU STUPID JACKASSES!" he screamed.
"MY BAD!" Brian yelled back in apology as he unlocked the car door.
As he frantically climbed in, we took off. Kai drove around the front of the theater, while we took the back way. Nearly crashing into each other where our paths met, we floored it onto the highway, ignoring the bright red stoplights. Surely reckless driving was less risky than having Josh catch up to us. We took a long detour, all around Tampa, to prevent Josh from following us home.
When we finally returned to the bowling alley, we were too terrified get out of the car. We made several rounds of the parking lot- there was no Josh to be found.
"Don't leave until you see us safely get into our cars, okay, Brian?" I asked.
"I wouldn't dream of it." he replied, reassuringly.
Comforted, Ryan and I lept out of the car, secret-agent style, and flew to our respective vehicles. Meanwhile, Brian sped off laughing maniacally.
Everything was fine, amazingly enough. There were no creepy notes, there was no Josh. Our tires weren't slashed and there was no visible graffiti.
I talked to Ryan the next day. Did he make it home okay? Was Josh waiting for him at his house? Was he hospitalized?
"Yeah, Josh came over." he said calmly. "We talked about it over some cereal. He was just feeling a little left out."
And that's it. That's the end of that adventure. What kind of crappy ending is that? I don't know. But that's how it went down. It's almost surreal thinking back on it. Brian, Ryan and I have sat around and chewed the fat on that one many times since. Would he have killed us if we hadn't gotten away so fast? I don't know. But he was ALWAYS invited after that.
That being said, here is My Nearest Death Experience:
(note, the names are changed, but the names aren't really changed.)
It was a dark, overcast day. Some friends and I decided to go see a movie. Ryan, Brian, Kai and I (wow, that rhymes nicely!) decided to set out for the theater. We knew what we wanted to see, and we knew where we wanted to go. Only one question remained: should we invite Josh?
Now Josh was... well, Josh had a bit of a temper. He was a great guy. Really funny. All around class act when he wasn't trying to kill you. And I don't mean that in a facetious or exaggerated manner. He really was a homicidal maniac waiting to happen. But man, could he ever kick some ass on Super Smash Brothers. When that announcer screamed "Melee!" you could always count on some hilarious commentary from his end. Until he lost and slammed you into the wall, that was.
We were in the mood for a stress and death-free evening, so we decided to leave him out. We met at the seedy bowling alley, as usual, and piled into Brian's car, leaving my car, and Ryan's car, there. Kai was to meet up with the three of us at the theater.
The movie was fine. The post-movie ice cream was fine. We were on top of the world... until we walked back to our cars under the cover of night.
We reached Kai's car first. On it was the kind of note you never wanted to see:
"Thanks for not inviting me."
The words were scrawled in what has henceforth been known amongst our group as 'serial-killer penmanship.' Beneath the words was a picture. Just as we were trying to decipher the crudely drawn picture, our attention was drawn to a noise off in the distance.
Like a bat out of hell, a car across the lot came to life. The headlights, turned directly at us, nearly blinded us as an engine revved. The tires squealed as it careened towards us.
We scattered in all directions as the car slammed to a halt. Out jumped Josh. "Thanks for inviting me, assholes. THANKS FOR INVITING ME!" he screamed. We backed away as he focused his anger on Kai.
Now, perhaps I should mention that Josh was by no means a tiny man. The approximate formula for 1 Josh under ideal conditions, at standard temperature and pressure is:
2 Ryan's + 1 Kai + 1 Candice - 2/3 Brian. Multiplied by pi, of course.
So you can see that we were in serious trouble. But back to the story.
Josh focused his gaze on Kai as Brian and I began backing away. Kai inched towards his car with intense caution. Ranting and raving like a 6 ton lunatic, Josh slammed his fists into the hood of Kai's Land Rover. He meant business and we were terrified. Josh grabbed onto a sapling and shook it violently, nearly uprooting it. Kai and Brian took the opportunity to dash to their respective cars. I inched towards Brian's car, but Ryan, being the model-UN kinda guy he was, was on a suicide mission to talk some sense into Josh.
"Run Candice!" Brian screamed as he started up his Saturn sedan. "Forget Ryan! He's dead to us now, woman! DEAD TO US!"
I had to make a decision. Should I risk my life to stay near Ryan, knowing full well that there was nothing I could do to stop Josh's madness? Or should I take the cowards way, I mean, um... Brian's way, and run to the safety of the car?
I bolted.
As soon as I jumped in, Brian slammed the car into gear and locked the doors. I thought about shedding a lone tear for Ryan, until I realized that I never liked him that much.
I turned around to see him one last time.
