Jokes on me, I guess

So I was on the elevator with a guy I don't know. I pressed the button for floor 6 and he pressed for floor 5.

Then we started chatting about the only thing you should ever chat about with people you do not know: the weather. Unless there is a pending tornado and/or you have some breaking news that might save a person's life or property it is one of the most boring topics you can discuss. Every time I talk about the weather with someone my mouth just goes on autopilot while my brain says, "What the crap am I saying? This is the stupidest conversation in the world." But then when I try and think of an alternative topic of conversation I realize that I don't know the first thing about the person with whom I am speaking. Which leads me to think about how I have very few friends with whom I can speak freely about anything at any time. Like 2. Ok, 1 really. And that makes me sad. And so I subsequently think, perhaps if I didn't put my mouth on autopilot when I chatted casually at work or in public I might actually meet people with common interests as I.

Ok, so I was in the elevator with this guy and I was saying something terrible like, "This past summer the weathermen got so bad at predicting that I actually started doing the opposite of what they suggested." Then I thought to myself, "This is awful, maybe now is a good time to branch out into casual conversation. But what should I talk about?

Before I could decide on a topic of conversation the guy with me said, "Is Field Services on floor 5?"

"No," I said, "It's floor 2." We had passed it.

Just then the door opened at floor five. Across the hall I saw an elevator going down, but the door was closing.

"Hey," I said, with some urgency, "There's one going down."

I leaped out of the elevator car I was in and ran across the hall with my arm outstretched to stop the doors from closing. What I didn't know was that once those elevator doors got within about 6 inches of being closed they shut pretty hard. The door slammed on my arm and I heard the bone snap. The pain was like a knife being jabbed into my arm. Finally the doors decided they couldn't close and they reopened. I turned around expecting to see a grateful man waiting to get on the down elevator. Instead I realized that he was still in the other elevator car and he was pointing at me.

"Ha ha!" he literally laughed as the doors closed, "You got off on the wrong floor!"

"Oh yeah," I thought to myself as my arm hung limp and floppy from my elbow, "That's why I don't talk to people."

I looked out the window and saw that against predictions it was pouring rain. Luckily I packed my umbrella just in case. Unfortunately I no longer had an arm to hold it.

ps. Ok, I didn't actually break my arm. But I did leap from the elevator to get a down car for this guy and he did laugh at me.

Bloody Wall

So our facilities people were going to paint the office this week, but when they went to strip the wall paper off the building started screaming like mad and bleeding. They immediately stopped pulling off the paper, but the building still cried for hours. Sadly one of our more clumsy employees was walking by the above pictured spot with a class of freshly squeezed lemonade when... well.

The Community for the Humane Treatment and Eventual Liberation of All Walls and Ceilings, the CHTELAWC, has filed suit against our department on behalf of the wall. Technically I'm not supposed to talk to the public about it, but I say to heck with the man. The people have the right to know.

Yellow

I think I've decided to hate yellow on me. That or fat. Because one of the two of them is making me look fat, and it's making me angry.

I kept a steady 155 lbs for 6 years and suddenly I balloon up to 165 for no apparent reason. Out of now where, after I quit exercising, starting eating chocolate like it was required, and stopped drinking water, and started drinking Mountain Dews, out of now where I gained 10 pounds. For no reason!

So I'm blaming my yellow fat sweater.

Glorious Reality

Oh, but even the very best writers can not conjure up the magic that the mundane world throws at us daily.

Here are the highlights of an article I read in the paper today:
*****
LAWRENCEBURG, Ky. — Two central Kentucky men were sentenced to probation in connection with a bizarre case in which a third man said he was forced to eat his beard after an argument. 47-year-old Troy Holt and 51-year-old James Hill were sentenced Tuesday in Anderson Circuit Court.

Harvey Westmoreland of Lawrenceburg had said Holt cut off his beard and forced him to eat it while Hill allegedly held a sickle blade to Westmoreland and his brother during the May incident.

Holt could not say why he made Westmoreland eat his beard other than that things "got out of control" after some heavy drinking.

He added, "I ain't got no excuses about what I done."
*****

My word! What in the name of the Lord did you INTEND to happen, entering a bar with a sickle? At what point did your plan deviate from it's original goal?

Man, I love this world we live in. Just when you think the water is safe Giant Squid are real. And just when you think beards are making a comeback...

Confidence

You know you have no style when you ask your wife, "How does this look?" And she says, "Well, it's not terrible."

It makes you wonder... is it normally terrible?

Sigh

Why did the 80s have to end?

Always an alternative.

So unfortunately Rebecca has to go to the urologist. Last night she read on line some of the basic things that are done at a urologist, such as "tapping" the bladder, getting sterile samples, and generally poking and prodding. So I suggested that she go to the Bladder Whisperer. He just puts his face down in your "lap" and talks to it. But it isn't just talking, he listens too. He's a good listener... to crotches. Then after some discourse he diagnoses whatever ails you. His rate of accuracy is almost 50%.

It's a different kind of discomfort, but in certain situations, perhaps a suitable one.

Rebecca did not think this suggestion was helpful.

Savings

My last Friday self just put a dollar in my back pocket. I'm so nice! Now I can buy a coke for lunch. Thanks me!

I suppose I could save it for Future-me, but I'm not nearly as responsible as Past-me. Past-me is always saving money in my clothes. As soon as I find it I spend it.

I bet Future-me really regrets that coke I had in a few minutes.

Hospice TV

When I am on my death bed, in hospice care, I want a wide screen TV set in front of me with tired old movies playing - commercials included. Because if there is one thing I can not avert my gaze and attention from it is a movie I have seen 1000 times before. I don't know if it will prolong my life, but I cannot imagine dying while there is a 1980s blockbuster marathon on the tube.

Last night I was tired and wanted to go to bed, but Die Hard 2 was on and so I had to watch it.

Why did I have to watch it? I don't know. But suddenly I was not tired anymore. Nor was I asleep. I was in a half sleep. And though I wanted to turn the TV off, I was not able. Not even the commercials offered any hope. I was transfixed.

So I thought, I'll create a new TV station and call it Hospice TV. On it I'll play all the movies that were box office hits for anyone between the ages of 60 to 100.

Dramatization:

Nurse: Doctor, the patient is crashing!
Doctor: Have you done chest compressions?
Nurse: Yes, of course. We've shocked him too!
Doctor: Damn! Give him 50 cc of Lydicane and for Christ sake turn on Hospice TV. If that doesn't buy us some time then nothing on this earth will!
Patient: Hang on, Jesus, Goonies is on! Again.

Tongue Rings

So there's a new rule that waitresses must have a tongue ring, right? Is it a rule or is it just me?

And can you really trust the recommendations of a waitress with a tongue ring?

"What would you recommend."

"Well, my favorite is the burger bites, but they tastes kind of metally. And the potato soup is also good, but also kind of metally. The personal pizza is good... but metally. And I can't eat any of the spicy foods. It burns the hole in my tongue too badly. And it makes me taste metal."

"The Talk"

So last night Rebecca had "the talk" with Isabella about things she can expect from her body in the coming years.

It was just the first talk of many talks we plan on having with her. Isabella is in fifth grade, which is when our school system begins Sex Education. I am 100% in favor of the school teaching Sex Ed, but I am also 100% in favor of parents teaching it too. My parents did ZERO sex talks with me. I remember once in middle school asking my mother what foreplay was. She went red and started stuttering. I figured it out on my own. Everything I learned about men, women and sex I learned on the bus or from secret whispers from friends. I didn't believe any of it. It was all just way too unbelievable. It all turned out to be true.

But I digress...

So Rebecca had the first talk with Isabella about periods. Rebecca said something to the effect of, "Pretty soon you and your girl friends will start having periods," and Isabella burst out, "No, I don't want to get a period. Hannah's mom got a period at Christmas and it ruined the holiday for everyone."

