I don't have anything to share, but I've had a delicious morning of laying around in an empty house in sweats and slippers drinking coffee. May not sound like much to some, but lately I've rarely had the chance to indulge in this, and it's been...heavenly. Anyway, saw this comedian this morning. Now, comedy is a subjective thing, and I can appreciate this. However, people rarely strike me as funny, and it's a rare comedian who does. Louis CK (my fave) and Dave Attell are two I enjoy. This guy is named Lachlan Patterson. He made me laugh. He may make the list. Here's some clips. "Call me Swiffer..." Enjoy.
http://www.hulu.com/watch/72370/stand-up-at-candortv-lachlan-patterson
http://www.rooftopcomedy.com/watch/DeathByStairmaster
http://www.rooftopcomedy.com/watch/StupidQuestions1
http://www.rooftopcomedy.com/watch/TheInternetIsHuge
http://www.comedycentral.com/videos/index.jhtml?videoId=88033&title=lachlan-patterson-tv-warnings
Friday, November 6, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Why????
OK, I'll be brief. Spending a Friday night at home...mellow...some good music...and after the gym, I purchased some groceries to make myself a nice, homemade meal. So far, so good, right? Wrong. First, some quick background info: I love wax peppers and pepperoncini. LOVE. THEM. A. LOT. Also, I'm mildly OCD. Not out of control, but a little. Without going into gory detail, I have little rituals, things I cannot ignore, minor obsessions that can cause lack of sleep, etc. It doesn't dominate my life...but it is there. Now that you know this, back to the story...
So I'm making my meal, happy as a little clam, when I grab my BRAND NEW NEVER BEEN OPENED JUST PURCHASED 15 MINUTES AGO jar of wax pepper rings. I go to open the jar, all ready and excited to hear the little "burp" of the vacuum seal being broken and...the lid practically falls off as I put very little pressure on it. WTF??? Did somebody already open it? Is it poisoned? Does it contain a rampant botulism infection? WHY DID THE GODDAMN LID FALL OFF?????? I stare at my jar of peppers, their tangy vapors making me drool, and I cannot get over the whole loose lid issue. Why was the lid loose? Why was the lid loose? Why was the lid loose? I run through a thousand different scenarios that WOULD ALLOW ME TO EAT THE PEPPERS. I cannot sell myself on any of them, my OCD wins, and down the drain into the garbage disposal goes the peppers. I almost cried. Now, not getting my peppers is not the thrust of this story. That, in and of itself, is no big deal. The main focus of this story is this: I now have to check every jar of peppers at the grocery store for "lid tightness" prior to purchase. In fact, I may have to even check every jar regardless of product. My OCD demands it. This cannot ever happen again. EVER. And so, as if I didn't have enough shit in my cluttered, occasionally anxiety laden head, I now have to add "loose lid botulism poison" stress. And I have to ask the Universe, "Why?" Why are you doing this to me? Is a tight fucking lid too much to fucking ask????? I have enough things, ENOUGH THINGS, in my life to keep track of and obsess on (when's the last time I changed the baking soda box in the freezer? Whens the last time I checked my vehicles tire pressure? Does my furniture need polishing oil to keep the wood conditioned? What about the leather sofa? I noticed some moss on my roof...hows that affect the wood shingles...cant be good, thats for sure! etc. etc. etc.) and now were adding this. Fucking great and thank you. Oh, wait, see previous post...perhaps it's just a manifestation of Cosmic Piling On.
Anyways, there's your glimpse into the nightmare that is my head and its inner thoughts. Scary isn't it? Just try being me...
So I'm making my meal, happy as a little clam, when I grab my BRAND NEW NEVER BEEN OPENED JUST PURCHASED 15 MINUTES AGO jar of wax pepper rings. I go to open the jar, all ready and excited to hear the little "burp" of the vacuum seal being broken and...the lid practically falls off as I put very little pressure on it. WTF??? Did somebody already open it? Is it poisoned? Does it contain a rampant botulism infection? WHY DID THE GODDAMN LID FALL OFF?????? I stare at my jar of peppers, their tangy vapors making me drool, and I cannot get over the whole loose lid issue. Why was the lid loose? Why was the lid loose? Why was the lid loose? I run through a thousand different scenarios that WOULD ALLOW ME TO EAT THE PEPPERS. I cannot sell myself on any of them, my OCD wins, and down the drain into the garbage disposal goes the peppers. I almost cried. Now, not getting my peppers is not the thrust of this story. That, in and of itself, is no big deal. The main focus of this story is this: I now have to check every jar of peppers at the grocery store for "lid tightness" prior to purchase. In fact, I may have to even check every jar regardless of product. My OCD demands it. This cannot ever happen again. EVER. And so, as if I didn't have enough shit in my cluttered, occasionally anxiety laden head, I now have to add "loose lid botulism poison" stress. And I have to ask the Universe, "Why?" Why are you doing this to me? Is a tight fucking lid too much to fucking ask????? I have enough things, ENOUGH THINGS, in my life to keep track of and obsess on (when's the last time I changed the baking soda box in the freezer? Whens the last time I checked my vehicles tire pressure? Does my furniture need polishing oil to keep the wood conditioned? What about the leather sofa? I noticed some moss on my roof...hows that affect the wood shingles...cant be good, thats for sure! etc. etc. etc.) and now were adding this. Fucking great and thank you. Oh, wait, see previous post...perhaps it's just a manifestation of Cosmic Piling On.
