Well, as usual, it's late, I'm doing laundry, and watching a Nova episode on "dreams". Such is my life. I guess I'm writing this purely as a stream of consciousness thing in order to kill time, so, I can't imagine I'll have much to say. So, I'll just blather along here...
First of all, I'm cold. Hands are freezing! What the hell??? This is odd because I'm usually quite warm. Ask any woman I've ever dated. They may not sing my praises about what a nifty guy I was, but they will all admit I was a great source of prodigious body heat on a cold evening, and most were only too happy to stick cold feet into me, crawl up under my arm and wiggle into the crook of my rib cage, or stick cold arms up my shirt in order to rob me of my thermal goodness. And now, my hands, and feet, are getting cold, and my nose is running. Hmmmm...well, surely erectile dysfunction and prostate issues are just around the corner as well. Time marches on and age descends. Huzzah.
My fancy schmansy wide screen TV has little white spots all over the screen. It has something to do with a faulty chip. The TV is out of warranty, so you'd think I'm screwed, right? Wrong. Samsung, much to my utter AMAZEMENT, is going to pay for the fix. Yeah...exactly, I almost crapped my pants too. Who woulda thunk it? Then again, your TV shouldn't crap out after three years, right? Remember that old 24 inch color set your parents had...for about 500 years?????? I'm on my second hi-def set in last four years that has had issues. I'm getting the impression these new hi-def TV's are really just disposable pieces of crap we're actually renting, rather than buying. Still...thank you Samsung.
Update from "dream" episode I'm watching. They're screwing with the brains of cats and mice. Did you know your muscles freeze when you're dreaming? Its what keeps you still. Well, these scientists shorted out the part of the brain responsible for that in a cat, and when it fell asleep and started dreaming, it started running around and appeared to be stalking imaginary prey, even though it was dead asleep. FREAKY! Can you imagine if they did that to a human? Think of the weird shit you sometimes dream about, and then ACTUALLY acting it out...SCARY.
I decided to do the cooking for Thanksgiving this year. I'm brining a turkey (always wanted too), going to make my kick ass mashed potatoes (gotta mix in lots of butter, sour cream, and some cheese to make it full of artery clogging goodness), a cheesey green bean casserole from scratch (no canned mushroom soup here baby), plus some other things (like stuffing), etc. It's going to be a total food orgy...although there will only be three of us here half the day (me, mom and sis), and then my two daughters later in the evening. Still, I like to cook, and I am pretty good at it. I like to get in the kitchen (stay outta my way!) and just get in the zone and let my mind work out all of life's problems as I slice and dice. It's kind of therapeutic. But, I get frustrated when people invade my space...it distracts me and takes away from any enjoyment I get out of it. I like to cook alone, and this seems to upset people. Why is that? When folks cook for me I don't barge into their kitchen and insist on helping, and then treat them like an asshole if they refuse. I ask if they'd like help, and if they say "no", I'm happy to sit and watch TV (or whatever). But for some reason when I say "No, I've got it...but thanks" people get all pissy. This baffles me...you would think people would be happy having someone shovel food at them as they sit on their ass. I know I am. Hell, I cook and EVEN do the dishes....again, by myself. Bonus, right? So what's the issue?
OK, dream episode scientist guy is hypothesizing that dreams are preparation for real life. His idea is a nightmare is a run-through and practice for a real life crisis you may have to deal with. I dunno...if I dreamed I had sex with a refrigerator (I'm just sayin'), of what value is that? Then again, maybe it just means I am a food lover! hahahaha OK, moving on...
My bed is hellaciously comfortable. Seriously. You should all try it...I'm not joking. This morning, and this is no joke, I was laying in it and all warm with my down comforters and freshly laundered sheets and thinking "I feel sorry for folks not in my bed. They are truly missing out...and I feel sad for them...then again, life's a bitch, and they'll just have to deal." Anyway, I haven't spent much time in it lately as I've been out of town quite a bit, but it was like the embrace of a long lost lover whose touch you've missed, but haven't forgotten, and instantly recognize. This morning was our passionate reunion, and I nearly shed a tear of happiness and joy. OK, I'm joking...but the thing is pretty fucking comfortable.
Jesus Christ, how long does it takes clothes to dry?????? Ugh.....
OK, according to the late night ABC World News, the Brits are building a 1,000 MPH super car powered by the engine of a supersonic fighter jet. Wouldn't that be cool? At that speed I could be to work in about 42 seconds...which would naturally allow me to sleep in later. I want one.
