I can't find it. I have looked everywhere. The bed has been stripped. The mattress has been pulled back from the wall. I simply can't find it.
It's not something the dog would want, is it? He'll eat almost anything, but I'm not sure he'd want that. First thing, it's peppermint flavored. Second, I just can't imagine he'd have found a way to GET that - when I went to bed it was firmly in place.
OK. It turns out that even if he swallowed it it's not harmful. It may make him hyper for a bit, but it's not going to kill him.
It's time to consider that I've actually swallowed it. That is a good possibility at this point - better than 50%. It also turns out that there is no Internet information on whether it is harmful if I swallowed it. That bodes well on one hand, I'm likely not going to die. But on the other hand, it shows that even in the vast archives of the Googles, there is no other human that has apparently done what I did. And really, is that any of a surprise?
It all started last night with a toothache. A bad toothache. A throbbingly (trust me, it's a word, just read 50 Shades of Grey) bad toothache. I tried Ibuprofen. I tried heat. I tried alcohol. And then I turned to the Googlenet. And there it was. The miracle cure - the miracle cure of tea.
But that wasn't quite right. The miracle cure wasn't tea. The miracle cure was a tea bag. A tea bag placed against the offending toof. And, being that it was a miracle cure, it actually worked. Whether it was because it actually worked, or whether it was the Ibuprofen that kicked in, or the alcohol kicked in, or the toothache just finally stopped on its own or what, I'm not sure. Either way, that warm, wadded up tea bag seemed to work wonders and I was able to fall asleep. And I dreamed about tea. And I dreamed about tea bags. And I dreamed about difficulty swallowing. And now I just can't find the damn tea bag.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Down is the new up
Douchebags with skateboards are the new assholes with guitars when it comes to bringing pointless shit on an airplane.
I've always been annoyed at the people bringing a guitar on-board an airplane. For every virtuoso crooner, there has to be about 80 Guys-Who-Think-Guitar-Players-Score-the-Hot-Ladies. But recently it appears that most of the people who brought their awesome axe on the plane have switched that out in favor of a long-board skateboard. I have no idea why you'd need to take that on the plane with you, but you look like an asshole.
Greedy Rat Bastard Teachers and Firefighters are the new Illegal Immigrants when it comes to Tea Baggers complaining about the end of 'Merica.
Ever since the Koch Brothers' shill in Wisconsin decided to take away collective bargaining rights for certain state employees, the far-right has determined that public employees are advocating sedition and are likely all Commienazi Socialists. First, it is important to note that, although a teacher gets paid shit, the state also does throw in a roll of toilet paper in terms of health insurance and a pension. However, the Darjeeling drinking masses also called teachers lazy for working only 9 months a year and for (allegedly) leaving work at 3 pm. They did not appear to say when teachers actually get to school, how much time was spent out of school doing work, and also failed to mention the good portion of the summer used for recuperating from the strep throat infection caught from your snotty-nosed brat who you refused to keep home. The distinction between what is taken home and what it actually costs the state per worker (salary plus pension) is important, that fact was routinely glossed over by the folks at Faux News making teachers seem like they were living in the lap of luxury
Arizona is the new South Carolina when it comes to batshit crazy states.
South Carolina used to be the benchmark when it came to crazy. Their stubborn desire to hold on to the Confederacy outweighed the anti-government nutjobs in Michigan and Montana long into the Clinton Administration. When Bush 2.0 came out, the crazy stopped focusing on State's Rights and the Fedral Gubmint and shifted their madness towards people with browner skin than them who have to pray facing east. Then we became the Obamanation. South Carolina tried to regain their status with Jim DeMint and his hatred of the Establishment Clause and Joe Wilson and his love of shout-outs, but Arizona pulled quickly ahead with:
I've always been annoyed at the people bringing a guitar on-board an airplane. For every virtuoso crooner, there has to be about 80 Guys-Who-Think-Guitar-Players-Score-the-Hot-Ladies. But recently it appears that most of the people who brought their awesome axe on the plane have switched that out in favor of a long-board skateboard. I have no idea why you'd need to take that on the plane with you, but you look like an asshole.
Greedy Rat Bastard Teachers and Firefighters are the new Illegal Immigrants when it comes to Tea Baggers complaining about the end of 'Merica.
Ever since the Koch Brothers' shill in Wisconsin decided to take away collective bargaining rights for certain state employees, the far-right has determined that public employees are advocating sedition and are likely all Commienazi Socialists. First, it is important to note that, although a teacher gets paid shit, the state also does throw in a roll of toilet paper in terms of health insurance and a pension. However, the Darjeeling drinking masses also called teachers lazy for working only 9 months a year and for (allegedly) leaving work at 3 pm. They did not appear to say when teachers actually get to school, how much time was spent out of school doing work, and also failed to mention the good portion of the summer used for recuperating from the strep throat infection caught from your snotty-nosed brat who you refused to keep home. The distinction between what is taken home and what it actually costs the state per worker (salary plus pension) is important, that fact was routinely glossed over by the folks at Faux News making teachers seem like they were living in the lap of luxury
Arizona is the new South Carolina when it comes to batshit crazy states.
South Carolina used to be the benchmark when it came to crazy. Their stubborn desire to hold on to the Confederacy outweighed the anti-government nutjobs in Michigan and Montana long into the Clinton Administration. When Bush 2.0 came out, the crazy stopped focusing on State's Rights and the Fedral Gubmint and shifted their madness towards people with browner skin than them who have to pray facing east. Then we became the Obamanation. South Carolina tried to regain their status with Jim DeMint and his hatred of the Establishment Clause and Joe Wilson and his love of shout-outs, but Arizona pulled quickly ahead with:
- SB1070 - Arizona's response to illegal immigration.
- Birther bill
- Jon Kyl and his statements not intended to be factual statements.
- Shawna Forde, once the leader of the Minutemen, was just convicted of double murder in a vigilante slaying.
- Sheriff Joe Arpaio (multiple DOJ investigations ongoing).
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Arguably the most important post on this blog. A perfect storm of controversy and anger. Call your bestie with the deets and have a convo about it.
I know. I have "some nerve" for writing a post about grammar and spelling when this site routinely gets awarded "shittiest editing in the blogoworld" every year. However, this post is a long time coming because it contains words and phrases I never, ever want to see used - EVER AGAIN! For the love of everything holy, please do not use these words around me. Please.
In no particular order:
Arguably: The word arguably is arguably the most over-used term used by people who are arguably douchebags when trying to make their point seem stronger. It is used when they have no evidence to back up their claim; instead, the word arguably is offered as evidence itself. For instance, I have arguably NO evidence that this phrase is overused, but by prefacing my stance with arguably, I have invented...AN ARGUMENT that it is. However, inarguably, there is no doubt that this term annoys the fuck outta me.
Because this term is used by people who arguably are giant assholes, it is used most often by sports-writers and [other] bloggers. Arguably, most sports writing bloggers use arguably arguably more than others. And, while sports writing bloggers are given a little bit of a pass (since they are arguably amateurs), the sports writing blogger professionals, (I'm looking at you, ESPN.com, SI.com) should be roundly beaten. The moment the first arguably pops up I smash my head into the monitor, which is arguably the leading cause of my emergency room and Best Buy visits. Please, save my frontal lobe and stop using ARGUABLY or I will give you a sucking chest wound with my clicky pen. And, as everyone knows, a sucking chest wound is arguably the WORST KIND of chest wound to have!
A Perfect Storm. I hesitate to use this, seeing as it has already been complained about as being overused by these fine people. However, people simply have not listened. Like arguably, a perfect storm is used by people trying to make themselves sound smarter. Just google "a perfect storm" and for every page talking about the book or the movie, there will be 10 pages spouting off about the "perfect storm" of the financial crisis, cell phones, pace maker malfunctions, IT problems, philly cheesesteaks and diapers. NEARLY ANYTHING IS A PERFECT FUCKING STORM. So, please stop it. If you don't stop it. There will be a perfect storm of sucking chest wounds caused by clicky pens.
Unlike those terms that people use to make themselves seem smarter, the following are used by smart people to make themselves appear dumber. Or, at least that's what it has the effect of doing.
Bestie Apparently this means your friend. Your best friend? I guess so. Instead of the perfectly acceptable term BFF, many people simply say "bestie." That's fine but the overall problem is that adding "ie" to anything makes you look like an idiot. Also, arguably one of the most annoying terms to use here in winter after a perfect storm is "freshies." Meaning "fresh snow." It would not be uncommon to hear someone say "I'm going to hit the freshies with my bestie." I'm pretty sure it would be hard to run the powder with a sucking chest wound, though, so please stop.
Convo. This means "conversation." Why you can't just say "conversation" makes me question your intelligence. When I hear "convo" I have to pause and think. 'did she just say "condo?" Or is she talking about a convocation? Why is she talking about a convocation right after talking about skiing fresh powder with her best friend?' Unless I missed the memo about how uncool the word conversation is, please use English as baby Jesus meant you to speak it. Also, although I've never had a sucking chest wound, I feel it would be pretty hard to talk with a hole in your lungs. So, to assure you can have future conversations, please stop saying convo.
Lastly, although the list is nowhere near exhausted, is deets. As in details. As in, "yeah man, I'm totally interested in that job, send me the DEETS." Or, "yes your honor, here are the deets of my client's case." You sound like a moron. Just for reference, here are the deets on how to treat a sucking chest wound caused by a clicky pen.
In no particular order:
Arguably: The word arguably is arguably the most over-used term used by people who are arguably douchebags when trying to make their point seem stronger. It is used when they have no evidence to back up their claim; instead, the word arguably is offered as evidence itself. For instance, I have arguably NO evidence that this phrase is overused, but by prefacing my stance with arguably, I have invented...AN ARGUMENT that it is. However, inarguably, there is no doubt that this term annoys the fuck outta me.
Because this term is used by people who arguably are giant assholes, it is used most often by sports-writers and [other] bloggers. Arguably, most sports writing bloggers use arguably arguably more than others. And, while sports writing bloggers are given a little bit of a pass (since they are arguably amateurs), the sports writing blogger professionals, (I'm looking at you, ESPN.com, SI.com) should be roundly beaten. The moment the first arguably pops up I smash my head into the monitor, which is arguably the leading cause of my emergency room and Best Buy visits. Please, save my frontal lobe and stop using ARGUABLY or I will give you a sucking chest wound with my clicky pen. And, as everyone knows, a sucking chest wound is arguably the WORST KIND of chest wound to have!
A Perfect Storm. I hesitate to use this, seeing as it has already been complained about as being overused by these fine people. However, people simply have not listened. Like arguably, a perfect storm is used by people trying to make themselves sound smarter. Just google "a perfect storm" and for every page talking about the book or the movie, there will be 10 pages spouting off about the "perfect storm" of the financial crisis, cell phones, pace maker malfunctions, IT problems, philly cheesesteaks and diapers. NEARLY ANYTHING IS A PERFECT FUCKING STORM. So, please stop it. If you don't stop it. There will be a perfect storm of sucking chest wounds caused by clicky pens.
Unlike those terms that people use to make themselves seem smarter, the following are used by smart people to make themselves appear dumber. Or, at least that's what it has the effect of doing.