Anyways, there's your glimpse into the nightmare that is my head and its inner thoughts. Scary isn't it? Just try being me...
Friday, October 23, 2009
Time Suckers and Cosmic Piling On
OK, so I'm kind of a geek when it comes to all things the Universe, and the physics and physical laws behind what makes the Universe tick. This stuff fascinates me. The fact that it interests NOT A SINGLE OTHER PERSON I KNOW has not cooled my ardor one bit. This knowledge has no practical application to my life, and it is a conversational buzz kill at parties. DOESN'T MATTER. I forge ahead anyway with my thirst for this stuff despite the awkward social encounters it brings into my life, such as this:"So you're in accounting? Really? Aren't numbers interesting? Math doesn't lie, does it? Newton's Inverse Square law applies unwaveringly to gravitation, radiation, electromagnetism..." OK, at about this point what I usually hear is either the thuds of people hitting the ground due to the immediate onset of spontaneous narcolepsy; the sloshing of flammable fluids being poured over their bodies as they beg anybody, please, for the love of god, for a match and/or lighter to put them out of their misery; or the simple blinking of eyes as they stare at me thinking "Who is this guy and what the hell is he talking about? Newton? Isn't that a cookie? Why the fuck is he talking about cookies? Is he fond of cookies? I mean, we all like cookies...but dude, give it a rest....yes I know Newton's are square, but it's not by law....oh please...make him stop!"*** Anywhoo, you get the idea.
Anyway, I had a rather animated conversation the other night with somebody who I seem to usually have animated conversations with, and as we talked about a wide and varied range of subjects, a lot of which was about how people suck and what a complete waste of time most people are, I came up with two new immutable laws of physics as a result of our like minded rehashing of just how lame people, and the world in general, can be:
New Universal Physical Law Number One: "Time Suckers"
A Time Sucker is a terrifying truth of the universe around us. Much like a black hole, if you circulate around long enough, you are bound to fall into the irresistible gravitational pull of a Time Sucker. Although a black hole will do you the favor of stretching you out and spaghettifying you to the mere width of the subatomic particles you are made of before compressing you into a singularity and putting you out of your misery, a Time Sucker will do you no such favors. As a Time Sucker talks to you, you'll find yourself frantically glancing at your watch wondering when will it end, and a fear sets in that it wont. Infinity stretches out before you, and your fear of death disappears because death now seems but a pleasureable dream compared to this person going on about their children or their battles with an intestinal disorder. You now grasp concepts like religious limbo and what it feels like to have a phantom brain aneurysm, and still it goes on. Time is NOT ELAPSING, for if it did, it would eventually end. But its not, its being SUCKED FROM YOU and there is no "time". There is only this, the Time Sucker in front of you and infinity without end, and you begin to lament how you wasted your life and how much you desire just to be back at your desk pounding out TPS reports.
The Time Sucker is not just a talker though. Oh, no no no. They are a listener. The poorest one in the Universe. They are the living proof of the Second Law of Thermodynamics, and their entropic state is proven by their inability to understand jokes, concepts, thoughts, feelings, or pretty much anything. And the more you explain, the LESS THEY UNDERSTAND. As you try to get them to understand your joke, feeling, or thought, you feel the agony of the infinite emptiness enveloping you, and time is being sucked away, there is no end, and you'll never have your life back in the way it was before. Your life is now just a little more sad, empty, frustrating, and filled with ennui due to this encounter. You think perhaps leaping out of the 5th floor window you're on might bring quick relief, but sadly, the fear you may survive and have to endure a visit from a Time Sucker as you lay immobilized in traction with a shattered spine and pelvis with no means of escape keeps you paralyzed in place. And as your head throbs, kidneys ache, and stomach churns, you, ONCE AGAIN try and explain why the Dilbert cartoon was, in fact, funny. "No, you see, the reason why it's funny is because the pointy haired boss ISN'T competent...in fact, he's quite stupid, so the advice he's giving would have the OPPOSITE effect of being useful.....sigh. Hey, what floor we on? Fifth, right? Isn't your office above a hard paved parking lot? Is that window locked? Just curious....what? No, see, the one with the funny tie and short sleeved shirt is the COMPETENT one....that's why its funny, because he's not in charge.....ummmm, got any gasoline? Maybe a match?"
New Universal Law Number Two: "Cosmic Piling On"
Many a philosopher and cosmologist has pondered the nature of the Universe. Is it a random accident? Or is it divinely inspired? You know what? I dunno. But I DO KNOW the Universe is a bitch, and hence the new Universal Law of Cosmic Piling On. Simply put, when shit happens, and it seems like it can't get any worse, it will, to the point of actual comedy as you look at the shit piling up around you. Have you ever noticed this? It's not like life goes this way: "Oh, look at that? A shitty thing just happened to me. That's too bad. Well, good thing everything else is wonderful and this lottery ticket I just scratched is worth 75K." No, life doesn't work like that. It works like this: "Oh, will you look at that? A shitty thing just happened to me. Oh, that's ok because....hey, why won't my car start? And has my fly been open ALL DAY LONG without anybody saying anything? Why is my mom calling me? Why isn't the gas pump taking my card? I don't have enough gas to get home....and not that that matters because I just locked my keys in the car...and I have to REALLY USE THE BATHROOM but the rest room here looks like a bowl of chili exploded in it..." Etc. The Universe gets kicks out of just "piling on" until you give up and laugh in slightly demented hysterics. Then, if you're lucky, maybe it will find somebody else to pick on if it sees you're no longer any fun to "pile on".