Wow. Why did my parents want to miss all this?

Senior Center Gig

I was watching some show with my kids (Disney or Nickelodeon, I don't recall which) where the main character and crew went to a senior center to sing. While there they were asked again and again to sing the same song, Way Down Upon the Suwanee River.

It got me to thinking about what we gen Xers might be like when we're in our 90s rolling around the old folks home. Do you reckon we'll be demanding the high school choir sing Beat It for us? Or Thriller? Or some other 1980s hit? Or is there some magic point in life where a soul gives up the music of its past and seeks only to hear Stephen Foster melodies?

I like to think I'd choose Beat It. Suwanee River has had it's turn.

Now the question is will the kids know it?

Smells

I don't know if this is even possible, but...

The entire floor of my office smells like someone sprinkled butter and body odor on their popcorn before they tossed in the microwave and left it to burn.

Cheap cheapness

It's time for me to get crotchety and old.
Ok, I'm not going to make any patriotic comments on what our country does and what other countries do, or draw any conclusions on what is better now. You can probably interpret my feelings from what I will say. And here is where I will sound like an old man.

They don't make crap like they used to.

Even pencils. Actually, it's the pencils that bother me the most! I'm an artist and so I use a lot of pencils and I spend a lot of time sharpening said pencils. And it bothers the crap out of me that the above can happen.

I bought my son 2 24 packs of pencils for school. The teacher asked that they come to their first day with all pencils sharpened. So I broke out our newish pencil sharpener and opened the box of 24 pencils.

Of the 24 pencils 6 were defective. By that I mean that they will never sharpen fully. Up and down the pencil graphite is a series of small breaks, so after you sharpen it for a few seconds the graphite tip breaks off and you have to start all over. You never get to use it. Of the 18 that were not defective in that way, the wood was so chewed up that actually taxed the electric sharpener to sharpen them.

After sharpening 30 pencils the motor burned out on this sharpener.

Ordinarily I am for technology replacing mundane manual tasks like using a crank pencil sharpener. But only if the technology can actually do as good a job or better. Here is my vote for going back to crank pencil sharpeners. Oh, and quality pencils that you can actually use would be nice too.

Grammar

I'm currently in my office listening to my old boss give grammar lessons to one of his new employees. I'm not certain of the error that was made, but it has something to do with mixing present perfect and past tenses.

So you know: This former supervisor says "Supposingly" instead of supposedly. This is but one of his lexicographic foibles.

The Glass is Half Negative

It is widely accepted that the positive way to indicate that a glass is at 50% capacity is to state, "My glass is half full." The negative being to say, "My glass is half empty." But what do you say when your glass is at 50% capacity of something negative?

Would it be positive to say, "My glass is half full of poison?" Or would it be negative. I suppose that depends on whether you have already ingested the other half! But supposing you had not drunk half a glass of poison and you were now sitting before the glass that was at 50% capacity with hemlock would it be more positive to say, "My glass is half full!" or, "My glass is half empty!"

Ok, let us say that it was not poison, or anything that could kill you, but rather something that you truly did not wish to drink. Let us imagine that your daughter has spent the last hour conjuring up a pot of hot cocoa, but by some mishap she has laden it with four times the salt required. It will not kill you to drink it, but it will pain you. At such a time it would be more positive to say, turning to your wife who has not managed to drink as much as you, "My glass is half empty!"

Anyway, my car ran a little hot yesterday so this morning I opened the radiator cap and found that the radiator was half empty of mud! I'm trying to be positive about this, but something tells me this is very bad.

Heart Healthy drinks

So I was thinking about healthy foods and healthy eating and it occurred to me that most health foods are only passively healthy. I think science should create foods that are aggressively healthy. Mostly because I'm lazy, but I want to live forever anyway.

My Idea: I think we should develop a drink that has enough caffeine in it to amp up our heart rate to 70/75% of our maximum heart rate and keep it there for 20 minutes.

I told my friend, Keith, about my idea. He's a nurse practitioner who specializes in cardiovascular health.

I asked:
If I drink enough caffeine to get my heart rate up to 75% of my max for 20 minutes would it count as a cardio work out?

He answered:
Yes, until you go into V-fib and die. Then it would stop being cardio.


So there are some kinks I need to work out in my idea. But rest assured, aggressively healthy foods are the future.

Prediction:
By the year 2020 they'll have drinks that can make you fly!

Part-time Quit II

I spoke with Rebecca about my Part-Time Quit© idea. She hated it and loved it.

On the one hand she is an employer. She manages a veterinary hospital. People are constantly trying to finagle schedule changes so they can have more time off or less time off. People want to work morning when they are supposed to work evenings and vice versa.

On the other hand, every time someone tries to part-time quit© she wants to part-time quit© herself.

Employee: Rebecca, I've decided to part-time quit©. I don't want to work Mondays, Tuesdays or Wednesdays anymore.

Rebecca: Oh, I'm sorry, but I can't process that request.

Employee: But why?

Rebecca: Well, I part-time quit© just a moment before you did. I'm currently off the clock.

Employee: What hours did you part-time quit©?

Rebecca: I part-time quit© all hours where I have to deal with bull-shit.

Part-time Quit

Having a hard time giving a crap today. It's days like today when I wish I could part-time quit. I would keep my job, but only part-time. This job wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to be here in the mornings. If I could come in after lunch and work until I finished, that'd be dandy.

I want to part-time quit.

touchy

Managers get so up-tight when you say, "I don't feel like it."

No one respects honesty anymore. I'll still do the work, probably. I was just saying that I didn't want to do the work.

What?

I was walking back from the restroom to my office when a co-worker stopped me in the hall. He said, "Hello" and I said "Hello" back. Then he said, "I see you're wearing a shirt."

... blink-blink


I think some people have a conversation quota. They cannot let certain moments pass without a minimum number of words being spoken. It doesn't seem, however, that those words need to matter or mean anything to anyone.

If quizzle pop so lotta water salad puffle. Biz dip.

Review - Cocoa Beach

Ok, so I never reviewed the actual place where we stayed.

REVIEW:
COCOA BEACH -eh

It was ok, I guess. Having no money in a place that is 99.99% commercial will really dump on your impression of it. But it was an alright beach town. What was really terrible was Cape Canaveral. Man.

Cape Canaveral is like that boy that went to middle school with you. You remember the one; he never washed his hair and he pierced his own nipple with a safety pin. Yeah, classy. But he sank to all time trashy lows when he was caught in the boys' bathroom smoking and making out with his sister. Gross. That's Cape Canaveral.

Cocoa Beach is the sister. It's still gross that she'd kiss her brother, but in 7th grade she had the hottest body in school, so remarkably everyone forgave her; even the girls. That's Cocoa Beach. It's not the classiest place in the world, but you don't have to marry it.

Histe Up the John B. Sail -and an ORBITZ review

Ok, so when does a trip begin?
1. When you arrive at your destination?
2. When you start the trip to your destination?
3. The moment you clock out at work the day before?
4. Or does it start when you begin to plan the trip and get the kids involved and fired up about all of the things you will all be doing?

In March we started planning our trip to Gulf Shores, Alabama. We went last year and we liked it a lot. So we were planning a repeat.

Sadly, BP broke the Gulf of Mexico. Rebecca and clung to our reservations for about a month too long, hoping BP would do ANYTHING. But they just looked at the catastrophe they created like it was spilled water colors and that any moment Mommy would come along and fix it.

About a month before our vacation we started a serious last minute redo. Everything was out the window. But we found new stuff and tried our best to get the kids psyched about the new destination.

We had booked out vacation with Orbitz, so I cancelled them through Orbitz.

Review:
Orbitz Customer Service - F!
Utter and abysmal failure does not capture the craptatistitude with which Orbitz handled this account and subsequently ruined our vacation.