The female newscaster on this show has really white teeth, obviously bleached. Plus, shes Indian, so they jump out even more (due to the duskier complexion). Everybodys teeth are just SO WHITE now its freaky. True, white teeth are nice, and mine could be a little better after a lifetime of coffee, tea, colas, the occasional drunken cigarette...but still. These day-glow chompers people have now as a result of cosmetic bleaching is the equivalent of the boob job...obviously artificial, and just TOO MUCH. I'm sure there are "natural looking" boob jobs and natural "teeth whitening" jobs out there, but as usual, most folks dive right in with the freaky overkill. There's just something weird about a 35 year old smiling and their teeth are snow white and 50 shades lighter than a six year old. Where does the vanity end? Thats right...it doesn't. After all, the world already has gone to anal bleaching. Hmmmm....I guess next is having your blood dyed a prettier shade of crimson and your urine filtered a second time by an implanted artificial third kidney prior to going to the bathroom so it gives society the impression youre properly hydrated at all times, whether you are or not, should somebody see your pee (horror of horrors...its just too yellow!).
Oh, hear that buzzer? My laundrys done!!!!!!!!!! Good night!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
A trip to the grocery store
One would think a quick shopping trip to the grocery store would be a simple enough, and pleasant enough, experience. You pop in, grab what you need, and leave. Bada bing...done. Yet, for cosmic reasons I do not understand, my trips to the grocery store do not EVER go this way. Again, tonight was no exception.
After going to the gym (when in Fresno, the gym and the grocery store seem to be lately about the only two places I leave my home for), I was given a list of items to purchase for the hungry hoard (two daughters, mom, and sis) waiting back at home. One of these items was crackers and garlic and herb cream cheese spread. So I went about collecting my items in about ten minutes, and last on the list was the cream cheese spread. So off to the cheese aisle I go and....hmmmmm. Cream cheese, shredded cheese, blocks of cheese, individually sliced and wrapped cheese...and, um, apparently no cream cheese spread. I look again. And again. And oooooone more time to be sure. Nada. Then it hits me, "OH! It must be with the fancy cheese in the little kiosk near the deli with all the other foo foo stuff." So off to the fancy kiosk I go and......gorgonzola, feta, goat cheese, brie, blue cheese, aaaaand....no cream cheese spread. So I look again. And again. And again. Nada. Obviously I must have over looked it back at the cheese section, so I go back. Nothing.
OK, so this back and forth goes on for about twenty minutes before I finally locate the cream cheese spread in a third location next to the deli counter that contained NO CHEESE AT ALL (well, other than the one I was looking for). What it had was imported pastas, and hummus, and other dips, but no obvious signs of CHEESE. OK, all of this leads me to this question: WHY IN THE HELL DO WE HAVE CHEESE IN THREE DIFFERENT LOCATIONS???????? Here's an idea: you have ONE AISLE, labeled, crazily enough, "cheese". And in this aisle would be "cheese". All of it. You need cheese? You go to the FUCKING CHEESE AISLE. How hard would that be? Just imagine, cheese in the cheese aisle...what a concept. In fact, lets take this idea a step further. There's an aisle labeled "meat" that contains, you guessed it...meat. And one "dairy" that has...yep. The stuff from a cows boobs. The frozen aisle has...you get the idea. Etc. Conversations would go something like this:
"Excuse me sir? Where do I find the queso de la hombre con grande pelotas? If you could just point me to your gourmet..."
"Huh, what the hell is that?"
"Well, its this exquisite goats milk curd from a small region in Jalisco that accompanies a Red Zin like nothing you've..."
"Goats milk curd? You mean like cheese?"
"Well...yes."
"Oh. Well, then it's in the cheese aisle you pretentious dick."
See? Simple, clear, concise. Perfect for you, perfect for me, and perfect for pretentious dicks everywhere. It's a wonder we can find ANYTHING in a grocery store. Need roasted peppers? Are they in the canned vegetable aisle? No. The produce aisle? No. They're in the CONDIMENT aisle with ketchup and mustard. HUH??? Chili con carne is in the canned meat aisle, not the Mexican food aisle, but refried beans is in the Mexican food aisle, and not the canned beans aisle. WTF???? Is there a rule book on grocery store nomenclature I can study?????? Anyway, I found my cream cheese spread as I said, but only after an obsessive search for it that resulted in my forgetting to get lemon juice, which caused a momentary tea crisis when I got back home (luckily, I had just enough left in the fridge...but thanks for your concern). Had my garlic herb cream cheese spread been my only issue, no biggie. But as usual, there's more...