Bestie Apparently this means your friend. Your best friend? I guess so. Instead of the perfectly acceptable term BFF, many people simply say "bestie." That's fine but the overall problem is that adding "ie" to anything makes you look like an idiot. Also, arguably one of the most annoying terms to use here in winter after a perfect storm is "freshies." Meaning "fresh snow." It would not be uncommon to hear someone say "I'm going to hit the freshies with my bestie." I'm pretty sure it would be hard to run the powder with a sucking chest wound, though, so please stop.
Convo. This means "conversation." Why you can't just say "conversation" makes me question your intelligence. When I hear "convo" I have to pause and think. 'did she just say "condo?" Or is she talking about a convocation? Why is she talking about a convocation right after talking about skiing fresh powder with her best friend?' Unless I missed the memo about how uncool the word conversation is, please use English as baby Jesus meant you to speak it. Also, although I've never had a sucking chest wound, I feel it would be pretty hard to talk with a hole in your lungs. So, to assure you can have future conversations, please stop saying convo.
Lastly, although the list is nowhere near exhausted, is deets. As in details. As in, "yeah man, I'm totally interested in that job, send me the DEETS." Or, "yes your honor, here are the deets of my client's case." You sound like a moron. Just for reference, here are the deets on how to treat a sucking chest wound caused by a clicky pen.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Tron of the Month
This month's "Tron of the Month" goes to Casey Heynes, a 15 year old kid from Australia. Heynes deserves this award for showing an annoying little weasel what it is like to poke the bear one too many times. The short fight was filmed and then spread the world wide via you tube. You can find it here.
The short video features Casey (our portly hero) and a boy named Ritchard (the weaselly little fuck). Little Ritchard is dancing around the bigger Casey who is backed against a wall. Two things are immediately obvious: Casey wants to be somewhere else and Ritchard thinks he is quite the shit. If Ritchard hasn't yet made a school career of poking fun of others he seems well on his way.
Ritchard then darts in and punches Casey in the face. Casey stands there. Have you every been punched in the face? Even a little slap? It doesn't hurt so much as it is completely numbing - invasive. But Casey still stands there. Ritchard talks some more shit while his friends laugh at Casey and then punches him in the stomach several times. All along another weaselly, laughing motherfucker off-camera extols the paparazzi to "keep recording, keep recording."
Ritchard then darts in again, but is literally picked up by Casey and then SLAMMED down to the pavement. On his face. He may even bounce a bit. Instead of walking forward and kicking him in the face, (as Ritchard surely would have done), Casey merely walks away - probably into a sunset - while the little bully goes off to lick his wounds.
But there is always aftermath: for instance
The short video features Casey (our portly hero) and a boy named Ritchard (the weaselly little fuck). Little Ritchard is dancing around the bigger Casey who is backed against a wall. Two things are immediately obvious: Casey wants to be somewhere else and Ritchard thinks he is quite the shit. If Ritchard hasn't yet made a school career of poking fun of others he seems well on his way.
Ritchard then darts in and punches Casey in the face. Casey stands there. Have you every been punched in the face? Even a little slap? It doesn't hurt so much as it is completely numbing - invasive. But Casey still stands there. Ritchard talks some more shit while his friends laugh at Casey and then punches him in the stomach several times. All along another weaselly, laughing motherfucker off-camera extols the paparazzi to "keep recording, keep recording."
Ritchard then darts in again, but is literally picked up by Casey and then SLAMMED down to the pavement. On his face. He may even bounce a bit. Instead of walking forward and kicking him in the face, (as Ritchard surely would have done), Casey merely walks away - probably into a sunset - while the little bully goes off to lick his wounds.
But there is always aftermath: for instance
- the weasel's mother, Ermine, demanded an apology from Casey.
- the weasel continues to blame Casey and fails to recognize his part in the mess.
- Casey likely isn't going to score with the girl that came into the frame at the end, though she seemed to have his back.
- and, most predictably, the school suspended Casey AND the prick. Standing up for himself got him in more trouble than had he just sat there and been beat on by a little asshole.
- The world found out about this and in interviews upon interviews it came out that Casey apparently had a history of being bullied, so frequently he contemplated suicide as a result.
Monday, February 7, 2011
More on the right
Ahh - so the demonic Ad-Sense Ads have once again turned against me. What was a humorous poke against the less-educated members of the right has turned my neglected website into an advertisement to Ra_nd Pawll.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Now a board certification that really means something!
Given the latest gaffs by Tea Party darling, Christine O’Donnell regarding her apparent knowledge of the Constitution, as well as numerous other public mistakes on both sides of the aisle (including those so far on either side that they seem like they are on a desert isle) I’d like to propose a standard-based title of Dude of Infinite Constitutional Knowledge that you can post on your resume. Take a simple test, and, much like a lawyer uses Esq. and a doctor uses MD you can use DICK as a suffix to your name to show your constitutional expertness. Imagine how that would help your campaign for Senate by stating you're a board-certified DICK.
But to truly mean something, the test would have to be graduated - it would have to have levels. I’m thinking like the dan ranking system for martial arts. “You see that red-faced guy with the two toned shirt and ugly tie spouting off about the 10th Amendment over there? He’s a 4th degree DICK!”
Of course to BE a DICK, the test has to be pretty daunting. Given the level of constitutional knowledge that many so called “experts” actually have, the test would really have to be something special. I’ll give you a sneak peek of the test to become a 1st Dude of Infinite Constitutional Knowledge.
Question #60: How many Amendments to the Constitution are there.
A. 28
B. None (only communists amend the Constitution!)
C. 23 (after we get rid of the 14th, 16th, 17th, and 19th)
D 27
Question #79: Who wrote the Constitution?
A. Glenn Beck
B. God
C. A and B are the same
D Members of the Constitutional Convention (held at the Las Vegas Hilton).
Question #442: The distribution of the duties of government separate branches is often called the Separation of __________
A. Laundry
B. Powers
C. Liquids and Solids
Question #488: The branch of government that interprets and applies the laws of the land is called the _______________
A. Judicial Branch
B. The Judicial Activism Branch
Question #1323: Which of the following words appear in the Constitution?
I. Obamacare
II. Taxes
III. Assault Rifle
IV. Bailout
A. II only
B. I, III, IV
C. II and IV
D. II and III (well, III is in there, they just call it “arms”, you see the Supreme Court told us that Assault Rifles are also called “arms” and we have a Right To Defend Ourselves From People Who Act Nasty To Us. It’s not IN the constitution, but it’s what the founders intended so it counts).
Question #1324 Does the term “Separation of Church and State” appear in the Constitution or its Amendments?
A. Not specifically, but how the Court has interpreted the Establishment and Free-Exercise Clauses of the First Amendment, as well as the Fourteenth Amendment and Article VI of the Constitution, indicate that government function and religious function are required to be separate.
B. Yes, it's right there, right THERE. Don't you see it?
C. No, of course not, as Pat Robinson (an honorary, certified DICK) says, the phrase appears nowhere in the United States Constitution, but does appear in the Konstitution of the Soviet Union!
Question #2900. The constitutional principle that allows Congress to pass a law authorizing the Federal Government to mandate health care coverage is:
A. The IIIrd Amendment
B. The Commerce Clause
C. There is none, it was a power grab by Pelosi, Reid and Obama to brainwash our youths into hating America (while being healthy.)
D. The Volstead Act
____________________________________________________________
Answers: D, D, B, A, A, A, B are answers that only an individual who attended public-schools his or her entire life would have answered. You've got a long way to become a DICK. If you answered C,C,C,B,D,C,C. you pass and should take the whole thing to prove you're a Dude of Infinite Constitutional Knowledge. You will also be automatically entered to win a United States Flag signed by Sarah Palin. Please don't let a democrat get a hold of it, or they may desecrate it.
But to truly mean something, the test would have to be graduated - it would have to have levels. I’m thinking like the dan ranking system for martial arts. “You see that red-faced guy with the two toned shirt and ugly tie spouting off about the 10th Amendment over there? He’s a 4th degree DICK!”
Of course to BE a DICK, the test has to be pretty daunting. Given the level of constitutional knowledge that many so called “experts” actually have, the test would really have to be something special. I’ll give you a sneak peek of the test to become a 1st Dude of Infinite Constitutional Knowledge.
Question #60: How many Amendments to the Constitution are there.
A. 28
B. None (only communists amend the Constitution!)
C. 23 (after we get rid of the 14th, 16th, 17th, and 19th)
D 27
Question #79: Who wrote the Constitution?
A. Glenn Beck
B. God
C. A and B are the same
D Members of the Constitutional Convention (held at the Las Vegas Hilton).
Question #442: The distribution of the duties of government separate branches is often called the Separation of __________
A. Laundry
B. Powers
C. Liquids and Solids
Question #488: The branch of government that interprets and applies the laws of the land is called the _______________
A. Judicial Branch
B. The Judicial Activism Branch
Question #1323: Which of the following words appear in the Constitution?
I. Obamacare
II. Taxes
III. Assault Rifle
IV. Bailout
A. II only
B. I, III, IV
C. II and IV
D. II and III (well, III is in there, they just call it “arms”, you see the Supreme Court told us that Assault Rifles are also called “arms” and we have a Right To Defend Ourselves From People Who Act Nasty To Us. It’s not IN the constitution, but it’s what the founders intended so it counts).
Question #1324 Does the term “Separation of Church and State” appear in the Constitution or its Amendments?
A. Not specifically, but how the Court has interpreted the Establishment and Free-Exercise Clauses of the First Amendment, as well as the Fourteenth Amendment and Article VI of the Constitution, indicate that government function and religious function are required to be separate.
B. Yes, it's right there, right THERE. Don't you see it?
C. No, of course not, as Pat Robinson (an honorary, certified DICK) says, the phrase appears nowhere in the United States Constitution, but does appear in the Konstitution of the Soviet Union!
Question #2900. The constitutional principle that allows Congress to pass a law authorizing the Federal Government to mandate health care coverage is:
A. The IIIrd Amendment
B. The Commerce Clause
C. There is none, it was a power grab by Pelosi, Reid and Obama to brainwash our youths into hating America (while being healthy.)
D. The Volstead Act
____________________________________________________________
Answers: D, D, B, A, A, A, B are answers that only an individual who attended public-schools his or her entire life would have answered. You've got a long way to become a DICK. If you answered C,C,C,B,D,C,C. you pass and should take the whole thing to prove you're a Dude of Infinite Constitutional Knowledge. You will also be automatically entered to win a United States Flag signed by Sarah Palin. Please don't let a democrat get a hold of it, or they may desecrate it.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
A link to a blog - A blog about trout
So, more than a year ago I decided to try and chronicle my fishing adventures in addition to my anger and rant based stuff here. Both seem to be heavy on the narcissism :) It hasn't gone spectacularly, simply because I haven't really gone fishing much, but I'll link to the latest entry, anyway.
As a side-note, apparently this site had ads for the Tea Party Manifesto. Awesome. Bloody awesome. Apparently Adsense thinks my readers are right wing, racist, homophobes...
here is the link http://clumsywader.blogspot.com
As a side-note, apparently this site had ads for the Tea Party Manifesto. Awesome. Bloody awesome. Apparently Adsense thinks my readers are right wing, racist, homophobes...
here is the link http://clumsywader.blogspot.com
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Just an airport conversation
I'm going to be in an airport for most of today, so please pull out your Best of Lou Reed and give a listen to New York Telephone Conversation before reading the rest.