Review:
Orbitz Ability to Totally and Completely RUIN Your Vacation - A
Yes, I blame Orbitz. Completely and totally.

Here is a short background and then I'll get to the pics.

I canceled my vacation via the Orbitz website, as directed by Orbitz. I got a message that clearly stated my reservation was canceled, but that it was not technically complete until I received a call from the Hotel I was staying at.

A week went by and I had not heard from the Gulf Shores Hotel. It was a week until our vacation at Cocoa Beach (the new location). I called the Gulf Shores Hotel and spoke to the very nice Danielle. She told me that they had heard nothing from Orbitz and that I needed to call Orbitz, not cancel on-line. Further, I needed to wait on the phone while Orbitz called the hotel and canceled the reservation.

I did that. I spoke to a woman named Lukewlla (or something). She told me that she had called the hotel, had spoken to Danielle and that I would be receiving a refund on my deposit. Since she knew Danielle's name I thought that everything was peachy.

Our first night at the hotel we checked our bank account to find that the Gulf Shores Hotel had charged us for our full stay. We had no cash to spend on our vacation. When I called the hotel Danielle said that Orbitz had never called. When I called Orbitz they said, "We can see that you called on June 18, but there is no documentation of what was said in that conversation."

So, I had this new lady cancel the reservations again and contact the Gulf Shores Hotel. The next morning I called the Gulf Shores Hotel and Danielle told me that she had not received any documentation from Orbitz. However, she did tell me that she was going to reverse the charges. I would have my money back, but not until my vacation was over.

I called Orbitz back and yelled at the first person to pick up the phone. Was it her fault? No. Did I care? Not really. Do I care now? I'm trying to, but no, not really.

So on to the Vacation.

We chose Cocoa Beach because it seemed pleasant enough and it came recommended by just about everyone who had been there. We also liked the fact that it was so close to the Kennedy Space Center and a nice sized zoo. Our kids like to go to the zoo on vacation.

I told Rebecca that I was going to take a bazillion pictures this year, since last year I had only taken a few and we had regretted it. I said, "Everyone will be annoyed with how many pictures I take. This is a warning."

The vacation started off with this pic just over the border of Florida. I love Palm Trees.


On the first day I took the camera up to the coast where my kids were splashing in the water. I did this last year and got some really great shots. Then a big wave comes along. The tiniest little bit of water splashed on the camera and it quit working instantly. There is no way the water caused it. First of all, it didn't get that wet. Secondly, when I opened the battery and memory card slots, they were totally dry. Nevertheless, the camera was completely broken. All we had left was my 1.3 megapixel phone camera.

That night as we spent way too much money on a fish dinner that tasted like tires we debated spending a little cash on a new camera. Little did we know that night we would find that all of our money was gone!

In spite of Orbitz outrageous assault on our vacation, we tried to have a good time.

Here's the beach. Those surfers in the corner were desperately trying to impress that girl with them. They kept wrestling each other to the ground and holding the other's head under water. Sadly, the girl seemed slightly impressed by all of this.

On the second day I made a sand castle:

One of my better efforts. It looked way more impressive in person. This was about 12 stories tall.

Here is our resort. It sat on top of my daughter's head. That's her blond scalp at the bottom of the picture.

Some waves. As best I can tell they are retreating from this vacation.

Here is a pic from the zoo. This pretty little island was surrounded by gigantic alligators lazily swimming around and looking up at us like we were a buffet. What a metaphor.


By far the favorite attraction for my children was this:

It is a pirate ship kiddie pool. I have to admit, it was pretty cool. Every night after dinner we'd take the kids for night swimming at the pool. They'd run around and splash and play until they were just dead tired. It was awesome. Except for the last night when this boy started getting a bit too physical with these other two girls. They were wrestling and kissing. The pool rules stated that only ages 12 and under could play in the pool. I asked the boy how old they were. He said 17 and the girl said 13. Ok, gross. I asked them to leave and he said that he was watching his kid brother. We looked around and saw a six year old boy hanging upside down from the bow of the pirate ship. After a few seconds 17 realized that this was probably dangerous and told his brother to climb down. I called security, but they did not eject 17 from the pool. I was tempted to call Child Welfare, but I let it go.

Oh yeah, and we all got sunburned.

And here is the final casualty:

It seems our house sitter walked by these plants every day and didn't think, "Wow, those plants might need some water." They were such lovely Petunias when we left.

Not Cat Food!

I have really neglected the "This is Not Cat Food" section of my blog. It isn't as though my cat, Sammy, has not been stealing food. He does it constantly. I guess I just haven't been posting it.

Well, this weekend he really made me mad.

background: We bought a fruit bowl and we put it on a very small island in our kitchen (I should have taken a picture of it). Anyway, there is very little room on this island when the bowl is on top of it. And to date the none of the cats had attempted to jump up there.

Well, this weekend my in-laws came over. My father-in-law is a farmer and he brought us a bag of his own tomatoes! Nothing better than fresh, home grown tomatoes.

So we dumped them all in the fruit bowl and began dreaming of tomato sandwiches and such.

Not ten minutes after the tomatoes were placed in the fruit bowl did Rebecca walk in on Sammy teetering on the ledge of the island, face down in the fruit bowl. His face was all red and juicy from his kill. I was so mad. He took at least one bite out of 7 tomatoes. I guess he was looking for the juiciest one. This is his kill:


I tried to take some close ups, but my camera phone doesn't do close ups very well:




That cat loves vegetables.

Update on things

Challenge:
I'm likely not going to complete my project by the time July 7 rolls around. I have completed one page of about 50. See the page here. The picture is very dark because it did not fit on my scanner.

Anyway, there are only 3.5 weeks until July 7 and one of those weeks I'll be on vacation. So I'm expecting to lose my challenge to Blizzard. But if I do I have a back up challenge to myself prepared.

Exercise:
I have been trying to reduce my gut and hopefully slim down for my vacation. Well, I failed at that one too. I have gone from 165 to about 162. Whoo hoo! I have, however, reduced my resting heart rate. It has gone from 70 to 64. That's a considerable improvement. The only problem is that all this cardio exercise is making me pretty darn hungry.

Humor in this post:
I ordered the humor in this post on line AND I paid to have it shipped next day. It's been two days and there's still no funny. I guess that's technically my fault, but I'm going to blame it on the Internet.

Review - the Water Jet

Ok, I haven't done a review in a while, but this product is in desperate need of one.

You may have seen this product advertised in a commercial:

Especially if you watch a lot of late night cable TV, which I, sadly, do.

Well, the commercial makes it look like this wonderful product is set to replace the pressure washer as the means by which you clean your house, spray off your patio, hose down your car, et cetera. The commercial makes this product look awesome. It is remarkable powerful this product is... in the commercial. IN THE COMMERCIAL it can do anything a pressure washer can do.

And it is only $20.00

REVIEW:
COMMERCIALS - Lies, damn lies.
Who didn't already know that, right?

fine
REVIEW:
the WATER JET - D minus. Don't buy it.
Yes, the Water Jet makes the water come out of your garden hose faster than it otherwise would have without the Water Jet. But, no, this product doesn't not suck.

Yes, this product will remove the moss and dirt build up on your patio; sort of. But no, it will not do it quickly and it will not not waste a lot of water. (the double not was intentional) It took me about five minutes to spray the leaves off my 10' by 10' patio. I could have swept it in 2. And though it did remove the moss and dirt it did it begrudgingly and I had to focus on a single spot for several seconds. That's a lot of water wasted.

Yes, this product does come with an alternative head for a different kind of spray. But no, it also doesn't not suck.

No, this product will NOT remove the mildew from your vinyl siding. The commercial says it will, but not at my house.