I get to the register to check out so I can just go home and get out of my gym clothes, shower and enjoy a nice dinner. As I stand in line with my stuff dumped onto the food treadmill that leads to the cashier (i.e. I am now committed to this line. Kinda like after you sleep with somebody. Sure, you COULD leave, but it's AWK-WARD) in the misnamed "Express Line", I now realize there's a commotion at the register. There's wild gesturing, the shaking of heads, lots of finger pointing, furrowed foreheads, the shrugging of shoulders, and a general sense of cluelessness...it was almost like I was watching a video of the day I lost my virginity. Anyway, people clearly do not know what to do. Finally, an older guy who obviously had to be brought out in the middle of his lunch break comes over and punches a numerical code into the register that was about as long as as the square root of pi, and apparently, twice as complicated, because he had to do it three times to get it right (again, see losing virginity above). And what was the issue you may or may not be asking yourself? Apparently somebody wrote a (GASP!) check...and royally fucked everything up. Now, I'm guessing this person pulled up in their Model-T and just wanted to buy some sarsaparilla, Epsom salts, and wanted to know if the war was over...the War of 1812 that is. Anyway, yes, they were old. But still, the way everybody was acting, I thought maybe he was attempting to pay with stone coins from ancient Sumeria, as opposed to a check. Luckily, they got it worked out, the old fart got his, well, whatever geezers venture out on a Saturday night for, and I went home to people wondering what the hell took so long. I related my story in a rather animated fashion, got a laugh, and everything was fine. But still...three cheese locations? Really???
After going to the gym (when in Fresno, the gym and the grocery store seem to be lately about the only two places I leave my home for), I was given a list of items to purchase for the hungry hoard (two daughters, mom, and sis) waiting back at home. One of these items was crackers and garlic and herb cream cheese spread. So I went about collecting my items in about ten minutes, and last on the list was the cream cheese spread. So off to the cheese aisle I go and....hmmmmm. Cream cheese, shredded cheese, blocks of cheese, individually sliced and wrapped cheese...and, um, apparently no cream cheese spread. I look again. And again. And oooooone more time to be sure. Nada. Then it hits me, "OH! It must be with the fancy cheese in the little kiosk near the deli with all the other foo foo stuff." So off to the fancy kiosk I go and......gorgonzola, feta, goat cheese, brie, blue cheese, aaaaand....no cream cheese spread. So I look again. And again. And again. Nada. Obviously I must have over looked it back at the cheese section, so I go back. Nothing.
OK, so this back and forth goes on for about twenty minutes before I finally locate the cream cheese spread in a third location next to the deli counter that contained NO CHEESE AT ALL (well, other than the one I was looking for). What it had was imported pastas, and hummus, and other dips, but no obvious signs of CHEESE. OK, all of this leads me to this question: WHY IN THE HELL DO WE HAVE CHEESE IN THREE DIFFERENT LOCATIONS???????? Here's an idea: you have ONE AISLE, labeled, crazily enough, "cheese". And in this aisle would be "cheese". All of it. You need cheese? You go to the FUCKING CHEESE AISLE. How hard would that be? Just imagine, cheese in the cheese aisle...what a concept. In fact, lets take this idea a step further. There's an aisle labeled "meat" that contains, you guessed it...meat. And one "dairy" that has...yep. The stuff from a cows boobs. The frozen aisle has...you get the idea. Etc. Conversations would go something like this:
"Excuse me sir? Where do I find the queso de la hombre con grande pelotas? If you could just point me to your gourmet..."
"Huh, what the hell is that?"
"Well, its this exquisite goats milk curd from a small region in Jalisco that accompanies a Red Zin like nothing you've..."
"Goats milk curd? You mean like cheese?"
"Well...yes."
"Oh. Well, then it's in the cheese aisle you pretentious dick."