Before you start, I really wish you could see the absolute bounty of self-important assholes that populate this tiny little airport.
Enjoy!
I was resting, patiently waiting
when I heard your phone
Beyonce, South Park, Star Trek ringtones
make me want to groan.
Did you hear how important I am
I do business all the time
Just an airport conversation
rattling in my head
Oh, oh, my, and where shall we fly
Oh, oh, my, please fuck off and die.
Just an airport conversation
blabber among us plebs
I have millions, maybe billions
I commit white collar crime
I’m so special listen to me
here in the rows of chairs
Hirings, firings, mergers, breakups
no one really cares
Oh, how sad it is that you are so loud.
Oh, how sad it is for many in this crowd
I am begging, yes I’m begging
you in the ill-fitting suit
I will snap and probably kill you
if you don’t shut the fuck up!
If you don't shut the fuck up!
Before you start, I really wish you could see the absolute bounty of self-important assholes that populate this tiny little airport.
Enjoy!
I was resting, patiently waiting
when I heard your phone
Beyonce, South Park, Star Trek ringtones
make me want to groan.
Did you hear how important I am
I do business all the time
Just an airport conversation
rattling in my head
Oh, oh, my, and where shall we fly
Oh, oh, my, please fuck off and die.
Just an airport conversation
blabber among us plebs
I have millions, maybe billions
I commit white collar crime
I’m so special listen to me
here in the rows of chairs
Hirings, firings, mergers, breakups
no one really cares
Oh, how sad it is that you are so loud.
Oh, how sad it is for many in this crowd
I am begging, yes I’m begging
you in the ill-fitting suit
I will snap and probably kill you
if you don’t shut the fuck up!
If you don't shut the fuck up!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
I b'lieve the children are our future - sell tchotchkes and let them lead the way
I really wish I could make this shit up - it's sometimes too easy. Like throwing a worm into a tank of starving trout, sooner or later something will grab that bait and tug. Going to the airport (especially the airport on a trip to Las Vegas) is SURE to result in a blog worthy note, especially since I already dread the airport and am cynically expecting the worst
Let me tell you why I dread the airport. The airport is supposed to be one of the most secure place a civilian can go. They have checkpoints and xrays and big signs warning you of all sorts of nasty things that can happen if you bring a pair of tweezers on board. They have their own Federal Law Enforcement Agency (the TSA). They can make your life a living hell if you so much as JOKE that there is a ticking package or something of the like.
Plus the liquid. Oh, the liquid! I sit there before a trip and scrutinize my contact lens solution bottle size - making sure the manufacturer didn't up size and fuck me over. And, I wonder - I wonder far too obsessively on whether gel, toothpaste, shaving cream, etc.. is a liquid or a solid. I weigh the effectiveness of using hand soap as shaving cream (but looking like I lost a battle with a toy helicopter) against risking an international incident caused by an aerosol Colgate Shaving Cream can ( Newman was going to smuggle dino embryos in one in Jurassic Park, so maybe they're on the lookout for shaving cream canisters!). Half the time the faithful TSA agent picks apart my luggage if so much as a trial size bottle of mouthwash gets forgotten and half the time I find a bottle of water that I forgot was in a bag made it through. (Ok, once...but it was glorious!)
The airport also makes you disrobe. Not to a degree where I feel uncomfortable, just to a degree that pisses me off. In my case as I'm usually traveling for work, I'm almost always in a suit - with suspenders. So to go through the detector I have to take the shoes off, suspenders off, coat off, and then waddle through the metal detector holding my pants up with one hand and my boarding pass in another. Then I pick up my two gray bins (one for the laptop...the laptop gets its OWN bin) and waddle over to a bench to get dressed. But they do all of these things - the threats, the machines, the carefully measured liquids, the near nudity - to make things look, SAFE.
But marring this veneer of safety are the employees. Let's face it, nobody wants to work at the airport. Well, nobody that you want working at the airport is working at the airport. I think the TSA is the only federal law enforcement agency that would hire me hands down, no physical examination needed at all. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm in better shape than most of their entire brigade. Especially the ones they place at the EXIT of the secure area. You know, the area where, if someone really wanted to get something past a metal detector they would sneak past? Yup, they stick the most out of shape people (who find it necessary to gossip loudly about when their next break is, who is screwing who, how bad their back hurts and what they're having for dinner) at the exits of the terminal. At every single airport - without fail! Now maybe their being super clever and anyone that runs past will instantly be vaporized in the hail of bullets fired by the hidden SWAT team - but I somehow doubt it. Instead, what will likely happen is the person will get far enough inside the terminal to cause a major airport to shut down. Oh, wait - that DID happen. My bad.
On this afternoon however my ire wasn't raised by an overzealous TSA agent, it was an underzealous agent. Or a sadly out of date airport policy against solicitation. Either way, it was 3d glasses that brought the red to my face. Not just 3d glasses but 3D FIREWORKS GLASSES!
I found out about the glasses while I was sitting and waiting for my plane to start boarding. Up comes this guy, looking like a fatter, sweatier version of Chuck Liddell, who asks me: "Hey, big guy - you like the Fourth of July, right?"
Ahh, if there is one thing a big guy really really likes, it's being called "big guy." Almost as good as "tiny." Either way I could already smell the bullshit he was peddling. "You want to put these on and look at the lights?" He was holding a "demo" pair (written in large, shaky Sharpi across the top) out to me and motioning to look at the lights.
I politely declined. That's when he started earning the sweat that was dampening his armpits and his brow.
"Wassa matter? Don'tcha support the children's hospital?" He informed me that for the low low price of $2.00, the money he earned would go to the childrens' hospital.
"Which childrens' hospital?" I asked.
He looked at me. "The childrens' hospital."
Ok, well. Maybe he forgot the name of the rather famous childrens' hospital near the University. Or maybe it was a national childrens' hospital foundation. Whatever. I just wasn't interested.
"No thanks." I said and then watched him huff with disappointment before I turned back to my magazine.
A couple minutes later I looked up to see him frantically approach person after person. I smirked (yeah, I'm an asshole) when I saw every impatient passenger rebuff his offer of saving the children through lame glasses.
And that's when he lost it. Well, that's when he lost it for the first time. Someone managed to smile at him and he let loose. "Well that's the first smile I've seen on anybody in this airport. I thought all you people (meaning all the denizens of the state of Tron, I suppose) are supposed to be nice." A sort of uneasy silence fell over the people surrounding him before it was carried away into the general din of an airport terminal.
A woman came around, presumably his travel partner, and spirited him away. That's when I started to get mad. After all of that. The careful rationing of liquids to carry on the plane. The lines. The xray. Having to unpack your shit before the scanner and put it all back after. All of that doesn't matter a goddamn bit. Sure, they got rid of the thousands of family members waiting for their mormon missionary to deplane, the love sick teenagers sneaking in one last sloppy tongue kiss before college, the mom and seven kids waiting for dad to come back from his conference. All of those people are gone from the terminal. But not the crap peddler - no matter where you are, some douche-bag selling some lame product is going to be there to throw their little sob story in your face.
The postscript to this though is rather awesome. Turns out, Mr. SweatyGuy was on my plane. Turns out, Mr. SweatyGuy was trying to sell his bullshit glasses during boarding and had two flight attendants ask him if he even HAD a ticket for the flight and then proceeded to get in a rather loud argument with his seatmate (not his travel partner) about halfway through the flight prompting the THIRD attendant to warn him to cool it or the eff-be-eye would be awaiting for him at McCarren. Turns out Mr. SweatyGuy got into an even BIGGER argument with his travel partner once we de-planed that raised the ire of a couple of blue garbed TSA agents..a couple of blue-garbed TSA agents that managed to both look like they could take care of Mr. SweatyGuy without breaking a sweat themselves. That's the last I saw of Mr. SweatyGuy - red faced, hands full of crappy glasses, frantically gesturing towards my new friends in blue.
Let me tell you why I dread the airport. The airport is supposed to be one of the most secure place a civilian can go. They have checkpoints and xrays and big signs warning you of all sorts of nasty things that can happen if you bring a pair of tweezers on board. They have their own Federal Law Enforcement Agency (the TSA). They can make your life a living hell if you so much as JOKE that there is a ticking package or something of the like.
Plus the liquid. Oh, the liquid! I sit there before a trip and scrutinize my contact lens solution bottle size - making sure the manufacturer didn't up size and fuck me over. And, I wonder - I wonder far too obsessively on whether gel, toothpaste, shaving cream, etc.. is a liquid or a solid. I weigh the effectiveness of using hand soap as shaving cream (but looking like I lost a battle with a toy helicopter) against risking an international incident caused by an aerosol Colgate Shaving Cream can ( Newman was going to smuggle dino embryos in one in Jurassic Park, so maybe they're on the lookout for shaving cream canisters!). Half the time the faithful TSA agent picks apart my luggage if so much as a trial size bottle of mouthwash gets forgotten and half the time I find a bottle of water that I forgot was in a bag made it through. (Ok, once...but it was glorious!)
The airport also makes you disrobe. Not to a degree where I feel uncomfortable, just to a degree that pisses me off. In my case as I'm usually traveling for work, I'm almost always in a suit - with suspenders. So to go through the detector I have to take the shoes off, suspenders off, coat off, and then waddle through the metal detector holding my pants up with one hand and my boarding pass in another. Then I pick up my two gray bins (one for the laptop...the laptop gets its OWN bin) and waddle over to a bench to get dressed. But they do all of these things - the threats, the machines, the carefully measured liquids, the near nudity - to make things look, SAFE.
But marring this veneer of safety are the employees. Let's face it, nobody wants to work at the airport. Well, nobody that you want working at the airport is working at the airport. I think the TSA is the only federal law enforcement agency that would hire me hands down, no physical examination needed at all. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm in better shape than most of their entire brigade. Especially the ones they place at the EXIT of the secure area. You know, the area where, if someone really wanted to get something past a metal detector they would sneak past? Yup, they stick the most out of shape people (who find it necessary to gossip loudly about when their next break is, who is screwing who, how bad their back hurts and what they're having for dinner) at the exits of the terminal. At every single airport - without fail! Now maybe their being super clever and anyone that runs past will instantly be vaporized in the hail of bullets fired by the hidden SWAT team - but I somehow doubt it. Instead, what will likely happen is the person will get far enough inside the terminal to cause a major airport to shut down. Oh, wait - that DID happen. My bad.
On this afternoon however my ire wasn't raised by an overzealous TSA agent, it was an underzealous agent. Or a sadly out of date airport policy against solicitation. Either way, it was 3d glasses that brought the red to my face. Not just 3d glasses but 3D FIREWORKS GLASSES!
I found out about the glasses while I was sitting and waiting for my plane to start boarding. Up comes this guy, looking like a fatter, sweatier version of Chuck Liddell, who asks me: "Hey, big guy - you like the Fourth of July, right?"
Ahh, if there is one thing a big guy really really likes, it's being called "big guy." Almost as good as "tiny." Either way I could already smell the bullshit he was peddling. "You want to put these on and look at the lights?" He was holding a "demo" pair (written in large, shaky Sharpi across the top) out to me and motioning to look at the lights.
I politely declined. That's when he started earning the sweat that was dampening his armpits and his brow.
"Wassa matter? Don'tcha support the children's hospital?" He informed me that for the low low price of $2.00, the money he earned would go to the childrens' hospital.