Basically, this product does make the water come out faster, but only marginally. It will not come out of your hose at pressure washer speeds. For $20.00 it is totally not worth it. I wouldn't pay $5.00 for it.

There is a product out there that can do the job the Water Jet does for much less. Free even:

It's called your thumb.

If you need more power, rent/buy/borrow a pressure washer.

Update!

HOLY CRAP!

Someone at the Blizzard company must have read my blog!
(Because this blog is such an bellwether for all things pop-culture and gamey)

Star Craft II comes out 7-27-2010.

In case you haven't been reading lately, about two months ago I jokingly challenged myself to finish as many projects as I could before Star Craft II finally came out. SCII has been "talked about" for almost ten years now. I didn't think Blizzard would ever get it's act together. Oops.

That means I have six weeks to finish as many projects as possible. And let's be real, finishing one project in that time will be a miracle.

So the project I have chose to focus on is "The Birds and the Bees" story. I probably won't finish it by then, but I'm going to try. I wish I could have done the animation project, as I was so much closer to finishing, but my 9 year old computer is just in too bad a shape to do anything appreciable with it.

So, Blizzard called me on my challenge! The heat is on.

I'll keep you posted.

Pant cuffs

I don't like buying new clothes.

I resent that fact that I'm still at a 9 to 5 and I have never liked wearing a collar and leash (shirt and tie).

One of the things I hate most about clothes is how well they fall apart.

As an aside, I know that Wal-Mart is "inexpensive," and that some people take that to mean it is the better deal, but cheap is cheap. Almost every article of clothing I've ever purchased there has fallen apart at break neck speeds. Last year I bought this amazing looking Hawaiian shirt there for $10.00 (I love Hawaiian shirts). I washed it once! The second time I wore it I found a hole right in the front chest. Cheap is cheap.

I digress.

So, one of the things I hate the most about pants is how the cuffs tend to become all raggedy and frayed. I tend to not care myself, but in the past year I have had no less than four people comment on my clothes.

My former boss called me out in front of others for having a hole in the bottom of my shoe.

A new guy in our unit looked at me and then said to his boss, "So we can dress casual here every day?"

My current boss told me that I needed to have some sports coats on hand, should I need to look good. (ouch)

And a co-worker, recently, told me that I should tend to the frayed edges of my pants.

"I cut them off when they get too long," I said.
"My husband would be freaking out," she said. I wasn't really offended by this because I know her and I know she wasn't being mean. She was just giving me a hard time.
"What would he do?"
"Well, he's an ex-Marine." She likes to remind us of that frequently. "He always burns the frayed edges off of his pants."

Really? I thought. That might work! I was thinking that perhaps the frayed edges would some how cauterize or melt together and prevent further fraying! That would be worth looking into.

Now, I'm not going to say whether the burning of the frayed edges of your pants is a good or bad idea. Perhaps it works well if it is done right. Perhaps it works better if you have a synthetic blend of fibers in your pants. But cotton does not cauterize. It just burns. And when it is done burning instead of having little pieces of frayed pants you have slightly shorter and slightly darker pieces of frayed pants.

What I will do is give you some advice.

IF YOU ARE GOING TO BURN THE FRAYED EDGES OF YOUR PANTS:

1. Make certain your pants are not 100% cotton. Maybe you can do it correctly with 100% cotton, but I did not.

2. Don't, under any circumstances, assume that burning off the edges of your pants can be done while you are wearing said pants.

3. Remember, that when the 100% cotton pants you are wearing start to burn, they burn on the outside and inside of the pant leg.

4. Consider buying new pants.

I suck at checkers.

Most people think of checkers as a kids version of chess. But it isn't. At least, that's what I tell myself every time I lose. Which is just about every time I play.

No matter how hard I try I cannot keep from falling into some stupid trap. One minute I'll have the perfect defense and I'll be poised to clean up the board. But the next time my opponent moves I find myself lured into a trap where he bounces all over the board and takes two, three, or sometimes four of my chips.

I think this game is rigged by some secret society. Probably the Masons. Or the Jasons. The Jasons are like the Masons, only you have to be named Jason to join. A few people have honorarily been named Jason so that they could join the Jasons, but mostly those were Masons or Graysons.

If you have any information on this checkers conspiracy let me know. I'm planning on going undercover as a Jason to try and gather evidence of a world wide checkers scam.

Different Day, Same Shirt

I think I might be wearing the same shirt I wore on Monday.

I've been kind of frazzled this week and I wasn't really paying attention to my attire on that first day. I know I wore my light brown pants then and today I'm wearing my dark brown pants. So no one should say anything about that.

The shirt is kind of nondescript:

It's just a dark red shirt with a line pattern on it.

I rolled the sleeves up hoping that would throw people off from discovering my faux pas. "That can't be the same shirt that he wore on Monday. It is short sleeved."

Who am I kidding? I feel like that dirty kid from high school who wore a jacket to school in the summer to hide the fact that he was wearing the same shirt every day. When the teacher finally asked it was discovered that he had run away from home and had been living in the school courtyard for a week.

You gotta give that kid credit though. He decided that his family wasn't worth a crap, but his education was still important to him!

I have not run away from home.

By the way, you can see from the picture that I have gained quite a belly. That is the extra 20 pounds I am carrying around. Actually, that's the extra 18. I'm carrying 2 pounds in my double chin. sheesh

PS. the photo on my badge is an exact likeness.

Sorry. I died.

Sorry I haven't posted in a few. I had a medical emergency. I didn't exactly die, though. That title is a bit misleading.

I woke up Monday feeling normal. I used the bathroom like normal (which is important later). Went downstairs to make breakfast and my stomach started bloating up. Suddenly I didn't feel like breakfast.

I went back upstairs to lie down for a bit, but by the time I got upstairs my stomach was so tight it was fairly uncomfortable. And unfortunately my body’s way of dealing with this increasingly bloated stomach was for all of my ab muscles to lock down.

I tried to lie down, but then it felt like my stomach was going to explode. Standing... no good. I could only sit hunched over – but still every muscle in my stomach was cramped. My belly was tight and sore. I looked pregnant. And truth be told, I thought I might be giving birth to some alien baby.

Over the period of about half an hour this began to wear me down. It was hurting and it was relentless. Like a sit-up that never ends and never lets go. I finally had to ask Rebecca to take me to the ER.

The drive over was miserable. I was sweating and tired, but I couldn't rest because my stomach wouldn't relent.

Luckily the ER was empty so I didn't have to wait long. The nurse got me set up on the bed and told me to lie down, which I couldn't do because it hurt too friggin much.

Then the EMT put in my IV catheter. Right as he stuck the needle in my arm I got a wave of pain, so naturally everything in my torso flexed and a fountain of blood when squirting out of my arm. Sadly my acid blood dissolved the EMT into a puddle on the ground, but another one came in immediately to take his place.

Finally the Nurse Practitioner entered the room and asked me what was wrong. I told her my problem and that I couldn’t stretch out because of the pain. Naturally she told me to stretch out. When I couldn’t they called in an army of nurses to grab my legs and arms. Ten bulking male nurses grabbed my feet and tried to stretch them out. It was either ten bulking nurses, or ten marines. Or it might have been a single lady. I can’t remember. I’m pretty sure it was ten bulking marine nurses. The pain was so intense I accidentally kicked a couple of them through the glass wall and into the nurses’ station. They collapsed in a heap on the floor and almost woke the doctor in sitting in the chair.

The rest of the throng finally got me subdued and the Nurse Practitioner was able to work her magic. First she pulled out the extremely expensive device called “her hand.” And with that she performed a complicated maneuver called “poking my stomach.” After she prodded me she said that she was going to test my blood, my urine, do a CT scan and an ultrasound. Then she left.