See? Simple, clear, concise. Perfect for you, perfect for me, and perfect for pretentious dicks everywhere. It's a wonder we can find ANYTHING in a grocery store. Need roasted peppers? Are they in the canned vegetable aisle? No. The produce aisle? No. They're in the CONDIMENT aisle with ketchup and mustard. HUH??? Chili con carne is in the canned meat aisle, not the Mexican food aisle, but refried beans is in the Mexican food aisle, and not the canned beans aisle. WTF???? Is there a rule book on grocery store nomenclature I can study?????? Anyway, I found my cream cheese spread as I said, but only after an obsessive search for it that resulted in my forgetting to get lemon juice, which caused a momentary tea crisis when I got back home (luckily, I had just enough left in the fridge...but thanks for your concern). Had my garlic herb cream cheese spread been my only issue, no biggie. But as usual, there's more...
I get to the register to check out so I can just go home and get out of my gym clothes, shower and enjoy a nice dinner. As I stand in line with my stuff dumped onto the food treadmill that leads to the cashier (i.e. I am now committed to this line. Kinda like after you sleep with somebody. Sure, you COULD leave, but it's AWK-WARD) in the misnamed "Express Line", I now realize there's a commotion at the register. There's wild gesturing, the shaking of heads, lots of finger pointing, furrowed foreheads, the shrugging of shoulders, and a general sense of cluelessness...it was almost like I was watching a video of the day I lost my virginity. Anyway, people clearly do not know what to do. Finally, an older guy who obviously had to be brought out in the middle of his lunch break comes over and punches a numerical code into the register that was about as long as as the square root of pi, and apparently, twice as complicated, because he had to do it three times to get it right (again, see losing virginity above). And what was the issue you may or may not be asking yourself? Apparently somebody wrote a (GASP!) check...and royally fucked everything up. Now, I'm guessing this person pulled up in their Model-T and just wanted to buy some sarsaparilla, Epsom salts, and wanted to know if the war was over...the War of 1812 that is. Anyway, yes, they were old. But still, the way everybody was acting, I thought maybe he was attempting to pay with stone coins from ancient Sumeria, as opposed to a check. Luckily, they got it worked out, the old fart got his, well, whatever geezers venture out on a Saturday night for, and I went home to people wondering what the hell took so long. I related my story in a rather animated fashion, got a laugh, and everything was fine. But still...three cheese locations? Really???
Friday, November 13, 2009
About as un-PC as I can be, but dammit...I want my earphones!
So, while driving to Oakland down I-80 from Sacramento the other day, I was doing what all good people in the friendly climes of Northern California do, and that is I was listening to NPR on the radio. NPR is good because you hear stories there you don't anywhere else, and being a guy who enjoys stuffing my head with obscure, and some would say, useless, facts, I learned something THAT MADE PERFECT SENSE.
You know that plastic packaging things like mobile phone earpieces and other electronics come in? I'm talking about that molded plastic that is hermetically sealed together as if the manufacturer doesn't want you to enjoy the product you actually just paid for? The packaging that requires a plasma torch, 43 lbs. of dynamite, multiple bouts of colorful profanity, a few prayers to a god you really don't believe in, and the ritual sacrifice of a neighborhood stray cat, just to pry open a little corner? The packaging that gets you so pissed off you lose it, grab your razor sharp $200 chefs knife out of the kitchen, and start hacking away at it like a middle aged white male with mother issues on a thrill kill spree? (you know, the guy with 14 bodies buried in his backyard that the neighbors always felt was "a nice guy...kinda quiet though" when interviewed by the press when the story goes national?) And once opened (and by "opened", I mean you managed to tear, not cut, a small hole with your chef's knife ((now in need of professional resharpening)) in conjunction with liberal use of your teeth, somewhere near the vicinity where the product is contained, but not close enough to gain actual easy access to said product, which requires you fishing the product out with your fingers like you were trying to get the last olive out of a jar), the plastic has razor sharp edges that result in a situation that it would be far safer to stick your hand down a running garbage disposal than into your products packaging? Your vain attempt to fish out your Bluetooth from this razor sharp maw results in a cut so deep it requires a trip to the emergency room, partial loss of sensation in your left index finger for the rest of your life, a tetanus shot, and a $50 co-pay? Just because you wanted to actually use your BRAND NEW FUCKING iPod earbuds?????? Yeah...THAT stuff.