"Which childrens' hospital?" I asked.
He looked at me. "The childrens' hospital."
Ok, well. Maybe he forgot the name of the rather famous childrens' hospital near the University. Or maybe it was a national childrens' hospital foundation. Whatever. I just wasn't interested.
"No thanks." I said and then watched him huff with disappointment before I turned back to my magazine.
A couple minutes later I looked up to see him frantically approach person after person. I smirked (yeah, I'm an asshole) when I saw every impatient passenger rebuff his offer of saving the children through lame glasses.
And that's when he lost it. Well, that's when he lost it for the first time. Someone managed to smile at him and he let loose. "Well that's the first smile I've seen on anybody in this airport. I thought all you people (meaning all the denizens of the state of Tron, I suppose) are supposed to be nice." A sort of uneasy silence fell over the people surrounding him before it was carried away into the general din of an airport terminal.
A woman came around, presumably his travel partner, and spirited him away. That's when I started to get mad. After all of that. The careful rationing of liquids to carry on the plane. The lines. The xray. Having to unpack your shit before the scanner and put it all back after. All of that doesn't matter a goddamn bit. Sure, they got rid of the thousands of family members waiting for their mormon missionary to deplane, the love sick teenagers sneaking in one last sloppy tongue kiss before college, the mom and seven kids waiting for dad to come back from his conference. All of those people are gone from the terminal. But not the crap peddler - no matter where you are, some douche-bag selling some lame product is going to be there to throw their little sob story in your face.
The postscript to this though is rather awesome. Turns out, Mr. SweatyGuy was on my plane. Turns out, Mr. SweatyGuy was trying to sell his bullshit glasses during boarding and had two flight attendants ask him if he even HAD a ticket for the flight and then proceeded to get in a rather loud argument with his seatmate (not his travel partner) about halfway through the flight prompting the THIRD attendant to warn him to cool it or the eff-be-eye would be awaiting for him at McCarren. Turns out Mr. SweatyGuy got into an even BIGGER argument with his travel partner once we de-planed that raised the ire of a couple of blue garbed TSA agents..a couple of blue-garbed TSA agents that managed to both look like they could take care of Mr. SweatyGuy without breaking a sweat themselves. That's the last I saw of Mr. SweatyGuy - red faced, hands full of crappy glasses, frantically gesturing towards my new friends in blue.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Wontcha be mine, wontcha be mine, Won't you be my neighbor (hello, neighbor!)
The term "bandwagon" comes from one of the worst disasters of the early twentieth century. Little is know exactly what happened, but it involved a marching band and being that they were a marching band, they were all extremely cool and everyone loved them. Word of the band, and how amazing it was to be in a marching band, began to circle like the plague. Everyone wanted to be part of the marching band simply because everyone else did. The band would travel from town to town with the percussion section and the tubas in a large wagon pulled by a team of sixteen, pure white draft mules. Usually the percussionists would have to beat people off the wagon with their mallets, but one hot summer night in Allenville, Ohio a large group of people jumped on the band's wagon. More people jumped simply because they saw everyone else jump until the entire wagon collapsed in a heap of drum sticks, cymbals, broken legs and shattered dreams. 14 of the 16 mules had to be put down, 76 people died and the small Ohio town soon went bankrupt. Since that time, when people join a fad based strictly on word of mouth and desire to be "cool" it's called "jumping on the bandwagon." (And, since that time, marching bands have extreme fail-safes in place to ensure that only the really awesome people are allowed in.)
Unfortunately, people haven't learned the lesson of the bandwagon and, while most bandwagon jumpers don't kill themselves or a mule, it's still not a good idea to consistently jump on a bandwagon.
But don't tell that to ESPN. They are betting you will. And I know you won't disappoint them.
It's already started - the bandwagon jumping. Thousands of people, who ordinarily don't give a damn about anything outside Taco Bell, the latest color of Mountain Dew (the blue stuff rocks!) and when the NASCAR Sprint Series is going to have its own reality show, are now suddenly SOCCER HOOLLIGANS.
These are, of course, same people that REALLY GOT INTO CURLING about four months ago.
Who are the same that really LOVED POKER about 6 years ago.
The same people that embraced the Atkins diet.
Oxygen bars.
Kenny G
The list goes on.
Thousands of young and old American men and women are suddenly SOCCER fans. Never mind that most of the rest of the world has been patiently waiting for the last 4 years for this summer to come, most Americans only found out about it between reruns of the World Series of Lumberjack Dog Tricks and the Toddler Softball Superbowl. But to these newly minted soccer fans it's like they've been waiting all their life for this one particular moment.
I don't care if you actually do like soccer. As much as I'm indifferent to it, I can't help but note that about 80 billion people love it, but that's not my point. My point is that (and this is where I start to sound like an angry version of Fred Rogers) like something for its intrinsic qualities and not because ESPN or Oprah told you it's super cool. There's a team of pure-white mules somewhere, looking down, begging you to do the same.
Unfortunately, people haven't learned the lesson of the bandwagon and, while most bandwagon jumpers don't kill themselves or a mule, it's still not a good idea to consistently jump on a bandwagon.
But don't tell that to ESPN. They are betting you will. And I know you won't disappoint them.
It's already started - the bandwagon jumping. Thousands of people, who ordinarily don't give a damn about anything outside Taco Bell, the latest color of Mountain Dew (the blue stuff rocks!) and when the NASCAR Sprint Series is going to have its own reality show, are now suddenly SOCCER HOOLLIGANS.
These are, of course, same people that REALLY GOT INTO CURLING about four months ago.
Who are the same that really LOVED POKER about 6 years ago.
The same people that embraced the Atkins diet.
Oxygen bars.
Kenny G
The list goes on.
Thousands of young and old American men and women are suddenly SOCCER fans. Never mind that most of the rest of the world has been patiently waiting for the last 4 years for this summer to come, most Americans only found out about it between reruns of the World Series of Lumberjack Dog Tricks and the Toddler Softball Superbowl. But to these newly minted soccer fans it's like they've been waiting all their life for this one particular moment.
I don't care if you actually do like soccer. As much as I'm indifferent to it, I can't help but note that about 80 billion people love it, but that's not my point. My point is that (and this is where I start to sound like an angry version of Fred Rogers) like something for its intrinsic qualities and not because ESPN or Oprah told you it's super cool. There's a team of pure-white mules somewhere, looking down, begging you to do the same.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Karma karma karma karma is a biiiiiaaatch
Karma is a bitch.
A fickle bitch.
Karma is a fickle bitch who is currently spanking me on my reddened bottom while my muffled "thank you ma'am, may I have another" can barely be heard behind the ball gag.
And she's spanking me while I'm sitting in McCarren Airport waiting for my very-bad-day to end.
I'm sure that nothing is more boring than reading someone talk about their day. But, when the author's day starts at 5:30 am just to fly to a city on time and then end up waiting 2 hrs to see the judge, then get thrown out of a cab because he called the thieving cab driver a thief and then end up having his flight home delayed 4 hours to the point where he'll arrive home 20 hours after he first woke up in the morning, it is a good idea just to humor the author and say "yes, yes it was a horrible day. Gosh how interesting, may I buy you a Talisker and hear it two more times?"
The day really didn't turn until the cab ride. I generally don't mind cab rides; they have to deal with crappy Vegas traffic while I sit in the back and warily watch the meter. And cab rides in Vegas have provided me with extremely amusing stories. But this cab ride started sour because I didn't know where I was going. Well, I did know where I was going. I told the cabbie the right address. Then I said "oh, hold on...lemme check" as he was driving away from the curb which I guess in cabbie speak means, "this guy wants me to drive around the belt loop of the freeway."
When I told him to take a different, quicker, shorter way, that apparently was too much English for this formerly-somewhat-accented-but-still-perfectly-literate man. He continued to drive towards the freeway - exactly (we were on the correct road) 180 degrees in the wrong direction and mumble at me.
So I insisted again.
And he looked blankly at me again.
Which is when words like "rip-off" and "thief" came out of my mouth. Oh, and "scam". And it's really not like I called him a thief....I merely told him I hoped he wasn't one. It was his choice at that point to follow the dark or light path.
These words were apparently some sort of healing prose, because they immediately cured him of his brief aphasia. The downside being suddenly became really, really mad.
"I no rip you off, you no know where you're going." I sort of hate to approximate his difficulty with English, but that is - to the word - what he said. Again, remarkably calm (read: "haven't said the word "fuck" yet") I merely reiterated where we were going, the cross-streets, and the best way to get there. I was still sort of bewildered how taking the freeway was needed when I didn't know the exact address, but I was not about to have to pay this dude another $20.00 just because his cab company tells him he has to use the freeway for every transaction.
He continued to berate me including telling me to get out of his cab. Sort of an empty threat I thought seeing as we were moving 30 mph down the road. It was around this time that he began firing the first in his several volleys of uncool expletives
Which is when I went "uncalm" and said a bad word in adjective form. Not "the worst word," but something that can only be said on HBO or Showtime. Actually two - (word)ing stop this (word)ing cab you smelly (feminine hygiene product) and let me out. (I figure the "smelling" fact was a given seeing as I was in a cab in Las Vegas).
Further angering the man.
To his credit, he complied with what I asked him to do and did, in fact, stop the cab. In the middle of traffic. And so I got out. And then he tried to run me over (read, he tried to get away while I stood in the middle of the road).
So, I'm not sure if it it was the "douche" comment or if it was something I did yesterday or the week before or in another life but karma clearly had it in for me. And that clearly wasn't the end of my very-bad-day.
I'm sure you're anxious to hear me rap about how my experience in the airport has been but I'd rather not tempt the fates about blogging about my patience waiting to see if Delta is going to fly me home tonight just to lose it later (like last time). So I'll bid you all a good night and hope that we can share a Talisker soon. Because I need it.
Just as soon as I get this ball gag out of my mouth.
A fickle bitch.
Karma is a fickle bitch who is currently spanking me on my reddened bottom while my muffled "thank you ma'am, may I have another" can barely be heard behind the ball gag.
And she's spanking me while I'm sitting in McCarren Airport waiting for my very-bad-day to end.
I'm sure that nothing is more boring than reading someone talk about their day. But, when the author's day starts at 5:30 am just to fly to a city on time and then end up waiting 2 hrs to see the judge, then get thrown out of a cab because he called the thieving cab driver a thief and then end up having his flight home delayed 4 hours to the point where he'll arrive home 20 hours after he first woke up in the morning, it is a good idea just to humor the author and say "yes, yes it was a horrible day. Gosh how interesting, may I buy you a Talisker and hear it two more times?"
The day really didn't turn until the cab ride. I generally don't mind cab rides; they have to deal with crappy Vegas traffic while I sit in the back and warily watch the meter. And cab rides in Vegas have provided me with extremely amusing stories. But this cab ride started sour because I didn't know where I was going. Well, I did know where I was going. I told the cabbie the right address. Then I said "oh, hold on...lemme check" as he was driving away from the curb which I guess in cabbie speak means, "this guy wants me to drive around the belt loop of the freeway."
When I told him to take a different, quicker, shorter way, that apparently was too much English for this formerly-somewhat-accented-but-still-perfectly-literate man. He continued to drive towards the freeway - exactly (we were on the correct road) 180 degrees in the wrong direction and mumble at me.