As soon as she walked out the door I realized I was already feeling better. THEN the nurse walked in with the narcotics. She was about to juice me up, but I told her I didn’t need them. Suddenly all my pain was gone. “Did you fart?” she asked, but I hadn’t. Nor had I burped. I just sat there embarrassed.

So after about thirty minutes my doctor awoke, came in and introduced himself… to my wife. Then he looked at me and said, “You’re having pain?” Without waiting for an answer he gets on the far side of the bed to palpate my stomach. I almost didn’t feel him touching me, compared to the Nurse Practitioner. “It’s probably nothing serious,” he said to Rebecca. I think he might have winked at her. “These things are usually gas or maybe a stone.” He stood at the foot of my bed in a sort of casual-cool - feet apart stance, and absently breathed on his stethoscope. He smiled and polished it on his coat. “It hurts right here,” I said and touched at the base of my rib cage, which was now the only place that actually did hurt. “Yeah,” he said dismissively, still looking at my wife. “So anyway,” he chirped as he walked out the door, “blood tests… cat scan… hem…” His voice was cut off by the closing of the door.

I guess I should feel lucky. For the most part ERs don’t use doctors anymore. They are too expensive. Apparently having the doctor come in and almost touch a person, and say things like, “blood test” costs too much for the hospital to make a profit.

I asked Rebecca if she thought the doctor was hitting on her. She said there was no doubt. It was the same doctor, it seems, that saw her a few months back when she was in the ER for a migraine. Apparently on that day he listed to her heart by putting his stethoscope squarely on her left nipple and cupping her boob. Nice. We revere these people, why exactly? Rebecca took it in stride. In college she had to go to the emergency room three separate times for three separate issues. Every single time the doctor (always a different one) seemed to think he could only be certain what she had if he did a pelvic exam. Why? Do doctor’s speak vagina?

Shortly after the doctor left my Nurse Practitioner came back in the room. Embarrassed I told her that I was not hurting anymore. “Are you ready to go?” she asked. Before I could answer my wife said, “I’m worried that it might be a gall stone.” “Well, we have him scheduled for a cat scan. Let’s see what that shows us.”

The CT scan was negative. My blood test was negative. My urine test was negative. Sigh.

After three hours at the ER the Nurse Practitioner came in again and said that they were dismissing me. My diagnosis was “abdominal pain.” I kid you not. My diagnosis was my symptom. I knew that before I set foot in the damn ER. “So you ruled out a gall stone?” Rebecca asked. “Well,” the NP said, “It didn’t show on the CT scan, but cat scans are the best way to look for gall stones.”

She literally left it at that and walked out.

Is it any wonder insurance premiums are shooting through the roof? I get no diagnosis AND my insurance was probably billed a couple grand. I got ignored by a doctor and the NP gave me a test that isn’t the best at determining if I have the one thing my symptoms might point to. Stupid.

So I’m just telling everyone who asked that I had my pride removed laparoscopically.

You should all be very proud of me. I busted my hump and got some things done this weekend. None of them really qualify as projects, but they were jobs.

Here you can see our Petunias and our new solar powered lights. Digging this ground up was a horrible chore. Just rocks upon rocks. But once it was done putting the lights in was easy. However, this morning a deluge of rain hit our house and I’m afraid it may actually wash the lights away.

We’ll see. Anyway, it was a big job and it is done. This guy helped:


Some people think garden gnomes are cheesy. They are. But I like them. I like them when they are not prominent or big. I like them relatively hidden, where finding them is a little surprise. I haven’t thought of a place for this guy yet, but it will be in the back yard somewhere. I’m worried that if I put him in the front yard he’ll get gnome-napped. Theft of magical creatures has escalated in this region of the world. We must protect our unreal cohabitants.

I got a lot of non-yard work stuff done too. I worked out. Whoo hoo! Shortly afterwards I died. And I went through about half of my basket of projects to find the ones I would consider as suitable for my challenge.

So far it is looking like the best two projects for the challenge are the 3D Snow Scene, as I am so deep into it already, and it was recent enough that I still recall everything that I was doing, the Birds and the Bees book, as I have the whole story laid out, and Bunny Wars – the comic book – as it is fairly nearly done also. While I was looking, however, I found several clips of stories that I had long forgotten about. Some new ideas began to brew in my head for how I might combine these into a cohesive book. We’ll have to see.

And, of course, as I am gearing up to really start plugging away at this mystery project my boss announces that he has been promoted. This in and of itself is not an issue, however, two people already have suggested I apply for his position. That means more time at work, less time to goof off, and about two months of interview preparation. But the money would be so nice.

The Button Rebellion

I hate "business attire."

The very concept of making yourself less comfortable so you can go do something you really don't want to be doing is absurd. If anything, we should be dressing down for work.

I suppose it might be easier to wear clothes you hate if you love your job and care about keeping it. Or maybe I'm just a child. I hate wearing ties, and matching clothes. And I've never polished my shoes. I just can't get into that part of adulthood.

My normal attire to work is a pair of nice slacks and a shirt that probably isn't ironed and is definitely several seasons out of style. But lately my clothes have been rebelling against me. Like a plague my shirts have been dropping the second button from the collar:


These are just a few examples. It is rampant in my closet.

And no, it has nothing to do with weight gain. I don't have fat clavicles. Is that even possible?

Losing a button is always a pain in the ass, but losing this particular button is the worst. See, not even I will go to work with two buttons undone. That's super 70s and it's tacky. I just can't do it. So that means if I'm going to wear these shirts I have to wear a tie. In case I didn't mention it before, I hate wearing ties. But the people in my office think that I'm starting to "come around" to business attire.

NO! My clothes are rebelling against me.

I guess I should take these shirts to the cleaners and have them sew buttons back on. But then the cleaners is just going to clean them and press them and starch them and they'll look super nice and everyone in my office is going to think I'm finally fitting in.

You just can't win.

Frustration

So today I thought I would throw some pics at you.

This is my project corner. It would be wrong to think that this represents all of the unfinished projects that I have floating around the house. It would also be wrong to think that because I have this neat little basket and night stand for my stuff that my wife doesn't mind the projects being housed here. Quite the contrary.

I watched the show "Hoarders: Buried Alive" this weekend. I think I may be a project hoarder.

What is under the night stand is just books; what you expect to find in a night stand. However, on top represents projects I'm kind of presently working on. I say "kind of" because I haven't done any work on them in about a month.

The basket in the back represents the bulk of my unfinished work with the black shoulder bag being those things that are important enough for me to carry them around in case I get a moment to work on them. (I rarely do).

Within the basket are probably fifty projects ranging from notes next to a doodle to folders with projects that are deep into production/development. sigh.

I had intended to go through my projects this weekend to make a comprehensive list for you folks and to pick out two or three that I thought I might be able to use in my challenge. But I also wanted to get my son a new box spring.


I did a sloppy job of measuring his mattress, assuming that these things were standard and that I could be equally as sloppy at the store. His mattress is 38" wide by 74" long. I also measured my car to ensure that it would fit. It was perfect! The back of my car was just right to fit the box spring.

I went to the store and found the prefect box spring. I measured it sloppily and found that it was near enough. I was just about to take it when I noticed a giant orange mark on the side. So I looked around a found a box spring nearby for the same price and I assumed it was the same.

For some reason I did not question that the box spring did not fit into my car, though the measurements said that it should. I assumed it was just a situation of bad luck on my part. Since it did not fit I had to ride with it hanging out my back window which meant I could not take the interstate, which meant a 20 minute drive home became an hour drive home.

Well, as you can tell from the picture above I was wrong by about 3 inches. The gap you see there is where the edge of his bed is separated from the frame. I was so mad! I cussed at the box spring a good bit, which made it cry, but I didn't care because I felt it had misrepresented itself in the store.