Well, there you go. My new Universal Physical Laws. I don't know if they'll make the new physics books, but I'd say they're as constant as gravity and staining the new shirt you just wore for the first time with an overly juicy lunch time food item (tacos are good for this...perhaps I'll form a postulate for a Taco Law).
***The reason why I am not a Time Sucker is I can sense when I have crossed a line, and then I'll switch the conversation to sports (guys) or shoes (women).
Anyway, I had a rather animated conversation the other night with somebody who I seem to usually have animated conversations with, and as we talked about a wide and varied range of subjects, a lot of which was about how people suck and what a complete waste of time most people are, I came up with two new immutable laws of physics as a result of our like minded rehashing of just how lame people, and the world in general, can be:
New Universal Physical Law Number One: "Time Suckers"
A Time Sucker is a terrifying truth of the universe around us. Much like a black hole, if you circulate around long enough, you are bound to fall into the irresistible gravitational pull of a Time Sucker. Although a black hole will do you the favor of stretching you out and spaghettifying you to the mere width of the subatomic particles you are made of before compressing you into a singularity and putting you out of your misery, a Time Sucker will do you no such favors. As a Time Sucker talks to you, you'll find yourself frantically glancing at your watch wondering when will it end, and a fear sets in that it wont. Infinity stretches out before you, and your fear of death disappears because death now seems but a pleasureable dream compared to this person going on about their children or their battles with an intestinal disorder. You now grasp concepts like religious limbo and what it feels like to have a phantom brain aneurysm, and still it goes on. Time is NOT ELAPSING, for if it did, it would eventually end. But its not, its being SUCKED FROM YOU and there is no "time". There is only this, the Time Sucker in front of you and infinity without end, and you begin to lament how you wasted your life and how much you desire just to be back at your desk pounding out TPS reports.
The Time Sucker is not just a talker though. Oh, no no no. They are a listener. The poorest one in the Universe. They are the living proof of the Second Law of Thermodynamics, and their entropic state is proven by their inability to understand jokes, concepts, thoughts, feelings, or pretty much anything. And the more you explain, the LESS THEY UNDERSTAND. As you try to get them to understand your joke, feeling, or thought, you feel the agony of the infinite emptiness enveloping you, and time is being sucked away, there is no end, and you'll never have your life back in the way it was before. Your life is now just a little more sad, empty, frustrating, and filled with ennui due to this encounter. You think perhaps leaping out of the 5th floor window you're on might bring quick relief, but sadly, the fear you may survive and have to endure a visit from a Time Sucker as you lay immobilized in traction with a shattered spine and pelvis with no means of escape keeps you paralyzed in place. And as your head throbs, kidneys ache, and stomach churns, you, ONCE AGAIN try and explain why the Dilbert cartoon was, in fact, funny. "No, you see, the reason why it's funny is because the pointy haired boss ISN'T competent...in fact, he's quite stupid, so the advice he's giving would have the OPPOSITE effect of being useful.....sigh. Hey, what floor we on? Fifth, right? Isn't your office above a hard paved parking lot? Is that window locked? Just curious....what? No, see, the one with the funny tie and short sleeved shirt is the COMPETENT one....that's why its funny, because he's not in charge.....ummmm, got any gasoline? Maybe a match?"
New Universal Law Number Two: "Cosmic Piling On"
Many a philosopher and cosmologist has pondered the nature of the Universe. Is it a random accident? Or is it divinely inspired? You know what? I dunno. But I DO KNOW the Universe is a bitch, and hence the new Universal Law of Cosmic Piling On. Simply put, when shit happens, and it seems like it can't get any worse, it will, to the point of actual comedy as you look at the shit piling up around you. Have you ever noticed this? It's not like life goes this way: "Oh, look at that? A shitty thing just happened to me. That's too bad. Well, good thing everything else is wonderful and this lottery ticket I just scratched is worth 75K." No, life doesn't work like that. It works like this: "Oh, will you look at that? A shitty thing just happened to me. Oh, that's ok because....hey, why won't my car start? And has my fly been open ALL DAY LONG without anybody saying anything? Why is my mom calling me? Why isn't the gas pump taking my card? I don't have enough gas to get home....and not that that matters because I just locked my keys in the car...and I have to REALLY USE THE BATHROOM but the rest room here looks like a bowl of chili exploded in it..." Etc. The Universe gets kicks out of just "piling on" until you give up and laugh in slightly demented hysterics. Then, if you're lucky, maybe it will find somebody else to pick on if it sees you're no longer any fun to "pile on".
Well, there you go. My new Universal Physical Laws. I don't know if they'll make the new physics books, but I'd say they're as constant as gravity and staining the new shirt you just wore for the first time with an overly juicy lunch time food item (tacos are good for this...perhaps I'll form a postulate for a Taco Law).