So I insisted again.
And he looked blankly at me again.
Which is when words like "rip-off" and "thief" came out of my mouth. Oh, and "scam". And it's really not like I called him a thief....I merely told him I hoped he wasn't one. It was his choice at that point to follow the dark or light path.
These words were apparently some sort of healing prose, because they immediately cured him of his brief aphasia. The downside being suddenly became really, really mad.
"I no rip you off, you no know where you're going." I sort of hate to approximate his difficulty with English, but that is - to the word - what he said. Again, remarkably calm (read: "haven't said the word "fuck" yet") I merely reiterated where we were going, the cross-streets, and the best way to get there. I was still sort of bewildered how taking the freeway was needed when I didn't know the exact address, but I was not about to have to pay this dude another $20.00 just because his cab company tells him he has to use the freeway for every transaction.
He continued to berate me including telling me to get out of his cab. Sort of an empty threat I thought seeing as we were moving 30 mph down the road. It was around this time that he began firing the first in his several volleys of uncool expletives
Which is when I went "uncalm" and said a bad word in adjective form. Not "the worst word," but something that can only be said on HBO or Showtime. Actually two - (word)ing stop this (word)ing cab you smelly (feminine hygiene product) and let me out. (I figure the "smelling" fact was a given seeing as I was in a cab in Las Vegas).
Further angering the man.
To his credit, he complied with what I asked him to do and did, in fact, stop the cab. In the middle of traffic. And so I got out. And then he tried to run me over (read, he tried to get away while I stood in the middle of the road).
So, I'm not sure if it it was the "douche" comment or if it was something I did yesterday or the week before or in another life but karma clearly had it in for me. And that clearly wasn't the end of my very-bad-day.
I'm sure you're anxious to hear me rap about how my experience in the airport has been but I'd rather not tempt the fates about blogging about my patience waiting to see if Delta is going to fly me home tonight just to lose it later (like last time). So I'll bid you all a good night and hope that we can share a Talisker soon. Because I need it.
Just as soon as I get this ball gag out of my mouth.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Said sugar make it slow and we'll come together fine...
I am an extremely patient person.
People are always saying, "you have the patience of an elephant" or "gosh, you have the patience of Job." And, I always respond. "Yes, yes I do."
I am also a bald-face liar; which is what brings us to the February entry of "As the Tron Churns".
Last Friday I attended the Symphony. In college, going to the symphony was almost a weekly occurrence because we were music majors and the tickets were cheap. Now that I'm a big boy, I must pay big boy prices, which has limited my attendance. Not for Dvorak.
They were playing Dvorak's 9th Symphony and therein lies my beef with the classical music business. They treat almost every composer like a One Hit Wonder. If one makes a request for Beethoven, they play the 5th. If one asks for Soft Cell they play Tainted Love. Want to hear Vivaldi? You get the Four Seasons. Ask for Dexy's Midnight Runners you get Come on Eileen. And, if you want to hear anything by Anton Dvorak, you'll be listening to the 9th Symphony.
There is nothing wrong with the 9th Symphony but it is to his 8th Symphony what Touch of Grey is to Althea. What Blowin' in the Wind is to Desolation Row. What Nothing Else Matters is to Master of Puppets. What Barbie Girl is to Cartoon Heroes. The 9th is good, the 8th is better. But, the good people at the symphony chose to play the 9th and so I was there.
And if that's all I had to complain about the evening, I would be wasting your time.
I'm getting there, just have a little patience.
Everything was going just peachy until about half-way through the 2nd movement. This is the Largo, the Power Ballad of the piece. It is slow. Super slow. And quiet. And the audience was loving it. You could have heard a pin drop. But, I didn't. Instead of a pin I heard Thhhhhhwwappp.
That's right. Thhhhhwwwap
If you want to know what this sounds like. Take a small magazine and quickly thumb through all the pages with your thumbnail. It goes....Thhhhwwwwaap. A small magazine. Or maybe a program printed on glossy paper.
It was someone who was fidgety and messing around with their program, right? I mean I've gotten bored during the symphony. Hell, I've become bored writing this post.
But it wasn't boredom. It was sheer malice. It was sheer malice by a little old lady with gray poof hair. I had looked around after the fourth or fifth time fully expecting a kid who just wasn't quite into it. Instead I see this older woman staring straight ahead. Fingers poised on the edge of her program. And she is still staring forward - like STRAIGHT AHEAD. And I'm staring at her. There is no possible way she couldn't feel my glare. Any normal woman would have turned and at least made eye contact, even if to say "What the fuck, sonny?" So I turn around. And then I hear thhhhwwwaap thhhwaaaaap thhhhwaaaap.
And I'm not the only one bothered by this. People are shushing. That sort of quick sshhh that you make when you're trying hard not to explode. She finally does make eye contact. For a brief moment. And instead of a hint of a smile to indicate humorous intent, or even like an "oh no?! I'm ashually bothering you?" she just looked at me with a smirk of defiance and made one long thwwwwaaaaaap And she kept doing it. Through the 3rd movement.
Through the fourth.
And I am all the while plotting this woman's demise.
She was too far away to grab the program - even during the break between the movements. But don't think I didn't envision my lightening quick reflexes snatching the program out of her hands and whapping her once on the nose like a bad puppy. Any move to pick the program up would surely have resulted in my banishment from the venue for life as well as falling out of my chair and ripping my suit coat and slacks. She was behind me, which threw out any Godfather-esque retribution (picture my Clemenza to her Carlo Rizzi). She was too far away to whisper death threats against her and her children. It was bothering other people, my laser glare, so I was content to just listen to what I could hear of the symphony over the growing echo of her program thwwwiping and thwwwaping. She couldn't have bothered me more if she had sat directly behind me and lightly scratched the nape of my neck with a peacock feather. Or a rusty needle. Or the teeth of a saw.
When the symphony finally ended and the audience shot to their feet (seriously, if you can manage to finish a piece of music here in this state while staying alive and not bleeding over the audience you'll get a standing ovation) I still had no grand plan. I couldn't reach out and pinch her bat wings. Or crush her granny glasses.
So I just talked to her.
Well, not at her. Just about her. Loudly. To my girlfriend. I was complaining to A while staring straight at the old woman who was turning redder and redder. And that made me happier and happier. The culmination of which was my commenting on her lack of manners considering how damn old she was. She nearly fell over the people in front of her trying to get out after that.
If there is any theme to this collection of rants online it is that I have the maturity level of a 12 year old boy. But, I also have the sense of justice of a 5 year old which is: if you make me mad, I'll make you pay. So while I can't scratch, kick or bite you, I'll just publicly humiliate you. And that never leads to my own public humiliation. Never. Ever.
So, to my beautiful girlfriend, I'm sorry. To the patrons around us, I'm sorry. But not to you, you program flipping crone.
People are always saying, "you have the patience of an elephant" or "gosh, you have the patience of Job." And, I always respond. "Yes, yes I do."
I am also a bald-face liar; which is what brings us to the February entry of "As the Tron Churns".
Last Friday I attended the Symphony. In college, going to the symphony was almost a weekly occurrence because we were music majors and the tickets were cheap. Now that I'm a big boy, I must pay big boy prices, which has limited my attendance. Not for Dvorak.
They were playing Dvorak's 9th Symphony and therein lies my beef with the classical music business. They treat almost every composer like a One Hit Wonder. If one makes a request for Beethoven, they play the 5th. If one asks for Soft Cell they play Tainted Love. Want to hear Vivaldi? You get the Four Seasons. Ask for Dexy's Midnight Runners you get Come on Eileen. And, if you want to hear anything by Anton Dvorak, you'll be listening to the 9th Symphony.
There is nothing wrong with the 9th Symphony but it is to his 8th Symphony what Touch of Grey is to Althea. What Blowin' in the Wind is to Desolation Row. What Nothing Else Matters is to Master of Puppets. What Barbie Girl is to Cartoon Heroes. The 9th is good, the 8th is better. But, the good people at the symphony chose to play the 9th and so I was there.
And if that's all I had to complain about the evening, I would be wasting your time.
I'm getting there, just have a little patience.
Everything was going just peachy until about half-way through the 2nd movement. This is the Largo, the Power Ballad of the piece. It is slow. Super slow. And quiet. And the audience was loving it. You could have heard a pin drop. But, I didn't. Instead of a pin I heard Thhhhhhwwappp.
That's right. Thhhhhwwwap
If you want to know what this sounds like. Take a small magazine and quickly thumb through all the pages with your thumbnail. It goes....Thhhhwwwwaap. A small magazine. Or maybe a program printed on glossy paper.
It was someone who was fidgety and messing around with their program, right? I mean I've gotten bored during the symphony. Hell, I've become bored writing this post.
But it wasn't boredom. It was sheer malice. It was sheer malice by a little old lady with gray poof hair. I had looked around after the fourth or fifth time fully expecting a kid who just wasn't quite into it. Instead I see this older woman staring straight ahead. Fingers poised on the edge of her program. And she is still staring forward - like STRAIGHT AHEAD. And I'm staring at her. There is no possible way she couldn't feel my glare. Any normal woman would have turned and at least made eye contact, even if to say "What the fuck, sonny?" So I turn around. And then I hear thhhhwwwaap thhhwaaaaap thhhhwaaaap.
And I'm not the only one bothered by this. People are shushing. That sort of quick sshhh that you make when you're trying hard not to explode. She finally does make eye contact. For a brief moment. And instead of a hint of a smile to indicate humorous intent, or even like an "oh no?! I'm ashually bothering you?" she just looked at me with a smirk of defiance and made one long thwwwwaaaaaap And she kept doing it. Through the 3rd movement.
Through the fourth.
And I am all the while plotting this woman's demise.
She was too far away to grab the program - even during the break between the movements. But don't think I didn't envision my lightening quick reflexes snatching the program out of her hands and whapping her once on the nose like a bad puppy. Any move to pick the program up would surely have resulted in my banishment from the venue for life as well as falling out of my chair and ripping my suit coat and slacks. She was behind me, which threw out any Godfather-esque retribution (picture my Clemenza to her Carlo Rizzi). She was too far away to whisper death threats against her and her children. It was bothering other people, my laser glare, so I was content to just listen to what I could hear of the symphony over the growing echo of her program thwwwiping and thwwwaping. She couldn't have bothered me more if she had sat directly behind me and lightly scratched the nape of my neck with a peacock feather. Or a rusty needle. Or the teeth of a saw.
When the symphony finally ended and the audience shot to their feet (seriously, if you can manage to finish a piece of music here in this state while staying alive and not bleeding over the audience you'll get a standing ovation) I still had no grand plan. I couldn't reach out and pinch her bat wings. Or crush her granny glasses.
So I just talked to her.
Well, not at her. Just about her. Loudly. To my girlfriend. I was complaining to A while staring straight at the old woman who was turning redder and redder. And that made me happier and happier. The culmination of which was my commenting on her lack of manners considering how damn old she was. She nearly fell over the people in front of her trying to get out after that.
If there is any theme to this collection of rants online it is that I have the maturity level of a 12 year old boy. But, I also have the sense of justice of a 5 year old which is: if you make me mad, I'll make you pay. So while I can't scratch, kick or bite you, I'll just publicly humiliate you. And that never leads to my own public humiliation. Never. Ever.