Josh lifted up his mighty fist as if to strike Ryan. But at the last moment, he opened his fist. His keys were flung into the brick wall, landing in a mass of shrubbery.
While Josh lumbered over to pick up his keys, Ryan decided it was time to cut his losses and bolted towards Brian's car.
"OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR YOU STUPID JACKASSES!" he screamed.
"MY BAD!" Brian yelled back in apology as he unlocked the car door.
As he frantically climbed in, we took off. Kai drove around the front of the theater, while we took the back way. Nearly crashing into each other where our paths met, we floored it onto the highway, ignoring the bright red stoplights. Surely reckless driving was less risky than having Josh catch up to us. We took a long detour, all around Tampa, to prevent Josh from following us home.
When we finally returned to the bowling alley, we were too terrified get out of the car. We made several rounds of the parking lot- there was no Josh to be found.
"Don't leave until you see us safely get into our cars, okay, Brian?" I asked.
"I wouldn't dream of it." he replied, reassuringly.
Comforted, Ryan and I lept out of the car, secret-agent style, and flew to our respective vehicles. Meanwhile, Brian sped off laughing maniacally.
Everything was fine, amazingly enough. There were no creepy notes, there was no Josh. Our tires weren't slashed and there was no visible graffiti.
I talked to Ryan the next day. Did he make it home okay? Was Josh waiting for him at his house? Was he hospitalized?
"Yeah, Josh came over." he said calmly. "We talked about it over some cereal. He was just feeling a little left out."
And that's it. That's the end of that adventure. What kind of crappy ending is that? I don't know. But that's how it went down. It's almost surreal thinking back on it. Brian, Ryan and I have sat around and chewed the fat on that one many times since. Would he have killed us if we hadn't gotten away so fast? I don't know. But he was ALWAYS invited after that.
Gettin' Lei-ed at the county fair
Apparently, Planned Parenthood has been taking some flak in the bustling metropolis of Medford, Oregon. It seems that they were handing out free condoms to teenagers at the county fair. Oh, but that's not all. That by itself, you see, is permissible. The outrage comes in when they arrange those condoms into decoratively sinful neckware.
At first, I was outraged at the outrage. What are they worried about? That a beer-swilling celebration of the turnip harvest might be demeaned by an honest discussion about STD awareness accompanied by a clever activity?
But soon, a local set me on the straight and narrow:
Slam dunk for Ms Wilkenson! Obviously, the problem isn't with the condoms or the necklace idea. Discussing safe sex with teenagers isn't the issue. You just have to find an appropriate venue. Location, location, location! Teenage girls should be making their condom leis at truck stops and bars! Where's your common sense, planned parenthood?!?
Count me as officially outraged at my original outrage over the outrage. Oh yeah, and you better believe that and I'm boycotting Planned Parenthood too, or something. As soon as I get me a free necklace.
At first, I was outraged at the outrage. What are they worried about? That a beer-swilling celebration of the turnip harvest might be demeaned by an honest discussion about STD awareness accompanied by a clever activity?
But soon, a local set me on the straight and narrow:
The presence of condoms at the fair outraged Niquita Wilkinson, 45, of Eagle Point. She said she saw two teenage girls stringing condom necklaces Tuesday night.
"It's not a bar, it's not a truck stop, it's not a bowling alley," said Wilkinson.
Slam dunk for Ms Wilkenson! Obviously, the problem isn't with the condoms or the necklace idea. Discussing safe sex with teenagers isn't the issue. You just have to find an appropriate venue. Location, location, location! Teenage girls should be making their condom leis at truck stops and bars! Where's your common sense, planned parenthood?!?
Count me as officially outraged at my original outrage over the outrage. Oh yeah, and you better believe that and I'm boycotting Planned Parenthood too, or something. As soon as I get me a free necklace.
7.19.2004
Correction to the "Oh, Arnie" post
It has been brought to my attention by an alert chicken reader that the term "chick" (when referring to chickens) IS actually derogatory.
Apparently, fowl do not appreciate having the same moniker as women as they feel it imposes a pansy-like image upon chicken kind.
You see, it could devolve into comments that a bird "throws like a girl" or even "cries like a girl." From there, it's a slippery slope to the utmost insult that they giggle and/or blush like "schoolgirls."
Before you know it, all manner of poultry might actually be respected less than women. You see the dire situation, I'm sure.
Apparently, fowl do not appreciate having the same moniker as women as they feel it imposes a pansy-like image upon chicken kind.
You see, it could devolve into comments that a bird "throws like a girl" or even "cries like a girl." From there, it's a slippery slope to the utmost insult that they giggle and/or blush like "schoolgirls."
Before you know it, all manner of poultry might actually be respected less than women. You see the dire situation, I'm sure.
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