I was just about to throw my hands up in despair when I decided to check Isabella's bed. Her box spring was the perfect size and her bed frame was not as confining as Cole's. So I swapped the box springs. Bella got a brand new box spring and Cole got a 4 year old hand me down - which is still much better than what he had. I told them they both got new box springs. I'm a terrible daddy.

Anyway, that rot took about 4 hours of my day and I had intended it to take 1. My holiday was blown. I had about 1.5 hours left before I had to get the kids and my back yard grass was literally 2 feet tall. I had to mow it. It took about an hour. But while I mowed I found four of these:


Lucky me.

alotsameetings and a challenge

I had alotsa meetings yesterday, so I didn't have a chance to write.


Today I have thought of a way to challenge myself.

There is a computer game out there by the name of Star Craft.
You may have heard of it.

Star Craft came out in 1998. It took them about 7 years just to announce that they were going to release a sequel, Star Craft II (clever name).

Some time around 2005 Blizzard announced the development of Star Craft II.
They said it would take about 2 years to develop.
Two years later they said "about two more years."

In 2008 they said it would release mid 2009.
In 2009 they said late 2009... then mid 2010.

Well, it sounds like these people are about as good at finishing things as I.

So here is my challenge to myself:

I want to see how many of my projects I can finish before Blizzard has Star Craft II on the shelves ready to buy. I'm not counting those "jobs" that I have on my list. Those are too easy. I'll still do them, but they don't count.

I think that I can have at least 2 small projects done or one medium project before Star Craft II comes out.

I'll be a closer/finisher yet.

Ugh.

Undervalued. Under appreciated.

My coworker, Kim, comes to me and says, "Michael, where does the WIA print screen pull it's information from?"

"I don't know," I say. "I assume the WIA Registration database."

"Yeah, that's what I assumed too," says she. "But I wanted to be certain in case the changes I'm making on another screen affect it."

"Ok," I say. "I'll run some numbers."

So I do. I run a program to pull all of the customers from the WIA Registration database. But I can't stop at that. What if I happen to get a person with the same WIA information as they have on the Employment Services database? How would I know which was which?

What I have to do is find a customer who had different information in one database than in the other. So I pull all of the customers from the Employment Services database. This is also problematic because though they have the same kind of information it is formatted in different ways.

So I have to run a program to sync the formats.

Then I run a program to find all of the customers whose information on one database does not match the information on another. This, by the way, is not uncommon, but not an error when it does occur.

So I find 484 customers. Then I compare their information to the WIA print screen and find that it does indeed use the WIA Registration database.

So I go to Kim, after about an hour of work and say, "It was the WIA Registration database."

"Ok," she says.



Ok?
sigh

Closer-Finisher

Ok, as I mentioned last Friday I am a plant. A creative ideas person. Unfortunately I suffer from not being able to finish anything. I have no closer-finisher bones in my body.

I've been thinking about this and I figure that like anything else, finishing something takes practice. So to get better at finishing something I am going to have to practice finishing things. As luck would have it I have a treasure trove full of unfinished things. Here is the beginning of a list of things I have yet to finish:

1. Planting the strawberries - small yard work job.
2. Posting pictures of my recent yard work, perhaps including strawberries - small job.
3. Pirates - Huge animation project in the early stages of development. This is how far I've gotten.
4. Elves - Medium animation project that is far closer to being done. View.
5. Bunny Wars - comic book project. I am half done with the first book.
6. Fort - Small project of a video game idea.
7. The Birds and the Bees - a medium picture book project that is mostly done.
8. Snake Bear - a medium picture book project that is barely begun.
9. Book of Bad Poetry - a large project. You'd be surprised how hard it is to write a bad poem that is so bad people will actually enjoy it.
10. Pseudo Auto Biography - Huge project. This is probably 1/3 done. The problem is that try as I might I cannot make my life interesting; either on paper or in reality. This book is mostly funny, but no substance; think Jerry Seinfeld's last book only imagine it was good. (Not that I'm somehow better than Seinfeld. No way. But I was outrageously disappointed when I read his book. So boring and not funny. -this has been a parenthetical REVIEW: an unfunny D!)
11. This list - a small job for which it will take a few days to gather all of the information.


So there you have the beginning of the list of things I never finish. God willing I'll finish the list at least.

On the scale of grand things a project is much bigger than a job. I think that I will start with a job. Perhaps a small victory will be good for my self esteem. And since my strawberry plants are in danger of dying if I do not get them into the ground, they make the best place to start.


PS. I weighed 161 pounds last night. I'm down 4 pounds. That's not bad for the first two day. But in truth, I always drop the first 10 pounds pretty quickly. I'll be down to 155 by May. The real trick will be getting into the 140s.

I don't really know if this is working. I've been working out for a little less than a week now and I've already doubled my posts. Do you think it's working?

Curse

I think there is a curse on me. It isn't a very big curse. In fact, I can hardly think of why someone would waste the effort. But it is real and frustrating.

I am unable to complete the Silmarillion by J.R.R.Tolkien. I have attempted to read it a hundred times and I can never get past the part about good verses evil. Just kidding. It's all about good verses evil. But there is a part in the middle of the beginning, towards the beginning of the end of the beginning, but not so far as the beginning of the middle, that always boggs down on my brain and I shut down.

This past week I actually endeavored to defeat this book. I skipped straight to the middle, forsaking everything that the beginning held that I might not have read in all of my earlier attempts, and made a reading bee line for the end (or at least the middle of the middle). But I did not make it two pages before I realized that I had forgotten something integral in the beginning. I couldn't remember what the difference between Arda and Earth was and how they related to Ea (Arda is Earth, turns out, and Ea is the universe).

So, I had to skip back to the beginning. I opened up to somewhere in the middle of the beginning. But that part didn't give the answers I needed, so I skipped back further. I wound up reading the entire beginning of the beginning and pressing on into the middle of the beginning. I had found the answer to the aforementioned question that I sought, but for some reason I pressed on. And somewhere near the end of the middle of the beginning... or perhaps it was the beginning of the end of the beginning... I became disenchanted and sleepy and I closed the book.

I say disenchanted, but, as I have previously pointed out, I believe I was actually enchanted. This is clearly the work of a spell that someone has cast on me to prevent me from finishing this famous and seminal work.

But the joke is on you, foul enchantress, for the law of three fold return dictates that you will not be able to finish three books. HA! I hope it was worth it!

If I have any say in what books you will never finish it is these:

1. The Monster at the End of this Book.

Neither the Elmo, nor the Grover versions will you be able to complete! You will never know what horror lurks on the last page! Ha!

2. The novelization of the movie 6th Sense.

What is wrong with the kid in this book? Why can't Bruce Willis help him? What's going on with all of these ghosts? YOU'LL NEVER KNOW!

3. Influential and Braless Women of the Earth and Their Influence on American Society and the Emancipation of the Mind and the Vagina through the Art of Poetry, Bead Making and Tofu.

Here I sorta stepped out on a stereotypical limb. Since you have clearly put a spell on me I assume that you are a witch. That means you are likely a woman. It also means you probably don't wear a bra or shave your arm pits. These are lifestyle choices, and I don't look down on you for these gross and/or hot practices. I am also hoping that you are about college age and that in whatever women's studies course you are obviously in, this book is required reading. All of your friends and coven partners will be so disappointed when you fail this course. Were you planning on selling those beaded necklaces at the renaissance festival? Well, you'll never learn how to apply the clasp.

How's that for a bitter slice of karma pie!

Or you could just release me from this spell so I can finish this damn book!

Pain

I didn't work out this weekend in the traditional sense. Instead I did yard work, and I think I got a lot more exercise than if I had just lifted weights.

I started out by plugging in my brand new clippers and trimming my front hedges which were way out of control. I say "were" which is a huge lie. They still are. I have 3 large hedges. Currently 2 are half done and one is fully untouched. As I was trimming the front of the second hedge I heard a small "pop," saw a flash of a spark and the the clippers died. Instantly I realized the value in the cordless clippers and I felt bad for teasing my father for all of the extension cords he has clipped through the years.