So, to my beautiful girlfriend, I'm sorry. To the patrons around us, I'm sorry. But not to you, you program flipping crone.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Too many puppies....
Puppies shouldn't be used for live bait. Not only do puppies make horrible noises when you thread a hook through them, they tend to poop all over your boat.
I'm clearly insane, but not as insane as the person that told me I should join a group on Facebook called "Stop The Use Of Puppies For Live Bait" When I saw that, a little cry escaped my lips. It turns out that not only were Puppies being used as bait, they were being used as LIVE bait. FOR SHARKS! Sharks with TEETH. Teeth that EAT PUPPIES!
Then I read up on it and in less than five minutes found out that puppies AREN'T being used for live bait. Or dead bait. At least by a large enough group of people. I mean SOMEWHERE I imagine SOMEONE used a live puppy to catch a shark, I'll grant you that. But that doesn't mean there is a National Live Bait Federation: Puppy and Kitty Chapter that is suddenly saying "Oh shit, now that Facebook knows, the WORLD will know!!!"
And that's what every single person should do if they care about puppies being used as live bait. They should maybe get a little more information. Why? Because if it sounds too absurd to be true IT PROBABLY IS!
But that's just not as much fun, is it? It's not fun to find out that the situation isn't as bad as you first think it is. Why bother educating yourself when you can just get OUTRAGED over it.
It doesn't just stop at the dead puppies. It keeps going right past the dead puppies, down the hall past the dead horses, dead monkeys and right up to the Death Panels. Yup, the Evil Death Panels that will surely kill grandmother. If one was really worried about Meemaw being sentenced to death by an Obama Death Panel, wouldn't you bother to read up on it a bit? Naw - why read when you can just get outraged!?!
The snarky moral of the day is this. Lern to reed! No puppies are being used as live bait, Ms. Left-Wing-Vegan-Weirdo and no death panel is going to kill gramma, Mr. Right-Wing-Doucher-Alarmist. But you both are going to kill me - which was probably your goal in the first place. You see, someone told me about this conspiracy.....
I'm clearly insane, but not as insane as the person that told me I should join a group on Facebook called "Stop The Use Of Puppies For Live Bait" When I saw that, a little cry escaped my lips. It turns out that not only were Puppies being used as bait, they were being used as LIVE bait. FOR SHARKS! Sharks with TEETH. Teeth that EAT PUPPIES!
Then I read up on it and in less than five minutes found out that puppies AREN'T being used for live bait. Or dead bait. At least by a large enough group of people. I mean SOMEWHERE I imagine SOMEONE used a live puppy to catch a shark, I'll grant you that. But that doesn't mean there is a National Live Bait Federation: Puppy and Kitty Chapter that is suddenly saying "Oh shit, now that Facebook knows, the WORLD will know!!!"
And that's what every single person should do if they care about puppies being used as live bait. They should maybe get a little more information. Why? Because if it sounds too absurd to be true IT PROBABLY IS!
But that's just not as much fun, is it? It's not fun to find out that the situation isn't as bad as you first think it is. Why bother educating yourself when you can just get OUTRAGED over it.
It doesn't just stop at the dead puppies. It keeps going right past the dead puppies, down the hall past the dead horses, dead monkeys and right up to the Death Panels. Yup, the Evil Death Panels that will surely kill grandmother. If one was really worried about Meemaw being sentenced to death by an Obama Death Panel, wouldn't you bother to read up on it a bit? Naw - why read when you can just get outraged!?!
The snarky moral of the day is this. Lern to reed! No puppies are being used as live bait, Ms. Left-Wing-Vegan-Weirdo and no death panel is going to kill gramma, Mr. Right-Wing-Doucher-Alarmist. But you both are going to kill me - which was probably your goal in the first place. You see, someone told me about this conspiracy.....
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
#2230
I am still puzzled by my interaction with the checker at the grocery this afternoon. Somewhere in between piling my cart full of sugared soda, snacky cakes, bacon and other salted pig parts, cakey snacks and cheesy poofs, some fruit and vegetables ended up in my cart. At the checkout, the checker paused when he first reached the produce and at first seemed as puzzled to find them amongst the refined sugars. Then he turned to me, eyes swimming behind coke-bottle glasses, and said, "you want the organic fruit in with the non-organic stuff?"
I almost said "no" as my first thought the "non-organic stuff" he meant was the pack of batteries and ant-poison I was buying until I saw he had paused before loading a plastic bag full of organic bananas with apparently gentile grapes.
"Uh, sure...you can put all the produce together," I said.
Mind you, this wasn't Whole Foods or Sunflower Market. I didn't even know I had picked up organic bananas until he sort of wiggled them at me while I puzzled things over.
After he'd resumed his checking and bagging I couldn't let it go, so I asked him why.
"Oh, some people - you know - they want their organic produce away from the other stuff. If the organic stuff touches regular food it isn't organic anymore." He said this with a little shrug like "To each their own" while I sat there dumbfounded.
Isn't organic anymore.
It apparently loses organic status and becomes.....inorganic? The bananas go from Plantae Angiosperms Monocots Commelinids Zingiberales Musaceae Musa (thank you Wikipedia) to something found on the periodic table of elements.
And I had let it happen. I could feel the blood leaving my face just thinking how I had let my bananas, once as pure as the driven snow get trapped in the same plastic bag with a bordello of seedless grapes. The horror.
But then something took a hold of me. I told the checker to hold on and I took off like an excited St. Bernard puppy for the produce section. Grabbing a fistful of non-organic apples, I made my way through the organic produce like the angel of death. I rubbed the waxy, unclean, contaminated apples upon the virginal peels of the organic bananas, the thin skin of the $4.99 ea Organic Heirloom Tomatoes, and the collection of oddly shaped and colored potatoes that sell for the price of a troy ounce of silver. I used the stalks of non-organic green onions like Satan's paintbrush, soiling the organic plums, pears, and weak looking citrus fruit all the while frothing with the pervasive thought that if I my produce was rendered "in-organic"no one can have purity. Spent, and full of weary accomplishment I rejoined the rest of the checkout line to thunderous applause....
Believe it or not, I can understand wanting ones food to be "organic." But, what I don't understand, and frankly find stupid, is the thought that the mere touching of a leaf of conventionally grown spinach to a leaf of spinach grown organically will destroy the sanctity of that product. The effort that needs to be put forth to maintain the purity of a damn banana is astounding. And not only is that effort astounding, it's a simple veneer! Was the organic fruit delivered on an organic truck, powered by organic fuel, driven by a patchouli wearing hippy with dreadlocks? Was the organic fruit unpacked by workers with organic gloves that had touched nothing but the holy skin of the organic idols?
So, this will just be filed under #2230 of "Why the World Is So Fucked Up and No It's Not Obama's Fault". You can read the other 2229 of them in my book, printed on organic paper with organic ink. The books are placed on the organic, non-bleached hemp and bamboo bookshelf right next to the organic rat poison (now only 80% less effective than real poison) in your local grocery store. Oh, and I'd wash the organic apples in 100% organic spring water from 100% organic springs if I were you....I picked through them shortly after I left the bathroom...they didn't have any organic soap in there and I just didn't want to let anything impure touch my skin.
I almost said "no" as my first thought the "non-organic stuff" he meant was the pack of batteries and ant-poison I was buying until I saw he had paused before loading a plastic bag full of organic bananas with apparently gentile grapes.
"Uh, sure...you can put all the produce together," I said.
Mind you, this wasn't Whole Foods or Sunflower Market. I didn't even know I had picked up organic bananas until he sort of wiggled them at me while I puzzled things over.
After he'd resumed his checking and bagging I couldn't let it go, so I asked him why.
"Oh, some people - you know - they want their organic produce away from the other stuff. If the organic stuff touches regular food it isn't organic anymore." He said this with a little shrug like "To each their own" while I sat there dumbfounded.
Isn't organic anymore.
It apparently loses organic status and becomes.....inorganic? The bananas go from Plantae Angiosperms Monocots Commelinids Zingiberales Musaceae Musa (thank you Wikipedia) to something found on the periodic table of elements.
And I had let it happen. I could feel the blood leaving my face just thinking how I had let my bananas, once as pure as the driven snow get trapped in the same plastic bag with a bordello of seedless grapes. The horror.
But then something took a hold of me. I told the checker to hold on and I took off like an excited St. Bernard puppy for the produce section. Grabbing a fistful of non-organic apples, I made my way through the organic produce like the angel of death. I rubbed the waxy, unclean, contaminated apples upon the virginal peels of the organic bananas, the thin skin of the $4.99 ea Organic Heirloom Tomatoes, and the collection of oddly shaped and colored potatoes that sell for the price of a troy ounce of silver. I used the stalks of non-organic green onions like Satan's paintbrush, soiling the organic plums, pears, and weak looking citrus fruit all the while frothing with the pervasive thought that if I my produce was rendered "in-organic"no one can have purity. Spent, and full of weary accomplishment I rejoined the rest of the checkout line to thunderous applause....
Believe it or not, I can understand wanting ones food to be "organic." But, what I don't understand, and frankly find stupid, is the thought that the mere touching of a leaf of conventionally grown spinach to a leaf of spinach grown organically will destroy the sanctity of that product. The effort that needs to be put forth to maintain the purity of a damn banana is astounding. And not only is that effort astounding, it's a simple veneer! Was the organic fruit delivered on an organic truck, powered by organic fuel, driven by a patchouli wearing hippy with dreadlocks? Was the organic fruit unpacked by workers with organic gloves that had touched nothing but the holy skin of the organic idols?
So, this will just be filed under #2230 of "Why the World Is So Fucked Up and No It's Not Obama's Fault". You can read the other 2229 of them in my book, printed on organic paper with organic ink. The books are placed on the organic, non-bleached hemp and bamboo bookshelf right next to the organic rat poison (now only 80% less effective than real poison) in your local grocery store. Oh, and I'd wash the organic apples in 100% organic spring water from 100% organic springs if I were you....I picked through them shortly after I left the bathroom...they didn't have any organic soap in there and I just didn't want to let anything impure touch my skin.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Dear Landlord, please don't put a price on my soul!
Dear Landlord/Upstairs Neighbor:
Please feel free to ask for help moving that heavy furniture at 5:55 AM. I don't know why you're moving furniture at 5:55 AM, but since I am now up at 5:55 AM due to the insanely loud banging and scraping of heavy furniture being dragged across the floor/ceiling above my head, I would be more than happy to just pick it up and help you out - you obviously are having trouble on your own. Alternatively, should you desire help moving that furniture at a time later than 5:55 AM this would be ideal as it is still SLEEPYTIME at 5:55 AM. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Tronner
Please feel free to ask for help moving that heavy furniture at 5:55 AM. I don't know why you're moving furniture at 5:55 AM, but since I am now up at 5:55 AM due to the insanely loud banging and scraping of heavy furniture being dragged across the floor/ceiling above my head, I would be more than happy to just pick it up and help you out - you obviously are having trouble on your own. Alternatively, should you desire help moving that furniture at a time later than 5:55 AM this would be ideal as it is still SLEEPYTIME at 5:55 AM. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Tronner
Friday, September 18, 2009
All the bad boys are standing in the shadows and all the good girls are home with broken hearts
You're welcome.
Because I have figured out the cause of, and the solution to, all of our economic and political problems.