***The reason why I am not a Time Sucker is I can sense when I have crossed a line, and then I'll switch the conversation to sports (guys) or shoes (women).
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Pet Peeves
Well, I haven't had a blog in a while where I vented a good bitch or two. So, in order to preserve the calm mental state I have been enjoying as of late, I'm going to purge a few things here:
1) Work place refrigerator cola thieves-I about blew a gasket the other day as a result of this. At 6pm I had put not one, but TWO cans of Coke in the office refrigerator. At 10pm, deciding that a frosty, caffeinated beverage would hit the spot, I go to the fridge and....hmmmmmm, where's my soda? Must be behind this guys burrito....no....oh, it's behind the macaroni salad.....no....WTF??? Ordinarily, I would let this go as maybe a one shot mistake. But this is the fourth time this has happened, and it was TWO COKES that were pilfered from the refrigerator. My question is this: WHAT KIND OF SOCIOPATH DOES THIS????? How do you open a refrigerator, see beverages and other food stuffs in there that are CLEARLY NOT YOURS, and take them? Do you have the following conversation in your head:"I know I didn't put those sodas in there, and I didn't pay for them, but since I'm the only person in the universe and my narcissism knows no limits, they were clearly put there for my sole enjoyment." How do you STEAL something and not give it another thought? Or are you still in some sort of childlike state where you think magical office refrigerator gnomes lovingly restock the refrigerator with your favorite food items? Or are you the same type of person who tortures small animals, doesn't give a shit, and is one step away from being a thrill kill serial murderer? Yes, that's right, I just equated a soda snatcher with Jeffrey Dahmer. And yes, I think a person who can continually steal foodstuffs from a community refrigerator is as equally disturbed,and they need to be removed from society...or at least castrated. Want to know what the kicker is? The kicker is this: right next to the refrigerator is a SODA MACHINE. Can of Coke? 65 cents. It would seem a small price to pay for a clean conscience, wouldn't it? Oh, that's right...a sociopath has no conscience, which is precisely my point about these people.
2) Putting me on hold when you're the one who called me in the first place-if you take the time out of your busy day to call me just to say hello, I'm touched and appreciate the gesture. If you take the time out of your busy day to call me just to put me on hold after two seconds because the person you really wanted/needed to talk to called you back, I would feel no guilt if your mobile phone instantly gave you a brain tumor. If you're going to call me, please make sure you can devote at least 3-5 minutes to a conversation. All kind meaning taken from a phone call turns into a steaming pile if you reach out to me just to blow me off. "Hey John, how 'ya doing? Just thought I'd give you a call to let you know you're not worth talking to. Ciao!" What a dick move. My promise to you is if you call me, no matter how busy I am, I will stop what I'm doing and make a few minutes for you. I wasn't always like that, and I used to be kind of an ass if you called me and I was busy, like if I was cleaning my pool I'd act all shitty if I was interrupted. But I have grown and learned I was being a bit of a jerk. If I am legitimately super busy, I will immediately tell you I'll have to call you back, which I will do, usually pretty promptly. It would be nice if others learned that same lesson.
3) SUV's and speed bumps-so you're the type of person who drives a 36,000 pound SUV with an all terrain suspension of an M1A1 Abrahms front line battle tank, and yet, for some reason, you feel the need to slow down to .0000000001 MPH for a six inch speed bump. In fact, if you're this type of person, your favorite move is this one: make a left turn into a parking lot off of a busy street, and I follow right behind you. As you enter the parking lot, you notice there's that deadly speed bump directly ahead, and despite your behemoth of a vehicle being equipped with the "V8 mountain crushing deforestation package with brush guards, winch, and small woodland creature killing studded tires", you immediately slam on your brakes in order to negotiate this Mt. Everest in front of you. Since I'm behind you, this of course hangs me out to dry in the oncoming lane of traffic, so I can take a broadside hit from a distracted, mouth breathing, high speed teenager in a 1983 Corolla who is yakking on their cell phone and looking down trying to find the remnants of the joint they've just dropped. Clearly, if you're this person, you have merely purchased this freighter sized vehicle because you're a douche bag. OK, that wasn't fair...you could just be merely retarded. My apologies.
4) Old people in economy cars-back in the day, old people drove cars like 700 horsepower Cadillacs and Lincolns. Now matter how slow they WANTED to drive, these cars had so much asphalt shredding power that the simple act of just lifting your foot off of the brake pedal resulted in a 0-60 mph time of 3.8 seconds. Now? Now old people drive the 22 horsepower Prius and Yaris. These vehicles, from what I have seen, appear to have a built in safety measure that once you hit the gas pedal, there's a 45 second delay before the car actually accelerates forward. Couple this delay with the typical octogenarians reaction time as a red light turns to green (approximately 25 minutes), and you can now see why our commutes are getting slower and slower. So, because of this, I'm thinking we petition the government to provide senior citizens with 500 horsepower Shelby Mustangs or Chevrolet Corvettes. It will help out the American auto manufacturer, AND shave ten minutes off of my commute. It's a win-win.