Now I have to decide if I want to go ahead and get the cordless clippers before I destroy another ten extension cords, of if I can find some way to hold the cord so it doesn't hang right in the way of the monster blades.

On Sunday I dug a 6 inch by 20 foot flower bed to line my side walk. (I'll show pictures when it is complete). I wanted to have it overflowing with petunias and lined with a nice brick wall to keep the good soil in and to keep the damn Bermuda grass (weeds) out. But I bled my garden budget dry already and I still have to get weed Round Up for the kudzu and ant hill killer. So the bricks are a luxury that will have to wait until next year.

In addition it was hard as |cussword| to dig that trench. First I had to get rid of some monster ivy. But even once that was done I had to dig up a ton of rocks. I couldn't believe how many rocks I found. I hauled away about 5 to 6 gallons of rocks. And not little pebble rocks either. These were serious rocks. Most of them were just under the size of a baseball. My only consolation is that this fall when I replace the petunias with pansies the rocks will not be an issue.

Anyway, all that is to say I busted my hump this weekend. Right now my back is sore, my inner thigh is tight, and the inside of my elbow, knee and colon feel suspiciously rebellious. I have a bad feeling that some time tonight, probably around 3am, every muscle in my body is going to revolt.

Hurray for home improvement.

PS. After my gardening work out I weigh 163 pounds. I lost two pounds. Yay.

Plant

So it turns out I'm a plant.

My boss handed out this Belbin Team Inventory test last week to assess what kind of personalities he had in his team.

I'm a plant.

At first this sounded like a terrible thing to be, but it basically means a problem solver, creative "out-of-the-box" thinker. The kind of person you want to PLANT in every group.

That sounds a lot better! It sounds smart and mentally kick-ass. It sounds like I'm the guy with all the great ideas!

And it's kind of true. I get a lot of ideas. Some of them are really good. Some of them are terrible. Some of them are silly and some are serious. Some are for realistic businesses and some could only possibly exit in a fictitious world where physics doesn't have such a strangle-hold on reality. They come at me from out of nowhere and at any time.

"Michael, why are you complaining?" you might ask. "What's the problem with being a Plant?" Well, nothing exactly. They tend to be "absent minded," but that's no big deal. I just have to keep a spare set of keys nearby for when I lock myself out of the house or the car or just about anything that locks.

It isn't being a plant that is the problem. Not for me, anyway. The problem is that I'm not a CLOSER-FINISHER. I scored 0 as a Closer-Finisher.

I have no ability to finish anything.

These ideas are great. But they all are the same in that they will never see the light of day. They will never be finished ideas.

Have you ever seen that TLC show Hoarders? It's about people who cannot throw anything away and their houses become terrible tunnels of trash and treasures that cover the floor and stack up the walls. And all this garbage threatens to collapse in on the people within until the houses become condemned. Well, my brain is like those houses and the ideas are my trash.


I have started four books that remain unfinished. One is actually close to being half way done.
I have about three ideas for other books that I haven't even started.
I have started two comic books. One is actually pretty funny, I think. Will they see the light of day?
I started a daily comic strip that lasted a week.
I thought of a line of clothing for women that no respectable woman would wear.
I thought of a business for selling certain holiday items.
I thought of another business that would cater to role playing buffs.
I have started three animated cartoons. All of them have scripts. Some of them even have characters. None of them have momentum.
And last night I started writing the rules for a video game I would like to create.

Here are the things I have actually finished:

College - but only because my wife pushed me through it kicking and screaming.
A musical album - but I cannot take credit for it as my band-mate Franklin did all the real work.
A ton of short stories, but that hardly counts because they are really super short.
Two TV show scripts for a TV show that never made it past the pilot stage. Though I did technically finish them.

Being a Plant is great. But please, if you are a plant, make a partnership with a Closer-Finisher today!


PS. Any Closer-Finishers out there who want to manage a Plant?


PPS. This is an update of how my exercise is going. This morning when I wrote I was 165 pounds. I don't have a scale nearby, but I'm probably still pretty close to that. I had a light lunch, so maybe 163. So, there's a possibility that I may have lost 2 pounds. Go me.

The Last Loop

I've reached the last loop on my belt. I'm 25 pounds over weight. Not bad by normal U.S. standards, but far worse than I ever wanted to be.

I'm only 5'7" so my projected weight is 130 to 140 pounds. I weigh 165.

I'm not about to turn this blog into a Weight Watchers convention. However, I have always been of the mindset that life is holistic. You cannot separate your body from you mind. As goes one so goes the other.

And if I am honest with myself I will note that as my ass has become increasing sewn to the sofa my writing has become increasingly decreased. I have not felt the surge of inspiration that I once did.

In other words my fat blood has slowed down my brain.

In all things exercise and practice are necessary. That includes writing and creativity. I have gotten lazy with my body and lazy with my writing. I think the two are linked. I need to exercise my mind with writing practice. And I need to exercise my body. And by exercising my body my mind will be refreshed with more oxygen and healthier blood/hormones/nutrients/etc.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah... and blah.

How this affects my blog:

In addition to exercising more to get my pants to fit the way they were designed, I am going to start writing to the blog more. I'm going to write even when I don't have anything to say. Hopefully we'll find that eventually I'll be funny again. I've pretty much failed with this post.

Popular

I'm so popular.

I have 3 followers to my blogs. I have one follower to this one, and two to my sketch blog.

On the down side, none of those followers speak English.

Apparently I'm a fad in Cambodia.

Fun time experiments

For those of you who don't know I can be commissioned for work. An artist I met through the blog-o-sphere, Brian Gubicza
invited me to write a short fictional article based on a fictional event and character. See the finished project HERE.

This kind of work I am always happy to be a part of. (Or should I say, I am always happy of to be a part.)

I was especially glad to be a part of this project because Brian and his wife were so good about planning and paying attention to detail; a fact that I did not know for certain until I saw the results, but I was pretty sure would be the case based on his previous work (review his whole blog - it is awesome). The whole work turned out fabulously.

I am always open for little jobs here and there, whether collaborations, directed projects, or whatever. My fees can range from remarkably reasonable to ridiculous depending on whether you are a republican. just kidding

If I had done better with the first half of my life I'd feel a lot more confident about the last half. Now it behooves me to contemplate what I will do differently in the middle half.

Yesterday Rebecca informed me that middle age does not technically set in until around age 45. Which means that I still have ten years to go. That seems kind of odd to me, doesn't it to you? I mean, the notion that I am still in the first "part" of my life; not yet in the middle. My pride wants to believe it. Heck yeah! I'll live till I'm 90. -Forget about the fact that most people don't.

If I'm still in the first part of my life that means I'm in the same part as my children. That doesn't seem right. Those smiling goblin-fairies that ruin all of my nice stuff and generally make my life perfect and wonderful look to me for life wisdom. And my greatest concern is how to get them to the point that I am at. How do they deal with mean friends and nice bullies. How do I make them well rounded and still give them choices? (Because kids don't choose to go to the theater). Am I really in the same stage of life as they?

Then, as I'm walking up the stairs, I come across a picture of me, Rebecca and Isabella the day Isabella was born. I am a child in that picture. Rebecca even more so. And that was only 9 years ago.

So maybe I am still in the first stage of my life. And if life keeps creeping along in these day by day increments... maybe I always will be.

Series of weird dreams

Dream 1

A few nights ago I had a dream where Tom Hanks was trying to seduce my cat. Do not consider the grossness of this idea. Just remember it was a dream and dreams are not reality. The rules are different, as well as the moral requirements.