No need for anything but your thanks and a comfortable monetary compensation
The cause of this whole mess is the battle against the undead.
I blame it all on the vampires. The silly, emotional, vapid, whiny, "undead" vampires. Or, rather the silly, emotional, vapid, whiny, "undead" fans of vampires that have given the world media carte blanch to print, produce, tape, and projectile vomit upon the world a deluge of vampire crap. From Anne Rice's gothy, pederastic Lestat the Whiny Bitch, to the Twhinelight series, to the pornographic True Blood, vampires have taken over the hearts and minds of millions of people yearing to have their neck sucked while having centuries of life to wax poetically on the meaning of life. The person reading the vampire novel gets lost into a world where money and responsibility are never issues. Where the finest clothes, titles, and power are a given. Where history happens around the vampire instead of involving him. Where day to day stress is ignored and where the only real danger is not making it to bed on time. Sooner or later, the vampire fan will fancy themselves as one of the lounging undead; existing in a world where one can bend others to their will; where every meal is orgasmic pleasure. So, instead of personal responsibility, the vampire fan believes themselves to a special person who need not take part in the lives of the little people. After all, they have millennia to figure things out.
So how does one combat this. How does one avoid the temptation to fall into the vampire's hypnotic gaze? The answer isn't a matter of just putting down the vampire books, turning off the pale and dark film adaptations, casting off the black velvet, and getting a tan. The answer to all of this is also found in the undead.
Zombies
A direct opposite to the brooding, whiny undead; the brainless, hungry undead will save the world. In any zombie movie you see all aspects of society working together to defeat the horde of mindless corpses. No one in a zombie movie WANTS to be a zombie -they save the last bullet for themselves just to avoid becoming one of "them". Zombies aren't attractive or intelligent. They are rotting. They stink. And they have horrible fashion sense. Movies and books about the undead aren't romantic and emotional - they are violent, chaotic and funny. In other words they reflect LIFE. Not how it could be or should have been, but how it IS. A person watching a zombie movie thinks "shit has gone down - what are we going to do about it" instead of the vampire fan who thinks "gosh, isn't immortality dreamy?" After vicariously battling the living dead, a person is left with a feeling of comic accomplishment. It takes human (let's face it, AMERICAN) ingenuity to mow down wave after wave of zombies. And while vampire movies one with a sense of entitlement, zombie movies, though apocalyptic, leave a person with a feeling of hope and that even the last spark of humanity holds something worthwhile.
So, stop dreaming about Bella, Lestat, Louis, Edward and TheChickFromXmenandthePiano. Stop shopping for velvet and coffins. Cease your dreams that a handsome, waxy man will one day suck on your neck. Rent a George A. Romero flick. Be proactive! Sharpen your machete. Stockpile boxes of .45 ACP. and 00 buckshot. Being vigilant to the zombie threat is much more worthwhile than whining about why you haven't been chosen to be the immortal lover of an emotional corpse. And if the end finally comes for you, you'll know you will have done everything possible to avoid becoming part of the living dead, instead of lying there and waiting for that last kiss.
Because I have figured out the cause of, and the solution to, all of our economic and political problems.
No need for anything but your thanks and a comfortable monetary compensation
The cause of this whole mess is the battle against the undead.
I blame it all on the vampires. The silly, emotional, vapid, whiny, "undead" vampires. Or, rather the silly, emotional, vapid, whiny, "undead" fans of vampires that have given the world media carte blanch to print, produce, tape, and projectile vomit upon the world a deluge of vampire crap. From Anne Rice's gothy, pederastic Lestat the Whiny Bitch, to the Twhinelight series, to the pornographic True Blood, vampires have taken over the hearts and minds of millions of people yearing to have their neck sucked while having centuries of life to wax poetically on the meaning of life. The person reading the vampire novel gets lost into a world where money and responsibility are never issues. Where the finest clothes, titles, and power are a given. Where history happens around the vampire instead of involving him. Where day to day stress is ignored and where the only real danger is not making it to bed on time. Sooner or later, the vampire fan will fancy themselves as one of the lounging undead; existing in a world where one can bend others to their will; where every meal is orgasmic pleasure. So, instead of personal responsibility, the vampire fan believes themselves to a special person who need not take part in the lives of the little people. After all, they have millennia to figure things out.
So how does one combat this. How does one avoid the temptation to fall into the vampire's hypnotic gaze? The answer isn't a matter of just putting down the vampire books, turning off the pale and dark film adaptations, casting off the black velvet, and getting a tan. The answer to all of this is also found in the undead.
Zombies
A direct opposite to the brooding, whiny undead; the brainless, hungry undead will save the world. In any zombie movie you see all aspects of society working together to defeat the horde of mindless corpses. No one in a zombie movie WANTS to be a zombie -they save the last bullet for themselves just to avoid becoming one of "them". Zombies aren't attractive or intelligent. They are rotting. They stink. And they have horrible fashion sense. Movies and books about the undead aren't romantic and emotional - they are violent, chaotic and funny. In other words they reflect LIFE. Not how it could be or should have been, but how it IS. A person watching a zombie movie thinks "shit has gone down - what are we going to do about it" instead of the vampire fan who thinks "gosh, isn't immortality dreamy?" After vicariously battling the living dead, a person is left with a feeling of comic accomplishment. It takes human (let's face it, AMERICAN) ingenuity to mow down wave after wave of zombies. And while vampire movies one with a sense of entitlement, zombie movies, though apocalyptic, leave a person with a feeling of hope and that even the last spark of humanity holds something worthwhile.
So, stop dreaming about Bella, Lestat, Louis, Edward and TheChickFromXmenandthePiano. Stop shopping for velvet and coffins. Cease your dreams that a handsome, waxy man will one day suck on your neck. Rent a George A. Romero flick. Be proactive! Sharpen your machete. Stockpile boxes of .45 ACP. and 00 buckshot. Being vigilant to the zombie threat is much more worthwhile than whining about why you haven't been chosen to be the immortal lover of an emotional corpse. And if the end finally comes for you, you'll know you will have done everything possible to avoid becoming part of the living dead, instead of lying there and waiting for that last kiss.
Monday, September 7, 2009
A wee log in which I celebrate minor triumphs.
Quick!
Look!
They are THERE!
I have DONE IT....I have SUCCEEDED in altering the ADS by mere WILL (well, mostly repeating several words ad nausea). Now you can get as many condoms, STD tests and hemorrhoid creams your little heart will desire with JUST ONE CLICK.
I have also managed to piss off several people (well, two) just based on my calling Educators "Douchebags" for not showing Obama's speech. So, my poor facebook is down two facist, racist, fucktards and it feels so much the lighter and airier already. That, is why I do this.
Join me next week when I talk about events along my maturity level - like how my first month of Jr. High went.
Look!
They are THERE!
I have DONE IT....I have SUCCEEDED in altering the ADS by mere WILL (well, mostly repeating several words ad nausea). Now you can get as many condoms, STD tests and hemorrhoid creams your little heart will desire with JUST ONE CLICK.
I have also managed to piss off several people (well, two) just based on my calling Educators "Douchebags" for not showing Obama's speech. So, my poor facebook is down two facist, racist, fucktards and it feels so much the lighter and airier already. That, is why I do this.
Join me next week when I talk about events along my maturity level - like how my first month of Jr. High went.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
An Open Letter to the Douchebags that call themselves Edumacators
The state of Utah is apparently so frightened that a black man is going to be talking to their children through a video, that they are requiring all parents sign a waiver and give them the choice to "opt out" of hearing the President speak. Although I'm not a parent, let's just pretend I am.
Dear School District: Attached please find my signature allowing my child to see the video from our President, Barack Obama. I never thought I'd see the day where I must give my child permission to allow him to see the President speak, but apparently you feel this is something as noteworthy as talking about penises and vaginas, AIDS or other squirrly stuff. Perhaps it's because he is liberal (he is), perhaps it is because you think he is a Muslim (he isn't, but who really cares), or because he is black (sort of), who knows. Even President Bush deserved to be heard by the nation.* Despite the fact I strongly oppose having to give it at all, here is my permission nonetheless.
While you're at asking my permission, please do likewise when any Utah Republican Propaganda is brought up. Based on my own experiences in Utah schools at least two of my teachers in Jr. High and two in High School were more than generous in their opinions about how important the Republican party is. I also remember hearing speeches by Ted Wilson (Democrat), Karen Shepherd (Democrat) and Enid Green (a Republican whose congressional campaign was plagued by fraud) without having to bring home anything for mommy and daddy to sign. I also remember hearing a speech by a BYU Football Star (and NFL failure) who spent quite a few minutes talking about his conversion to the LDS Church as part of the public assembly. I don't recall being offered an "alternative activity" for any of these programs.
That brings me to my next point. Please also ask my permission before you allow my child to hear anything about the LDS Church other than in a forum designed to learn about all religions, cults, and various ways of life. I know my own 4th Grade teacher spent the entire year talking about his mission, so I'd personally like to know if my child's current teacher is expounding on his or her experience converting the Gentiles as well. I also remember church-produced videos being shown in my Mormon History...er...Utah History class in the 8th Grade. Please let me know if and when these LDS productions are going to be shown so I may review them before I give consent. If I do not approve, I will give him an appropriate video to watch in return. Lastly, if my child is going to be asked questions like "why aren't you taking [LDS] Seminary?" despite the fact he isn't Mormon, by the President of the Seminary, while at school, as the President of the Skyline High School Seminary did to me in 1993, I would love an opportunity to give my consent (or lack thereof).
Please ask my permission before you run an assembly on drug and alcohol use. I drink and I really don't want a person who's only knowledge of alcohol is stealing and reading the drink menu from TGI Fridays under their covers late at night while shivering in near orgasmic anticipation on the one day they can sneak away and order a Frozen Mickey's MaiTai Surprise while the rest of the family is riding Space Mountain telling my kid how similar they think snorting a line of coke and putting rum in Coke is. I understand that, for a lot of you people, the mere sight of a margarita is a mortal sin, but for those of us who can actually enjoy a drink now or then without turning into a blubbery mess, we don't want our kids thinking we're alcoholics. Please also be sure to check the opiate levels of all of my kids' teachers as well before they are allowed teach. It seems Utahns have a bit of a problem with the Oxycontin.
Also, it is apparent that many Utah school teachers, men and women alike, view the student body to be their own personal dating pool. No less than 8 teachers in the last 2 years have been convicted of raping their students. So, before Ben Jr. gets raped by his teacher, please take the time to talk about appropriate boundaries with your teachers. That is, if you're not too busy cowing down to the dregs of society like you are now, you spineless weasels.
But let's get back to President Obama. Obama Obama Obama. The more you say it, the more you'll realize that this man is our President and not just the guy that was running against the old dude and Sarah Palin. (I'm surprised that Utah didn't latch on to her as "Utah's Own", she did go to school in North Utah, aka Idaho) Please face the fact that the majority (far more than those that chose Shrub) of Americans voted for him. Despite the divisive politics that are being run right now, he is still allowed, and likely SHOULD give speeches to the youth. Maybe it's to stay in school. Maybe it's to give a message of hope when all they are hearing is doom. Maybe, because of all the way so MANY people (I'd like to say "on both sides" but let's face it, there are some really "special" people on the far right) are acting in this political atmosphere, he wants to talk about respect. Respect for oneself. Respect for one's teachers. And respect for this county. This form to make sure I approve. This form respects none of that. So please. One last time. I allow my child to hear the President of the United States of America. And when you're done reading this letter. Please crumple it up and shove it up your sanctimonious ass.