OK, thanks for letting me rant a little bit. I now feel centered again, and the universe, once again, makes sense...except for my inability to locate a dark chocolate peanut butter cup in any Fresno area grocery store. That makes no sense at all.
1) Work place refrigerator cola thieves-I about blew a gasket the other day as a result of this. At 6pm I had put not one, but TWO cans of Coke in the office refrigerator. At 10pm, deciding that a frosty, caffeinated beverage would hit the spot, I go to the fridge and....hmmmmmm, where's my soda? Must be behind this guys burrito....no....oh, it's behind the macaroni salad.....no....WTF??? Ordinarily, I would let this go as maybe a one shot mistake. But this is the fourth time this has happened, and it was TWO COKES that were pilfered from the refrigerator. My question is this: WHAT KIND OF SOCIOPATH DOES THIS????? How do you open a refrigerator, see beverages and other food stuffs in there that are CLEARLY NOT YOURS, and take them? Do you have the following conversation in your head:"I know I didn't put those sodas in there, and I didn't pay for them, but since I'm the only person in the universe and my narcissism knows no limits, they were clearly put there for my sole enjoyment." How do you STEAL something and not give it another thought? Or are you still in some sort of childlike state where you think magical office refrigerator gnomes lovingly restock the refrigerator with your favorite food items? Or are you the same type of person who tortures small animals, doesn't give a shit, and is one step away from being a thrill kill serial murderer? Yes, that's right, I just equated a soda snatcher with Jeffrey Dahmer. And yes, I think a person who can continually steal foodstuffs from a community refrigerator is as equally disturbed,and they need to be removed from society...or at least castrated. Want to know what the kicker is? The kicker is this: right next to the refrigerator is a SODA MACHINE. Can of Coke? 65 cents. It would seem a small price to pay for a clean conscience, wouldn't it? Oh, that's right...a sociopath has no conscience, which is precisely my point about these people.
2) Putting me on hold when you're the one who called me in the first place-if you take the time out of your busy day to call me just to say hello, I'm touched and appreciate the gesture. If you take the time out of your busy day to call me just to put me on hold after two seconds because the person you really wanted/needed to talk to called you back, I would feel no guilt if your mobile phone instantly gave you a brain tumor. If you're going to call me, please make sure you can devote at least 3-5 minutes to a conversation. All kind meaning taken from a phone call turns into a steaming pile if you reach out to me just to blow me off. "Hey John, how 'ya doing? Just thought I'd give you a call to let you know you're not worth talking to. Ciao!" What a dick move. My promise to you is if you call me, no matter how busy I am, I will stop what I'm doing and make a few minutes for you. I wasn't always like that, and I used to be kind of an ass if you called me and I was busy, like if I was cleaning my pool I'd act all shitty if I was interrupted. But I have grown and learned I was being a bit of a jerk. If I am legitimately super busy, I will immediately tell you I'll have to call you back, which I will do, usually pretty promptly. It would be nice if others learned that same lesson.
3) SUV's and speed bumps-so you're the type of person who drives a 36,000 pound SUV with an all terrain suspension of an M1A1 Abrahms front line battle tank, and yet, for some reason, you feel the need to slow down to .0000000001 MPH for a six inch speed bump. In fact, if you're this type of person, your favorite move is this one: make a left turn into a parking lot off of a busy street, and I follow right behind you. As you enter the parking lot, you notice there's that deadly speed bump directly ahead, and despite your behemoth of a vehicle being equipped with the "V8 mountain crushing deforestation package with brush guards, winch, and small woodland creature killing studded tires", you immediately slam on your brakes in order to negotiate this Mt. Everest in front of you. Since I'm behind you, this of course hangs me out to dry in the oncoming lane of traffic, so I can take a broadside hit from a distracted, mouth breathing, high speed teenager in a 1983 Corolla who is yakking on their cell phone and looking down trying to find the remnants of the joint they've just dropped. Clearly, if you're this person, you have merely purchased this freighter sized vehicle because you're a douche bag. OK, that wasn't fair...you could just be merely retarded. My apologies.
4) Old people in economy cars-back in the day, old people drove cars like 700 horsepower Cadillacs and Lincolns. Now matter how slow they WANTED to drive, these cars had so much asphalt shredding power that the simple act of just lifting your foot off of the brake pedal resulted in a 0-60 mph time of 3.8 seconds. Now? Now old people drive the 22 horsepower Prius and Yaris. These vehicles, from what I have seen, appear to have a built in safety measure that once you hit the gas pedal, there's a 45 second delay before the car actually accelerates forward. Couple this delay with the typical octogenarians reaction time as a red light turns to green (approximately 25 minutes), and you can now see why our commutes are getting slower and slower. So, because of this, I'm thinking we petition the government to provide senior citizens with 500 horsepower Shelby Mustangs or Chevrolet Corvettes. It will help out the American auto manufacturer, AND shave ten minutes off of my commute. It's a win-win.