Anyway, I used to wonder "Who in the hell is responsible for that shit? What retard thought this was a good idea????" Well, here's where the NPR story comes in. Turns out there's a factory in San Antonio, Texas, (land of funny accents, barbecue and Republicans) that packages things in this material. And this factory is predominantly staffed by...the mentally challenged. Which, when you think about it, makes sense. The whole gist of the story was this positive take on how great it was that there were jobs for the mentally handicapped. And it is. Great, that is. And you should have heard how proud the workers were of their work. "Well, you gotta get it REAL HOT! It won't work if it's not HOT! Gotta keep your hands outta there! HOT! HOT! HOT! Then it works! But only when it's HOT! See? It's HOT!!!" OK Corky, I got it. The plastic has to be hot. But why are we letting those with the sense of a cocker spaniel (sorry, yes, I know, I'm going to hell) package my ear buds? I know Corky needs a job, but what about my chef's knife? My $50 co-pay? My sanity???? Maybe Corky and Rain Man should be employed elsewhere in the manufacturing industry...like making kitchen towels. That would be great. You'd have your kitchen towel with a fucked up and crooked design on it, and when a friend made the wise ass quip, "Hey, nice dish towel. That's quite a design there" you could shame them with the retort "Actually, that towel was made by the mentally handicapped who are finding ways to be productive and reintegrate their way into valued members of society. But thanks for being a dick." Then you could feel all morally superior and everybody wins. You. Corky. Everybody. 'Ya know?
Anyway, I'm all for everybody having a purpose in life. Seriously, I am. I just want my headphones...minus the hospital bill.
You know that plastic packaging things like mobile phone earpieces and other electronics come in? I'm talking about that molded plastic that is hermetically sealed together as if the manufacturer doesn't want you to enjoy the product you actually just paid for? The packaging that requires a plasma torch, 43 lbs. of dynamite, multiple bouts of colorful profanity, a few prayers to a god you really don't believe in, and the ritual sacrifice of a neighborhood stray cat, just to pry open a little corner? The packaging that gets you so pissed off you lose it, grab your razor sharp $200 chefs knife out of the kitchen, and start hacking away at it like a middle aged white male with mother issues on a thrill kill spree? (you know, the guy with 14 bodies buried in his backyard that the neighbors always felt was "a nice guy...kinda quiet though" when interviewed by the press when the story goes national?) And once opened (and by "opened", I mean you managed to tear, not cut, a small hole with your chef's knife ((now in need of professional resharpening)) in conjunction with liberal use of your teeth, somewhere near the vicinity where the product is contained, but not close enough to gain actual easy access to said product, which requires you fishing the product out with your fingers like you were trying to get the last olive out of a jar), the plastic has razor sharp edges that result in a situation that it would be far safer to stick your hand down a running garbage disposal than into your products packaging? Your vain attempt to fish out your Bluetooth from this razor sharp maw results in a cut so deep it requires a trip to the emergency room, partial loss of sensation in your left index finger for the rest of your life, a tetanus shot, and a $50 co-pay? Just because you wanted to actually use your BRAND NEW FUCKING iPod earbuds?????? Yeah...THAT stuff.
Anyway, I used to wonder "Who in the hell is responsible for that shit? What retard thought this was a good idea????" Well, here's where the NPR story comes in. Turns out there's a factory in San Antonio, Texas, (land of funny accents, barbecue and Republicans) that packages things in this material. And this factory is predominantly staffed by...the mentally challenged. Which, when you think about it, makes sense. The whole gist of the story was this positive take on how great it was that there were jobs for the mentally handicapped. And it is. Great, that is. And you should have heard how proud the workers were of their work. "Well, you gotta get it REAL HOT! It won't work if it's not HOT! Gotta keep your hands outta there! HOT! HOT! HOT! Then it works! But only when it's HOT! See? It's HOT!!!" OK Corky, I got it. The plastic has to be hot. But why are we letting those with the sense of a cocker spaniel (sorry, yes, I know, I'm going to hell) package my ear buds? I know Corky needs a job, but what about my chef's knife? My $50 co-pay? My sanity???? Maybe Corky and Rain Man should be employed elsewhere in the manufacturing industry...like making kitchen towels. That would be great. You'd have your kitchen towel with a fucked up and crooked design on it, and when a friend made the wise ass quip, "Hey, nice dish towel. That's quite a design there" you could shame them with the retort "Actually, that towel was made by the mentally handicapped who are finding ways to be productive and reintegrate their way into valued members of society. But thanks for being a dick." Then you could feel all morally superior and everybody wins. You. Corky. Everybody. 'Ya know?
Anyway, I'm all for everybody having a purpose in life. Seriously, I am. I just want my headphones...minus the hospital bill.
Friday, November 6, 2009
I'm just a tugboat captain...
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
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
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.
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