* Of course he deserved respect. How would we have watched the Daily Show or Colbert without a daily doee of Shrub's antics?
Dear School District: Attached please find my signature allowing my child to see the video from our President, Barack Obama. I never thought I'd see the day where I must give my child permission to allow him to see the President speak, but apparently you feel this is something as noteworthy as talking about penises and vaginas, AIDS or other squirrly stuff. Perhaps it's because he is liberal (he is), perhaps it is because you think he is a Muslim (he isn't, but who really cares), or because he is black (sort of), who knows. Even President Bush deserved to be heard by the nation.* Despite the fact I strongly oppose having to give it at all, here is my permission nonetheless.
While you're at asking my permission, please do likewise when any Utah Republican Propaganda is brought up. Based on my own experiences in Utah schools at least two of my teachers in Jr. High and two in High School were more than generous in their opinions about how important the Republican party is. I also remember hearing speeches by Ted Wilson (Democrat), Karen Shepherd (Democrat) and Enid Green (a Republican whose congressional campaign was plagued by fraud) without having to bring home anything for mommy and daddy to sign. I also remember hearing a speech by a BYU Football Star (and NFL failure) who spent quite a few minutes talking about his conversion to the LDS Church as part of the public assembly. I don't recall being offered an "alternative activity" for any of these programs.
That brings me to my next point. Please also ask my permission before you allow my child to hear anything about the LDS Church other than in a forum designed to learn about all religions, cults, and various ways of life. I know my own 4th Grade teacher spent the entire year talking about his mission, so I'd personally like to know if my child's current teacher is expounding on his or her experience converting the Gentiles as well. I also remember church-produced videos being shown in my Mormon History...er...Utah History class in the 8th Grade. Please let me know if and when these LDS productions are going to be shown so I may review them before I give consent. If I do not approve, I will give him an appropriate video to watch in return. Lastly, if my child is going to be asked questions like "why aren't you taking [LDS] Seminary?" despite the fact he isn't Mormon, by the President of the Seminary, while at school, as the President of the Skyline High School Seminary did to me in 1993, I would love an opportunity to give my consent (or lack thereof).
Please ask my permission before you run an assembly on drug and alcohol use. I drink and I really don't want a person who's only knowledge of alcohol is stealing and reading the drink menu from TGI Fridays under their covers late at night while shivering in near orgasmic anticipation on the one day they can sneak away and order a Frozen Mickey's MaiTai Surprise while the rest of the family is riding Space Mountain telling my kid how similar they think snorting a line of coke and putting rum in Coke is. I understand that, for a lot of you people, the mere sight of a margarita is a mortal sin, but for those of us who can actually enjoy a drink now or then without turning into a blubbery mess, we don't want our kids thinking we're alcoholics. Please also be sure to check the opiate levels of all of my kids' teachers as well before they are allowed teach. It seems Utahns have a bit of a problem with the Oxycontin.
Also, it is apparent that many Utah school teachers, men and women alike, view the student body to be their own personal dating pool. No less than 8 teachers in the last 2 years have been convicted of raping their students. So, before Ben Jr. gets raped by his teacher, please take the time to talk about appropriate boundaries with your teachers. That is, if you're not too busy cowing down to the dregs of society like you are now, you spineless weasels.
But let's get back to President Obama. Obama Obama Obama. The more you say it, the more you'll realize that this man is our President and not just the guy that was running against the old dude and Sarah Palin. (I'm surprised that Utah didn't latch on to her as "Utah's Own", she did go to school in North Utah, aka Idaho) Please face the fact that the majority (far more than those that chose Shrub) of Americans voted for him. Despite the divisive politics that are being run right now, he is still allowed, and likely SHOULD give speeches to the youth. Maybe it's to stay in school. Maybe it's to give a message of hope when all they are hearing is doom. Maybe, because of all the way so MANY people (I'd like to say "on both sides" but let's face it, there are some really "special" people on the far right) are acting in this political atmosphere, he wants to talk about respect. Respect for oneself. Respect for one's teachers. And respect for this county. This form to make sure I approve. This form respects none of that. So please. One last time. I allow my child to hear the President of the United States of America. And when you're done reading this letter. Please crumple it up and shove it up your sanctimonious ass.
Publish Post
* Of course he deserved respect. How would we have watched the Daily Show or Colbert without a daily doee of Shrub's antics?
Sunday, August 30, 2009
It Didn't Work....or maybe I'm just impatient
It didn't work.
I went through all that time to type out a Preparation H commercial on my blog and the space age technology of the AdSense didn't have sense enough to pick up even the slightest hint it did what it was supposed to do.
So, I'm sorry that I talked about the painful, burning and itching, and rubbers, and all sorts of things. I'm just sorry.
I went through all that time to type out a Preparation H commercial on my blog and the space age technology of the AdSense didn't have sense enough to pick up even the slightest hint it did what it was supposed to do.
So, I'm sorry that I talked about the painful, burning and itching, and rubbers, and all sorts of things. I'm just sorry.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Ads
One may notice I have ads on this site. Originally, of course, I was lured to place ads by the hope and prayer of money. Then I moved the decimal place over six spots to where my page views per day was and came to the quick realization that I would make about $.01 every seventeen years.
Then I saw that the ads are customized to content.
That is wonderful.
So, much like Gmail looks through your texts to determine what ads to place next to your email, AdSense looks through the blog text to best advertise various links.
For example: if this blog were about fishing, I'm sure that the more I talked about fishing, it would, sooner or later, develop ads consistent with my fishing blog's content. It would see I talked about going fishing, catching fish, gutting fish, filleting fish, making fish gumbo, fish stew, fish creole, fish cocktail, pan fried fish, baked fish, or breaded fish. I would talk about fishing lures, fishing flies, fishing rods, fishing reels, fishing poles, fishing waders, fishing boots, fishing hats....you get the pitcher. ("I sure do, Bubba").
But that also makes me want to use this program for evil. For bad. To mess with the poor system.
I just can't figure out a way to do that.
So instead, let me tell you about the conversation I heard the other day on the bus between two old men.
Old Man #1 "Boy, Virgil, it is so hot out today, my hemorrhoids are acting up. I can't hardly sit down because my hemorrhoids are so painful. They burn and itch. Won't anything relieve the painful burning and itching caused by my hemorrhoids?"
Old Man #2 "Armando, it's OK that you have hemorrhoids. But are you sure that you don't have something more serious? Like an STD? Perhaps the burning and painful itching you think is caused by hemorrhoids is actually caused by Gonorrhea, or Chlamydia, or Syphilis or Herpes. Perhaps you have a STD causing the burning and painful itching and not hemorrhoids."
OM #1. "Goddamnit Virgil! I don't have an STD. I have hemorrhoids! Hemorrhoids! Hemorrhoids! Hemorrhoids! Can't you hear? I have a painful burning and itching that makes it hard to sit down. Don't you know of any creams I can use for my hemorrhoids?"
OM#2: "Oh, Armando! It's OK if you have an STD. You just need to be more careful. You need to use condoms or abstinence. After all, if the State of Utah says abstinence is the best sex education, who am I to disagree. But anyway. you should really use a condom next time. You can use any condom, really. Any brand. Anything like Ramses, or Trojan, or Durex. Any condom will do. I promise."
OM#1 :Virgil, I swear to God I will suffocate you with a box of Trojan Her Pleasure Ribbed and Lubricated condoms if you don't start listening to me. I have a painful burning and itching caused by hemorrhoids. I am embarrassed to talk about it to my wife, and instead confided with you on this crowded bus. Please listen to me complain loudly about my hemorrhoids and stop talking about possible STDs I may have including Gonorrhea, Syphilis, Chlamydia, Molluscum, Herpes etc..."
This conversation went on for quite awhile.
And it really didn't make much sense. Just a lot of talk about hemorrhoids and condoms. Which are not even really related and is sort of an offending topic to be talking about on a bus for hell's sake. I got off before it ended, maybe they tied up the hemorrhoids and STDs before they got off.
Oh well, back to the ads. The AdSense Ads on the left side of the page. They're supposed to reflect the overall content on my blog. So, let me know if you see anything useful. I'm sure they'll want you to follow the link.
Then I saw that the ads are customized to content.
That is wonderful.
So, much like Gmail looks through your texts to determine what ads to place next to your email, AdSense looks through the blog text to best advertise various links.
For example: if this blog were about fishing, I'm sure that the more I talked about fishing, it would, sooner or later, develop ads consistent with my fishing blog's content. It would see I talked about going fishing, catching fish, gutting fish, filleting fish, making fish gumbo, fish stew, fish creole, fish cocktail, pan fried fish, baked fish, or breaded fish. I would talk about fishing lures, fishing flies, fishing rods, fishing reels, fishing poles, fishing waders, fishing boots, fishing hats....you get the pitcher. ("I sure do, Bubba").
But that also makes me want to use this program for evil. For bad. To mess with the poor system.
I just can't figure out a way to do that.
So instead, let me tell you about the conversation I heard the other day on the bus between two old men.
Old Man #1 "Boy, Virgil, it is so hot out today, my hemorrhoids are acting up. I can't hardly sit down because my hemorrhoids are so painful. They burn and itch. Won't anything relieve the painful burning and itching caused by my hemorrhoids?"
Old Man #2 "Armando, it's OK that you have hemorrhoids. But are you sure that you don't have something more serious? Like an STD? Perhaps the burning and painful itching you think is caused by hemorrhoids is actually caused by Gonorrhea, or Chlamydia, or Syphilis or Herpes. Perhaps you have a STD causing the burning and painful itching and not hemorrhoids."
OM #1. "Goddamnit Virgil! I don't have an STD. I have hemorrhoids! Hemorrhoids! Hemorrhoids! Hemorrhoids! Can't you hear? I have a painful burning and itching that makes it hard to sit down. Don't you know of any creams I can use for my hemorrhoids?"
OM#2: "Oh, Armando! It's OK if you have an STD. You just need to be more careful. You need to use condoms or abstinence. After all, if the State of Utah says abstinence is the best sex education, who am I to disagree. But anyway. you should really use a condom next time. You can use any condom, really. Any brand. Anything like Ramses, or Trojan, or Durex. Any condom will do. I promise."
OM#1 :Virgil, I swear to God I will suffocate you with a box of Trojan Her Pleasure Ribbed and Lubricated condoms if you don't start listening to me. I have a painful burning and itching caused by hemorrhoids. I am embarrassed to talk about it to my wife, and instead confided with you on this crowded bus. Please listen to me complain loudly about my hemorrhoids and stop talking about possible STDs I may have including Gonorrhea, Syphilis, Chlamydia, Molluscum, Herpes etc..."
This conversation went on for quite awhile.
And it really didn't make much sense. Just a lot of talk about hemorrhoids and condoms. Which are not even really related and is sort of an offending topic to be talking about on a bus for hell's sake. I got off before it ended, maybe they tied up the hemorrhoids and STDs before they got off.
Oh well, back to the ads. The AdSense Ads on the left side of the page. They're supposed to reflect the overall content on my blog. So, let me know if you see anything useful. I'm sure they'll want you to follow the link.
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