OK, thanks for letting me rant a little bit. I now feel centered again, and the universe, once again, makes sense...except for my inability to locate a dark chocolate peanut butter cup in any Fresno area grocery store. That makes no sense at all.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Shoelaces
Yes. That's right. Shoelaces. Let's talk about them, shall we? I recently went to go buy a new pair of tennis shoes. Walked right into the first store I went to, found the pair I was looking for in the approximate right size and color, and decided to try them on. Sounds like a relatively low stress encounter so far, right? It was...easy. Too easy. Normally, life works in a way that requires you arduously shop to find the one product you want. You know...five hours and twenty dollars worth of gas just buy a forty dollar item. That's just how life...and more specifically shopping...works. So I should have been suspicious, and had my guard up. But I didn't, and I was suckered right in.
So I pop a shoe out of the box and try it on. It seems a little loose, but it's only laced halfway up, so all I have to do is lace it all the way up and see what the true fit is. So here we go and...what the hell? I was now looking at some sort of diabolical lacing method I have never seen. Now, I am a relatively intelligent fellow, so I'll just momentarily study the lacing pattern and...shit. I got it wrong. Somehow I did THE OPPOSITE of the lacing pattern. I study it some more and have the following thought: Why in the hell do we need a creative way to lace our shoes???? We've been lacing shoes perfectly fine for hundreds of years, and then one day some unemployed pot head decided "No way bro....I ain't gonna lace my shoes like the man. I'm going to be DIFFERENT. I'm going to be COOL. Rather than get an actual job, I'm going to make it my life's work to find a way to lace a shoe only a nineteen year old Cheeto, Halo, and Slurpee addict can comprehend." It all started back in the day with Doc Marten's and their "non-crossing tuck the lace in" thing to the current Chuck Taylor "candy stripe one direction voodoo" technique I was struggling with. And my thing is "Why?" Has anybody looked at someones shoes and said, "You know, I was beginning to think you're a total douche bag...but then I noticed your shoelaces. Nice incomprehensible pattern man. You are clearly a man of impeccable taste and high moral fiber. To you sir, I say, huzzah!" I'm thinking this probably hasn't occurred recently. Perhaps it's a calling card to others...you know, like a secret handshake? Two greasy haired weed huffers cross paths in the street and glance at the others shoes, and they JUST KNOW. Halo, Cheetos, Slurpees, weed. They then slyly and knowingly give each other a little nod and utter a "dude" and continue on their way...to 7-11 with $4.87 in their pocket they stole out of their mom's purse.
Needless to say, I yanked the lace out and re-laced it in a manner I understand, which is to say, the way I've been lacing my shoes since I was old enough to wear them. I don't mind not being the cutting edge of cool. I'm OK with it. My laces say something about me too. They say the following: "I have a job. I have responsibilities and obligations. I'm busy. I've got important life shit on my mind. My time is FAR TOO IMPORTANT to spend more than one nanosecond....wait, even one nanosecond would be too much...on thinking about new, exciting, and creative ways to lace my shoes. Oh...and put down the doob and the X-Box controller, and move out of mom's basement, you wanna be pathetic hipster twit."
So, there you go. Proof positive that I can find the absurdity and drama in almost anything...including shoe laces. Perhaps next time I'll share my thoughts on "non-screw top you need a bottle opener" beer bottles that frequently result in bloody finger tips and palms, damaged furniture corners, broken glass, the ingestion of small pieces of said broken glass, and the sudden over popularity of the one alcoholic that showed up with a bottle opener on his key chain.
So I pop a shoe out of the box and try it on. It seems a little loose, but it's only laced halfway up, so all I have to do is lace it all the way up and see what the true fit is. So here we go and...what the hell? I was now looking at some sort of diabolical lacing method I have never seen. Now, I am a relatively intelligent fellow, so I'll just momentarily study the lacing pattern and...shit. I got it wrong. Somehow I did THE OPPOSITE of the lacing pattern. I study it some more and have the following thought: Why in the hell do we need a creative way to lace our shoes???? We've been lacing shoes perfectly fine for hundreds of years, and then one day some unemployed pot head decided "No way bro....I ain't gonna lace my shoes like the man. I'm going to be DIFFERENT. I'm going to be COOL. Rather than get an actual job, I'm going to make it my life's work to find a way to lace a shoe only a nineteen year old Cheeto, Halo, and Slurpee addict can comprehend." It all started back in the day with Doc Marten's and their "non-crossing tuck the lace in" thing to the current Chuck Taylor "candy stripe one direction voodoo" technique I was struggling with. And my thing is "Why?" Has anybody looked at someones shoes and said, "You know, I was beginning to think you're a total douche bag...but then I noticed your shoelaces. Nice incomprehensible pattern man. You are clearly a man of impeccable taste and high moral fiber. To you sir, I say, huzzah!" I'm thinking this probably hasn't occurred recently. Perhaps it's a calling card to others...you know, like a secret handshake? Two greasy haired weed huffers cross paths in the street and glance at the others shoes, and they JUST KNOW. Halo, Cheetos, Slurpees, weed. They then slyly and knowingly give each other a little nod and utter a "dude" and continue on their way...to 7-11 with $4.87 in their pocket they stole out of their mom's purse.
Needless to say, I yanked the lace out and re-laced it in a manner I understand, which is to say, the way I've been lacing my shoes since I was old enough to wear them. I don't mind not being the cutting edge of cool. I'm OK with it. My laces say something about me too. They say the following: "I have a job. I have responsibilities and obligations. I'm busy. I've got important life shit on my mind. My time is FAR TOO IMPORTANT to spend more than one nanosecond....wait, even one nanosecond would be too much...on thinking about new, exciting, and creative ways to lace my shoes. Oh...and put down the doob and the X-Box controller, and move out of mom's basement, you wanna be pathetic hipster twit."