So Tom Hanks had this ability to change his size... and of course he could speak cat, and in a very Pepe Le Pew like manner he would attempt to woo my cat. (The cat, incidentally, was not a cat I own in reality, though I do own 4.) And very much like Pepe Le Pew, this cat wanted nothing to do with Tom Hanks. I assume that she either did not know his status as a huge movie star, or she was not impressed. Or maybe she did not want to deal with the hassles of paparazzi in spite of her unyielding attraction.

So there was Tom, scarcely a foot and a half tall, running about after my bothered cat. At last she seemed to have shaken poor Tom and she remembered her special hiding place that even had a lock on the door. The lock could only be opened by a cat claw and thus she believed this to be the best place to hide until Mr. Hanks affections flittered away to some other feline or similarly domesticated mammal.

She sneaked into the closet, where this hiding place itself was hidden. She stuck her claw into the door of this cabinet, and ere she opened the first door did she see one triumphant Tom Hanks tossing a lasso around her neck and "encouraging" her into the dark privacy of her secret suite.

I awoke. This was Tom's first visit into my dreams. I'd write him and tell him that he starred in my dream, but I'm not sure he would appreciate his role. And he might want to charge me royalties.

Dream 2/3/40
I have attempted to write out what happened in the dreams I had last night, but I cannot seem to put it into words. I just can't relate the weirdness of them. The best part was that there were two bad "agents" after this good agent. I believe the good agent was my wife... though I'm not 100% sure. I was trying to get to the good agent first to assist her. There was much machine gun fire, and I'm pretty sure I died about ten times, but it all turned out ok. I saw from a distance the good agent climb up an amusment park tower and take shelter in the look out room. I followed her up there and shortly behind me the two bad agents. It was only once in the look out room that I discovered why the good agent/my wife went there. She had a parachute and as soon as I arrived she did a platform dive to safety. The bad guys did not see this escape and thus they assumed that I was their target. I, however, could not jump out, and climbing back down would mean that I had to pass the baddies. So I waited and subsequently got shot a lot.

Some people assume that if you die in your dreams you die in reality. The theory is that your brain will not know how to deal with it's own demise and so it was shut down. I think this is a bunch of whoey. I mean seriously? We probably all die in our dreams over and over and over again. We just start new dreams and the old one is forgotten. I know I do. My brain treats it like a video game. If I did the dream skips back to a place earlier in the dream. Or sometimes I wake up.

Anyway, I kept skipping back to the place where Rebecca jumps out of the tower and I'm left to defend myself against the bad guys. So naturally I kept dying. It was rather frustrating. Finally I woke up, but I instantly fell back asleep. Only this time the game was reset and instead of climbing up the tower I learned it was my parents who had hired the hit men in an effort to stop my wife from interfering with the sale of the land we were chasing each other around on. But now the sale was final and we could all go out to dinner. So we did.

Tom Hanks did not show.

I shook the wrong can.

I shook the wrong can. I'm one of the few people I know that actually likes the original V8 juice. It comes in an aluminum can and you have to shake it pretty vigorously if you want to loosen the veggie sludge at the bottom of the can. That's where the good nutrients are hiding.

I don't normally get much more than a V8 and a granola bar from the snack bar on Mondays because the fruit guy is here and I'll get a banana and maybe something else from him. But today I also got a Cherry Coke Zero. Not delicious, but calorie free.

I might as well have gotten a regular Cherry Coke because I'd have ingested the same amount of calories.

See, you don't just shake a V8 can - you have to shake it vigorously. And for a while. And I typically open it as soon as I'm done shaking.

So now I'm cleaning an eruption of coke zero from just about everything in my office.

Garlic

This floor of my office building has the subtle smell of garlic; as if someone cooked a microwave Italian meal and then decided there wasn't enough garlic so they added a clove or two of their own.

It's actually strong enough that my eyes are watering.

I think there are some people who work here who have no sense of smell, or maybe a very weak one. It seems that in order to appreciate the flavors of foods they have to be super charged and over powering. About once a month this olfactory-disabled person has fish for lunch. One year it was so bad that the Commissioner actually sent out a letter banning fish. But that has passed into oblivion and now the fish are returning. Let us hope that our nose-lite person does not get it in his/her head that s/he wants garlic fish.

Zombies

How does a zombie know at what point to stop eating it's victim?

Here are the facts:

Indisputable Fact 1. You never see two zombies attacking each other. They can attack the living alone or in groups. But whenever they are in groups they are unified in their march toward the living. They never stop and say, "Hey, I'll attack this dead thing next to me."

Conclusion: Zombies do not like to eat zombies. Why? Is dead flesh somehow harmful to the undead? No one knows.

Indisputable Fact 2. A person who has been bitten or scratched by a zombie will eventually become a zombie, assuming there is enough of said person left to be a zombie.

Conclusion 2: If a zombie does not eat quickly his meal will become his companion.

So how does a zombie know when to stop eating his victim?

Seriously. If you know, I'm interested.



Person cum Zombie: Help! Help! Zombies! Everyone run!

Zombie: Uuuugh. Brains. Flesh. moan

Person cum Zombie: Oh my! Though they are slow and stupid I cannot seem to outrun them. Oh, for some reason I am running back towards the zombies. Oh, now I've fallen down.

Zombie: Uuuuhg. Flesh. Brains. groan

Person cum Zombie: Oh, I'm being eaten! It hurts. Ouch. He has eaten my arm and torn my new blouse. Oh my. Huge chunks of my hair are being pulled out. Now his teeth are crushing my skull. That really smarts.

Zombie: Uuuugh. Yum. gobble

Person cum Zombie: Uuuuugh. Hey, you're eating me. And I, like you, am a zombie.

Zombie: Uuuugh. Oh, how very rude of me. I beg your pardon. Zombie flesh is gross. moan

Time and Year

I've decided that I no longer wish to refer to the date and time by the overly simplistic human metrics. Hence will I refer to the time by the Age of the Universe. And my unit of measurement will be completed Universal Cycles.

The current time is 0.

Oh Ten, and the NAGG thought police

Ok, officially I don’t care. At least I didn’t.

I’d never have cared if you chose to say “Two thousand ten” or “Twenty-ten.” As far as reasonable and intelligible ways of pronouncing the year 2010 I think two thousand ten and twenty-ten are both acceptable.

And I would have continued to feel that way had someone not had the gumption to tell me that “you have to pronounce it twenty-ten.”

First of all, I don’t like anyone telling me what I have to do. I have a hard enough time stomaching when someone tells me I’ve spelled a word wrong, or made a grammatical error – even when they are right. Those things are at least provable one way or the other. But telling me that I have to pronounce a number this way instead of that is just down-right asinine; especially when your reasoning is that “it doesn’t sound good.”

So who really cares how you say it anyway?

Well, apparently the NAGG cares; the National Association of Good Grammar. If that sounds like a made up association that’s because it is. It’s just some douche and his friends who like to point out when they think people have made a grammatical error. And they have arbitrarily decided that “two thousand ten” sounds bad.

The NAGG’s founder, Tom Torriglia, has argued that the reason you don’t say “two thousand ten” is because you didn’t say “one thousand nine hundred ninety nine” before two thousand.

Well, so the f* what? I did say “two thousand nine” all last year. And “two thousand eight” the year before that. And I have heard people say, “nineteen hundred ninety nine.” Though it did sound somewhat arcane, it was intelligible. And I’d never have dared to tell them that they were pronouncing the year wrong.

And since when does how you pronounce words have anything to do with grammar. Since never. Which, incidentally, is pronounced “neh-vrr.” Or you could go with “not-hundred and ever.”

I was going to make the argument that in a country with free speech no one should ever tell me what I can and cannot say. But then I realized that I would be telling someone what they could not say. Which would be ironic.

So, Mr. Torriglia, and your NAGG ilk, bitch all you want about me pronouncing 2010 as “two thousand ten”

It sounds good to me.