So, there you go. Proof positive that I can find the absurdity and drama in almost anything...including shoe laces. Perhaps next time I'll share my thoughts on "non-screw top you need a bottle opener" beer bottles that frequently result in bloody finger tips and palms, damaged furniture corners, broken glass, the ingestion of small pieces of said broken glass, and the sudden over popularity of the one alcoholic that showed up with a bottle opener on his key chain.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Why I Hate Cats
I came home Friday morning to discover that a sprinkler in my back yard had broken and flooded out a small patch of the flower bed next to the pool. This minor flood streamed across the concrete deck to the fence line. As a result of this proof of entropy ruling the Universe, there was a patch of silt deposited on the concrete deck next to the pool pump. This patch of dirt was approximately six inches long and six inches wide, and about one quarter of an inch deep. This small patch of dirt is surrounded by hundreds of square feet of concrete pool decking. It was a small dirt island in the middle of a concrete sea, and it hadn't existed for more than 24 hrs. And guess what? A cat crapped right in the middle of it. Apparently, somehow, the word got out that there was a BRAND SPANKING NEW NEVER BEEN CRAPPED IN PATCH OF DIRT in the neighborhood. Never mind that it wasn't much bigger than a DVD case...it was there, all pristine and un-crapped upon, and well, the neighborhood kitties couldn't have that. In fact, Im sure upon the very creation of this virginal patch of earth, a subatomic particle ray was dispersed causing kitty sphincters all across the neighborhood to spasm. As a result of this call to arms, the hunt for this version of the feline El Dorado was on. Well, one of them found it almost immediately, and before you could say fucking "presto!", took a dump on it. Can somebody again explain to me why we tolerate cats?
Monday, August 31, 2009
Golden Showers, Eyeball Juice, Bathroom Etiquette, and Ticket Prices
Today I went to the movies and saw Inglorious Basterds. Excellent movie. Some of the violence might turn some people off, but if you like Tarantino like I do, you will love it. Anyway, my trip to the bathroom urinal once again reminded me why I love the summertime. Unlike in the wintertime, when I have to go to Chinatown and pay $20 dollars American to get some street corner walking, desperate, methamphetamine riddled tweeker who has not slept in five days, to pee on me, in the summer, all I have to do is wear a pair of flip flops and visit the bathroom. There, for absolutely free, somebody who has apparently shotgunned a 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon, three Venti lattes, and a 32 ounce Dasani within the last 15 minutes, will happily urinate on my foot for free. Let me tell you, there is no more refreshing feeling than the cool, misty sensation of a a light rain shower coming from your left and descending on the arch of your foot and on your shin. Thank goodness this guy didn't bother taking the other open urinals further to the left and decided to get nice and cozy by choosing the one right next to me. And that's another thing. Who doesn't know bathroom etiquette? You never, EVER, take a urinal right next to somebody unless you have to. It's a universal, fundamental law (in fact, I think Einstein somehow worked this constant into his theory of general relativity). If you're desperate to see my privates, can't you be like everybody else and at least buy me a drink first before you sidle up next to me and dive right into peeing on me? I mean, normally the Golden Shower is something you work up to after your marriage has gotten boring, right? It's a helluva a gutsy move to break the ice with.
On the other hand, there's the other bathroom extreme I encountered as well...and that's the folks with the extreme urinal fear. The type of people require a stall just for the simplest of bathroom needs. Without going into any nasty detail, let's just say I had the misfortune of needing a plumbing fixture other than a urinal. Like, quickly. So I go to the bathroom and every single stall is occupied. But, oddly enough, all the urinals are free. So, being the curious sort, I peek under the doors and see that everybody is standing to take care of business. I need to sit, 'ya know? A urinal is not going to cut it for me. And here is a bunch of "men", and I use that term loosely, too afraid to hang it out at a urinal. Come on people. If you're THAT ASHAMED/EMBARRASSED to use a urinal, you have no business using a public restroom, maybe no business even being in public at all for that matter. I'm having some distress here, and you're in there dealing with some sort of body shame your momma gave you when she caught you with your dads Playboy when your were 11 yrs. old. Anyhow, somebody eventually vacated, and I made it in the nick of time. My advice to the urinal-phobic? Next time you go out, leave the stalls open for those who truly need them, and you can prepare for this in the following manner: avoid all liquids 8 hrs. before going out; eat an entire bag of vinegar and salt potato chips for breakfast; go for a run in the heat of midday; and enjoy some MSG laden take-out Chinese prior to beginning your evening on the town. That should get you so dried out you won't have to urinate for a week. Sure, you may experience renal failure and go blind, but hey, you won't have to deal with the bathroom...and the stalls will be available for emergency use only.
Does anybody know what gnats eat? Me either. Anybody know what sort of pheromones gnats give off in order to attract a mate? Me either. But whatever it is, it must be very similar to the human tears that keep our eyes moist. I went for a jog tonight and I could clearly see little clouds of gnats about 5 to 5 1/2 feet off of the ground. And yet, as I ran by, they would elevate (I'm 6"1") and kamikaze themselves in a death plunge right into my ocular cavity. It is somewhat distracting to be plucking miniature flying creatures from your eyeball as you attempt to stave off death by staying somewhat fit. This happened like 300 times as I ran tonight (ok, it was more like four...but still). I must have looked like the Bi-Polar Express as I ran around the lake because it looked like I was alternately weeping uncontrollably and furiously rubbing my eyes, and then I would look perfectly calm and sedate 5 seconds later. Oh well. I'm the weird neighbor up until 4 or 5 am everyday anyway, so they probably already think I'm unhinged.
Finally, ticket prices. Bought some tickets tonight online. There was a $1.75 per ticket handling fee, and a $2.00 per ticket delivery fee. OK. Handling fee? Delivery fee? The tickets are being held in WILL CALL!!! They're not being delivered anywhere!!!! I have to burn my own gas and get them myself!!!!! WTF???? Handling fee? THEY WERE PURCHASED ONLINE. Nobody handled them! Even better, they were purchased directly from the event box office, where the tickets are kept ANYWAYS. How stupid do they think we are? "Look! The tickets are only $16! They're running a special...let's get some!!!" Well, no. The tickets are actually $19.75. But I'm guessing in this time of economic strife they figure by not advertising the extra $3.75, the folks will come a runnin'. Whatever. Just treat me like an adult and tell me the tickets are basically $20. I'd respect you a helluva lot more if you did. This weak ass attempt at manipulating the consumer with this sort of ham fisted Jedi Mind Trick (These are not the prices you're looking for...) is patently offensive. Can't we just be straight with each other and be honest? I mean, it's not like we're married for crying out loud (bada bing!)
On the other hand, there's the other bathroom extreme I encountered as well...and that's the folks with the extreme urinal fear. The type of people require a stall just for the simplest of bathroom needs. Without going into any nasty detail, let's just say I had the misfortune of needing a plumbing fixture other than a urinal. Like, quickly. So I go to the bathroom and every single stall is occupied. But, oddly enough, all the urinals are free. So, being the curious sort, I peek under the doors and see that everybody is standing to take care of business. I need to sit, 'ya know? A urinal is not going to cut it for me. And here is a bunch of "men", and I use that term loosely, too afraid to hang it out at a urinal. Come on people. If you're THAT ASHAMED/EMBARRASSED to use a urinal, you have no business using a public restroom, maybe no business even being in public at all for that matter. I'm having some distress here, and you're in there dealing with some sort of body shame your momma gave you when she caught you with your dads Playboy when your were 11 yrs. old. Anyhow, somebody eventually vacated, and I made it in the nick of time. My advice to the urinal-phobic? Next time you go out, leave the stalls open for those who truly need them, and you can prepare for this in the following manner: avoid all liquids 8 hrs. before going out; eat an entire bag of vinegar and salt potato chips for breakfast; go for a run in the heat of midday; and enjoy some MSG laden take-out Chinese prior to beginning your evening on the town. That should get you so dried out you won't have to urinate for a week. Sure, you may experience renal failure and go blind, but hey, you won't have to deal with the bathroom...and the stalls will be available for emergency use only.
Does anybody know what gnats eat? Me either. Anybody know what sort of pheromones gnats give off in order to attract a mate? Me either. But whatever it is, it must be very similar to the human tears that keep our eyes moist. I went for a jog tonight and I could clearly see little clouds of gnats about 5 to 5 1/2 feet off of the ground. And yet, as I ran by, they would elevate (I'm 6"1") and kamikaze themselves in a death plunge right into my ocular cavity. It is somewhat distracting to be plucking miniature flying creatures from your eyeball as you attempt to stave off death by staying somewhat fit. This happened like 300 times as I ran tonight (ok, it was more like four...but still). I must have looked like the Bi-Polar Express as I ran around the lake because it looked like I was alternately weeping uncontrollably and furiously rubbing my eyes, and then I would look perfectly calm and sedate 5 seconds later. Oh well. I'm the weird neighbor up until 4 or 5 am everyday anyway, so they probably already think I'm unhinged.
Finally, ticket prices. Bought some tickets tonight online. There was a $1.75 per ticket handling fee, and a $2.00 per ticket delivery fee. OK. Handling fee? Delivery fee? The tickets are being held in WILL CALL!!! They're not being delivered anywhere!!!! I have to burn my own gas and get them myself!!!!! WTF???? Handling fee? THEY WERE PURCHASED ONLINE. Nobody handled them! Even better, they were purchased directly from the event box office, where the tickets are kept ANYWAYS. How stupid do they think we are? "Look! The tickets are only $16! They're running a special...let's get some!!!" Well, no. The tickets are actually $19.75. But I'm guessing in this time of economic strife they figure by not advertising the extra $3.75, the folks will come a runnin'. Whatever. Just treat me like an adult and tell me the tickets are basically $20. I'd respect you a helluva lot more if you did. This weak ass attempt at manipulating the consumer with this sort of ham fisted Jedi Mind Trick (These are not the prices you're looking for...) is patently offensive. Can't we just be straight with each other and be honest? I mean, it's not like we're married for crying out loud (bada bing!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
